Volume 2

Bilingualism -
Concessive

Bilingualism
Li Wei, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, Newcastle
upon Tyne, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
What Is Bilingualism?
Bilingualism is a product of extensive language con-
tact (i.e., contacts between people who speak different
languages). There are many reasons for speakers of
different languages to get into contact with one an-
other. Some do so out of their own choosing, whereas
others are forced by circumstances. Among the fre-
quently cited factors that contribute to language con-
tact are education, modern technology, economy,
religion and culture, political or military acts, and
natural disasters. One does not have to move to a
different place to be in contact with people speaking
a different language. There are plenty of opportu-
nities for language contact in the same country, the
same community, the same neighborhood, or even
the same family.
However, although language contact is a necessary
condition for bilingualism at the societal level, it does
not automatically lead to bilingualism at the individ-
ual level. For example, Belgium, Canada, Finland,
India, Luxembourg, Paraguay, and Singapore, to
name but a few countries, are bi- or multilingual, but
the degree or extent of bilingualism among the resi-
dents of these countries varies significantly. There are
large numbers of bilingual or multilingual individuals
in Luxembourg, Paraguay, and Singapore, but con-
siderably fewer in the other officially bi- or multilin-
gual countries. Mackey (1962) claims that there are
actually fewer bilingual people in bilingual countries
than there are in the so-called ‘unilingual’ ones, be-
cause the main concerns of bi- or multilingual states
are often the maintenance and use of two or more
languages in the same nation, rather than the promo-
tion of bilingualism among their citizens. It is there-
fore important to distinguish bilingualism as a social
or societal phenomenon from bilingualism as an
individual phenomenon.
Who Is Bilingual?
People who are brought up in a society in which
monolingualism and uniculturalism are promoted as
the normal way of life often think that bilingualism is
only for a few, ‘special’ people. In fact, one in three of
the world’s population routinely uses two or more
languages for work, family life, and leisure. There
are even more people who make irregular use of
languages other than their native one; for example,
Bilingualism 1
many people have learned foreign languages at school
and only occasionally use them for specific purposes.
If we count these people as bilinguals, then monolin-
gual speakers would be a tiny minority in the world
today.
Yet the question of who is and who is not a bilin-
gual is more difficult to answer than it first appears.
Baker and Prys Jones (1998: 2) suggest that in defin-
ing a bilingual person, we may wish to consider the
following questions:
. Should bilingualism be measured by how fluent
people are in two languages?
. Should bilinguals be only those people who have
equal competence in both languages?
. Is language proficiency the only criterion for asses-
sing bilingualism, or should the use of two lan-
guages also be considered?
. Most people would define a bilingual as a person
who can speak two languages. What about a per-
son who can understand a second language perfect-
ly but cannot speak it? What about a person who
can speak a language but is not literate in it? What
about an individual who cannot speak or under-
stand speech in a second language but can read and
write it? Should these categories of people be con-
sidered bilingual?
. Should self-perception and self-categorization be
considered in defining who is bilingual?
. Are there different degrees of bilingualism that can
vary over time and with circumstances? For in-
stance, a person may learn a minority language as
a child at home and then later acquire another,
majority language in the community or at school.
Over time, the second language may become the
stronger or dominant language. If that person
moves away from the neighborhood or area in
which the minority language is spoken or loses
contact with those who speak it, he or she may
lose fluency in the minority language. Should bilin-
gualism therefore be a relative term?
The word ‘bilingual’ primarily describes someone
with the possession of two languages. It can, however,
also be taken to include the many people in the world
who have varying degrees of proficiency in and inter-
changeably use three, four or even more languages. In
many countries of Africa and Asia, several languages
coexist and large sections of the population speak
three or more languages. Individual multilingualism
in these countries is a fact of life. Many people speak
one or more local or ethnic languages, as well as
another indigenous language which has become the
medium of communication between different ethnic
2 Bilingualism
groups or speech communities. Such individuals may
also speak a foreign language – such as English,
French or Spanish – which has been introduced
into the community during the process of coloniza-
tion. This latter language is often the language of
education, bureaucracy and privilege.
Multilingualism can also be the possession of indi-
viduals who do not live within a multilingual country
or speech community. Families can be trilingual when
the husband and wife each speak a different language
as well as the common language of the place of resi-
dence. People with sufficient social and educational
advantages can learn a second, third, or fourth lan-
guage at school or university; at work; or in their
leisure time. In many continental European countries,
children learn two languages at school – such as
English, German, or French – as well as being fluent
in their home language – such as Danish, Dutch, or
Luxembourgish.
It is important to recognize that a multilingual
speaker uses different languages for different purposes
and does not typically possess the same level or type of
proficiency in each language. In Morocco, for in-
stance, a native speaker of Berber may also be fluent
in colloquial Moroccan Arabic but not literate in ei-
ther of these languages. This Berber speaker will be
educated in Modern Standard Arabic and use that
language for writing and formal purposes. Classical
Arabic is the language of the mosque, used for prayers
and reading the Qur’an. Many Moroccans also
have some knowledge of French, the former colonial
language.
Theoretical Issues in Bilingualism
Research
Chomsky (1986) defined three basic questions for
modern linguistics:
i. What constitutes knowledge of language?
ii. How is knowledge of language acquired?
iii. How is knowledge of language put to use?
For bilingualism research, these questions can be
rephrased to take in knowledge of more than one
language (see also Cook, 1993):
i. What is the nature of language, or grammar, in
the bilingual person’s mind, and how do two
systems of language knowledge coexist and inter-
act?
ii. How is more than one grammatical system ac-
quired, either simultaneously or sequentially? In
what aspects does bilingual language acquisition
differ from unilingual language acquisition?
iii. How is the knowledge of two or more languages
used by the same speaker in bilingual speech pro-
duction?
Taking the acquisition question first, earlier obser-
vers of bilingual children concentrated on document-
ing the stages of their language development. Volterra
and Taeschner (1978), for example, proposed a three-
stage model of early bilingual development. Accord-
ing to this model, the child initially possesses one
lexical system composed of lexical items from both
languages. In stage two, the child distinguishes two
separate lexical codes but has one syntactic system at
his or her disposal. Only when stage three is reached
do the two linguistic codes become entirely separate.
Volterra and Taeschner’s model gave rise to what is
now known as the ‘unitary language system hy-
pothesis.’ In its strongest version, the hypothesis
supposes that the bilingual child has one single lan-
guage system that they use for processing both of
their languages in the repertoire.
In the 1980s, the unitary language system hypoth-
esis came under intense scrutiny; for instance, by
Meisel (1989) and Genesee (1989). They argue that
there is no conclusive evidence to support the exis-
tence of an initial undifferentiated language system,
and they also point out certain methodological incon-
sistencies in the three-stage model. The phenomenon
of language mixing, for instance, can be interpreted
as a sign of two developing systems existing side by
side, rather than as evidence of one fused system.
Meisel’s and Genesee’s studies led to an alternative
hypothesis, known as the ‘separate development hy-
pothesis’ or ‘independent development hypothesis.’
More recently, researchers have investigated the pos-
sibility that different aspects of language (e.g., pho-
nology, vocabulary, syntax, pragmatics) of the
bilingual child’s language systems may develop at
different rates (e.g., Li and Zhu, 2001). Care needs
to be taken in interpreting research evidence using
children at different developmental stages.
Although the ‘one-versus-two-systems’ debate (i.e.,
whether bilingual children have an initially differen-
tiated or undifferentiated linguistic system) continues
to attract new empirical studies, a more interesting
question has emerged regarding the nature of bilin-
gual development. More specifically, is bilingual
acquisition the same as monolingual acquisition?
Theoretically, separate development is possible with-
out there being any similarity with monolingual
acquisition. Most researchers argue that bilingual
children’s language development is, by and large, the
same as that of monolingual children. In very general
terms, both bilingual and monolingual children go
through an initial babbling stage, followed by the

one-word stage, the two-word stage, the multiword
stage, and the multiclause stage. At the morpho-
syntactic level, a number of studies have reported
similarities rather than differences between bilingual
and monolingual acquisition. Garcia (1983), for ex-
ample, compared the use of English morpheme cate-
gories by English monolingual children and bilingual
children acquiring English and Spanish simultaneous-
ly and found no systematic difference at all. Pfaff and
Savas (1988) found that their 4-year-old Turkish/
German subject made the same errors in Turkish case
marking as reported in the literature on monolingual
Turkish children. Muller’s (1990) study of two
French/German children indicates that their use of
subject–verb agreement and finite verb placement in
both languages is virtually identical to that of compa-
rable monolingual children. De Houwer (1990) found
that her Dutch/English bilingual subject, Kate, used
exactly the same word orders in Dutch as monolin-
gual Dutch-speaking children, both in terms of types
and in proportional use. Furthermore, De Houwer
found in Kate parallels to monolingual children for
both Dutch and English in a range of structures, such
as nonfinite verb placement, preposed elements in
affirmative sentences, clause types, sentence types,
conjunctions, and question inversion.
Nevertheless, one needs to be careful in the kinds of
conclusions one draws from such evidence. Similari-
ties between bilingual and monolingual acquisition
do not mean that the two languages a bilingual child
is acquiring develops in the same way or at the same
speed, or that the two languages a bilingual child is
acquiring do not influence and interact with each
other. Paradis and Genesee (1996), for example,
found that although the 2–3-year-old French–English
bilingual children they studied displayed patterns that
characterize the performance of monolingual children
acquiring these languages separately, and they ac-
quired these patterns within the same age range as
monolingual children, they used finite verb forms
earlier in French than in English; used subject pro-
nouns in French exclusively with finite verbs, but
subject pronouns in English with both finite and non-
finite verbs, in accordance with the status of subject
pronouns in French as clitics (or agreement markers)
but full NPs in English; and placed verbal negatives
after lexical verbs in French (e.g., ‘n’aime pas’) but
before lexical verbs in English (‘do not like’). Further
evidence of cross-linguistic influence has been
reported by Dopke (1992), for example, in her study
of German–English bilingual children in Australia.
These children tended to overgeneralize the –VO
word order of English to German, which instantiates
both VO and OV word orders, depending on the
clausal structure of the utterance. Dopke suggests
Bilingualism 3
that children learning English and German simulta-
neously are prone to overgeneralize SVO word order
in their German because the VO order is reinforced
on the surface of both the German and the English
input they hear.
Most of the studies that have examined cross-
linguistic influences in bilingual acquisition focus on
morphosyntactic features. One area that has hitherto
been underexplored is the interface between phonet-
ics and phonology in bilingual acquisition. Although
most people seem to believe that the onset of speech
by bilingual children is more or less the same as for
monolingual children, there are indications that bilin-
gual children seem to develop differently from mono-
lingual children in the following three aspects: the
overall rate of occurrence of developmental speech
errors, the types of speech errors and the quality of
sounds (Zhu and Dodd, 2005). For example, studies
on Cantonese/English (Holm and Dodd), Putonghua/
Cantonese (So and Leung), Welsh/English (Ball et al.),
Spanish/English (Yavas and Goldstein), and Punjabi/
English (Stow and Pert) (also in Zhu and Dodd, 2006)
bilingual children seem to indicate that bilingual chil-
dren tend to make not only more speech errors but
also different types of speech errors compared with
monolingual children of the same age. These speech
errors would be considered atypical if they had oc-
curred in the speech of monolingual children. More-
over, although bilingual children seem to be able to
acquire monolingual-like competence at the phone-
mic level, there are qualitative differences at the pho-
netic level in terms of production. For example, using
instrumental analysis, Khattab (also in Zhu and
Dodd, 2006) finds that although Arabic–English bi-
lingual children have similar patterns of production
and use of VOT, /l/, and /r/ in some respects to those
of monolinguals from each language, they also show
differences that are intricately related to age, input,
and language context. These studies and others are
reported in Zhu and Dodd (2005).
There is one area in which bilingual children clearly
differ from monolingual children; namely, code-mix-
ing. Studies show that bilingual children mix elements
from both languages in the same utterance as soon as
they can produce two-word utterances. Researchers
generally agree that bilingual children’s mixing is
highly structured and grammatically constrained,
although there is no consensus on the nature of
the specific constraints that organize their mixing.
Vihman (1985), who studied her own son Raivo,
who acquired English and Estonian simultaneously,
argued, for example, that the language mixing by
bilingual children is qualitatively different from that
of more mature bilinguals. She invoked as evidence
for this claim the fact that young bilingual children
4 Bilingualism

indicate a propensity to mix function words over . Community: The language of one of the parents is
contentives (e.g., nouns, verbs, adjectives) – a type the dominant language of the community.
of mixing that is rare in older bilingual mixing. How- . Strategy: The parents each speak their own lan-
ever, Lanza’s (1997) study, although finding similar guage to the child from birth.
patterns in the mixing produced by her two
Norwegian–English bilingual subjects, argued that Type 2: Nondominant Home Language/One Language,
children’s mixing is qualitatively the same as that of One Environment
adults; their relatively greater degree of mixing of
. Parents: The parents have different native lan-
function words is evidence of what Lanza called
‘dominance’ of one language over another rather guages.
. Community: The language of one of the parents is
than of a substantial difference from bilingual adults’
mixing. Both Vihman and Lanza, as well as other the dominant language of the community.
. Strategy: Both parents speak the nondominant lan-
studies of children’s mixing, show that bilingual chil-
dren mix their languages in accordance with con- guage to the child, who is fully exposed to the
straints that operate on adult mixing. The operation dominant language only when outside the home,
of constraints based on surface features of grammar, and in particular in nursery school.
such as word order, is evident from the two-word/two- Type 3: Nondominant Home Language without Communi-
morpheme stage onward, and the operation of con- ty Support
straints based on abstract notions of grammatical
. Parents: The parents share the same native lan-
knowledge is most evident in bilingual children
guages.
once they demonstrate such knowledge overtly (e.g.,
. Community: The dominant language is not that of
verb tense and agreement markings), usually around
the parents.
two years and 6 months of age and older. As Genesee
. Strategy: The parents speak their own language to
(2002) points out, these findings indicate that in
the child.
addition to the linguistic competence needed to for-
mulate correct monolingual strings, bilingual children Type 4: Double Nondominant Home Language without
have the added capacity to coordinate their two lan- Community Support
guages in accordance with the grammatical con-
. Parents: The parents have different native lan-
straints of both languages during mixing. Although
guages.
these studies provide further evidence for the separate
. Community: The dominant language is different
development, or two-systems, argument, they also
from either of the parents.
indicate that there are both quantitative and qualita-
. Strategy: The parents each speak their own lan-
tive differences between bilingual acquisition and
guage to the child from birth.
monolingual acquisition.
Another area of interest in acquisitional studies of Type 5: Nonnative Parents
bilingual children is the role of input and social con-
. Parents: The parents share the same native lan-
text in the rate and order of language acquisition.
guage.
Earlier assumptions were that the bilingual child
. Community: The dominant language is the same as
would have half, or less, of the normal input in each
that of the parents.
of their two languages, compared with the monolin-
. Strategy: One of the parents always addresses the
gual child. More careful examinations of bilingual
child in a language that is not his or her native
children show considerable variations in the quantity
language.
and quality of input, interactional styles of the par-
ents, and environmental policies and attitudes toward Type 6: Mixed Languages
bilingualism. On the basis of Harding and Riley’s
. Parents: The parents are bilingual.
work (1986), Romaine (1995) distinguished six
. Community: Sectors of community may also be
types of early-childhood bilingualism according to
bilingual.
the native language of the parents, the language of
. Strategy: Parents code-switch and mix languages.
the community at large, and the parents’ strategy in
speaking to the child. The three headings Romaine used to classify the six
types of childhood bilingualism – the languages of the
Type 1: One person, one language.
parents, the sociolinguistic situation of the communi-
. Parents: The parents have different native lan- ty, and the discourse strategies of the parents and
guages, with each having some degree of compe- other immediate carers – are critical factors not only
tence in the other’s language. in the process of bilingual acquisition but also in

Figure 1 Lexical association model.
the final product of that process (i.e., the type of
bilingual speaker it produces). Arguably, the six types
of bilingual children would grow up as different
types of bilinguals with different mental representa-
tions of the languages and different patterns of
language behavior.
Research on the cognitive organization and repre-
sentation of bilingual knowledge is inspired and influ-
enced by the work of Weinreich. Focussing on the
relationship between the linguistic sign (or signifier)
and the semantic content (signified), Weinreich
(1953) distinguished three types of bilinguals. In
type A, the individual combines a signifier from
each language with a separate unit of the signified.
Weinreich called them ‘coordinative’ (later often
called ‘coordinate’) bilinguals. In type B, the individ-
ual identifies two signifiers but regards them as a
single compound, or composite, unit of signified;
hence ‘compound’ bilinguals. Type C refers to people
who learn a new language with the help of a previ-
ously acquired one. They are called ‘subordinative’
(or ‘subordinate’) bilinguals. Weinreich’s examples
were from English and Russian:
(A) ‘book’ ‘kniga’
? ?
/buk/ /kn’iga/
(C) ‘book’
| MacNamara and Kushnir, 1971).
/buk/
|
/kn’iga/
Weinreich’s distinctions are often misinterpreted in
the literature as referring to differences in the degree
of proficiency in the languages, but in fact the rela-
tionship between language proficiency and cognitive
organization of the bilingual individual, as concep-
tualized in Weinreich’s model, is far from clear. Some
‘subordinate’ bilinguals demonstrate a very high
level of proficiency in processing both languages, as
Bilingualism 5
Figure 2 Dual-store model.
evidenced in grammaticality and fluency of speech,
and some ‘coordinative’ bilinguals show difficulties
in processing two languages simultaneously (i.e., in
code-switching or in ‘foreign’ word identification
tasks). It must also be stressed that Weinreich’s dis-
tinctions among bilingual individuals are distributed
along a continuum from a subordinate or compound
end to a coordinate end and can at the same time be
more subordinate or compound for certain concepts
and more coordinate for others, depending on, among
other things, the age and context of acquisition.
Weinreich’s work influenced much of the psycho-
linguistic modelling of the bilingual lexicon. Potter
et al. (1984) presented a reformulation of the manner
in which bilingual lexical knowledge could be repre-
sented in the mind in terms of two competing models:
the Concept Mediation Model and the Word Associ-
ation model. In the Concept Mediation Model, words
of both L1 and L2 are linked to amodal conceptual
representations. In the Lexical Association Model, in
contrast, words in a second language are understood
through L1 lexical representations. As can be seen in
Figure 1, the models are structurally equivalent to
Weinreich’s distinction between coordinative and
subordinative bilingualism. At the same time, several
researchers (e.g., Kolers and Gonzalez [1980] and
Hummel [1986]) presented evidence for the so-called
dual-store model, as represented in Figure 2. This
latter model has also generated considerable research
on the existence of the putative ‘bilingual language
switch’ postulated to account for the bilingual’s
ability to switch between languages on the basis of
environmental demands (e.g., MacNamara, 1967;
Subsequent studies found conflicting evidence in
favor of different models. Some of the conflicting
evidence could be explained by the fact that different
types of bilingual speakers were used in the experi-
ments in terms of proficiency level, age, and context
of acquisition. It is possible that lexical mediation is
associated with low levels of proficiency, and concept
mediation with higher levels, especially for those who
have become bilingual in later childhood or adult-
hood. Some researchers called for a developmental
dimension in the modelling of bilingual knowledge.
6 Bilingualism
Figure 3 Revised hierarchical model.
Kroll and Stewart (1994), for example, proposed the
Revised Hierarchical Model, which represents con-
cept mediation and word association not as different
models but as alternative routes within the same
model (see Figure 3).
An important distinctive feature of being bilingual
is being able to make appropriate language choices.
Bilingual speakers choose to use their different lan-
guages depending on a variety of factors, including
the type of person addressed (e.g., members of the
family, schoolmates, colleagues, superiors, friends,
shopkeepers, officials, transport personnel, neigh-
bors), the subject matter of the conversation (e.g.,
family concerns, schoolwork, politics, entertain-
ment), location or social setting (e.g., at home, in the
street, in church, in the office, having lunch, attending
a lecture, negotiating business deals), and relationship
with the addressee (e.g., kin, neighbors, colleagues,
superior/inferior, strangers). However, even more
complex are the many cases in which a bilingual
talks to another bilingual with the same linguistic
background and changes from one language to an-
other in the course of conversation. This is what is
known as code-switching. Figure 4 illustrates a deci-
sion-making process of the bilingual speaker in
language choice and code-switching.
There is a widespread impression that bilingual
speakers code-switch because they cannot express
themselves adequately in one language. This may be
true to some extent when a bilingual is momentarily
lost for words in one of his or her languages. How-
ever, code-switching is an extremely common practice
among bilinguals and takes many forms. A long nar-
rative may be divided into different parts expressed in
different languages, sentences may begin in one lan-
guage and finish in another, and words and phrases
from different languages may succeed each other.
Linguists have devoted much attention to the study
of code-switching. It has been demonstrated that
code-switching involves skilled manipulation of over-
lapping sections of two or more grammars and
that there is virtually no instance of ungrammatical
combination of two languages in code-switching,
regardless of the bilingual ability of the speaker.
Some suggest that code-switching is itself a discrete
Figure 4 Adapted from Grosjean, 1982: 129.
mode of speaking, emanating from a single code-
switching grammar.
One important aspect of the code-switching gram-
mar is that the two languages involved do not play the
same role in sentence making. Typically, one language
sets the grammatical framework, with the other
providing certain items to fit into the framework.
Code-switching therefore is not a simple combination
of two sets of grammatical rules but grammatical
integration of one language in another. Bilingual
speakers of different proficiency levels in their two
languages or speaking two typologically different lan-
guages can engage in code-switching and, indeed,
vary it according to their needs. The possible exis-
tence of a code-switching grammar calls into question
the traditional view of the bilingual as two mono-
linguals in one person (for further discussions, see
Grosjean, 1985). One consequence of the ‘two-
in-one’ perspective is that bilingual speakers are
often compared to monolinguals in terms of their
language proficiency.
For example, some researchers have suggested that
bilingual children have smaller vocabularies and less-
developed grammars than their monolingual peers,
while their ability to exploit the similarities and
differences in two sets of grammatical rules to accom-
plish rule-governed code-switching was not consid-
ered relevant. In some experimental psycholinguistic
studies, tests are given without taking into account
that bilingual speakers may have learned their two
languages under different conditions for different
purposes and that they only use them in different
situations with different people. It is important to
emphasize that bilingual speakers have a unique lin-
guistic and psychological profile; their two languages
are constantly in different states of activation, and
they are able to call on their linguistic knowledge
and resources according to the context and adapt
their behavior to the task at hand.

Bilingualism as a Sociopolitical Issue
Language choice is not a purely linguistic issue. In
many countries of the world, much of the social iden-
tification of individuals, as well as of groups, is ac-
complished through language choice. By choosing
one or another of the two or more languages in
one’s linguistic repertoire, a speaker reveals and
defines his or her social relationships with other peo-
ple. At a societal level, whole groups of people, and in
fact, entire nations, can be identified by the language
or languages they use. Language, together with cul-
ture, religion, and history, is a major component of
national identity.
Multilingual countries are often thought to have
certain problems that monolingual states do not. On
the practical level, difficulties in communication
within a country can act as an impediment to com-
merce and industry. More seriously, however, multi-
lingualism is a problem for government. The process
of governing requires communication both within the
governing institutions and between the government
and the people. This means that a language, or lan-
guages, must be selected as the language for use in
governing. However, the selection of the ‘official lan-
guage’ is not always easy, as it is not simply a prag-
matic issue. For example, on pragmatic grounds, the
best immediate choice for the language of govern-
ment in a newly independent colony might be the
old colonial language, as the colonial governing insti-
tutions and records are already in place in that lan-
guage, and those nationals with the most government
experience already know it. The old colonial lan-
guage will not, however, be a good choice on nation-
alist grounds. For a people that has just acquired its
own geographical territory, the language of the state
that had denied it territorial control would not be a
desirable candidate for a national symbol. Ireland has
adopted a strategy in which both the national lan-
guage, Irish, and the language of the deposed power,
English, are declared as official; the colonial language
is used for immediate, practical purposes, and the
national language is promoted and developed. How-
ever, in many other multilingual countries that do not
have a colonial past, such as China, deciding which
language should be selected as the national language
can sometimes lead to internal, ethnic conflicts.
Similarly, selecting a language for education in a
multilingual country is often problematic. In some
respects, the best strategy for language in education
is to use the various ethnic languages. After all, these
are the languages the children already speak, and
school instruction can begin immediately without
waiting until the children learn the official language.
Some would argue, however, that this strategy could
Bilingualism 7
be damaging for nation-building efforts and disad-
vantage children by limiting their access to the wider
world. It should be pointed out that there is no scien-
tific evidence to show that multilingual countries are
particularly disadvantaged, in socioeconomic terms,
compared to monolingual ones. In fact, all the re-
search that was carried out in the 1960s and 1970s
on the relationship between the linguistic diversity
and economic well-being of a nation came to the
conclusion that a country can have any degree of
language uniformity or fragmentation and still be
underdeveloped, and a country whose entire popula-
tion speaks the same language can be anywhere from
very rich to very poor. It might be true, however, that
linguistic uniformity and economic development re-
inforce each other; in other words, economic well-
being promotes the reduction of linguistic diversity. It
would be lopsided logic, though, to view multilin-
gualism as the cause of the socioeconomic problems
of a nation.
Multilingualism is an important resource at both
the societal and personal levels. For a linguistically
diverse country to maintain ethnic group languages
alongside the national or official languages can prove
an effective way to motivate individuals while unify-
ing the nation. In addition, a multiethnic society is
arguably a richer, more exciting, and more stimulat-
ing place to live in than a community with only one
dominant ethnic group. For the multilingual speaker,
the availability of various languages in the communi-
ty repertoire serves as a useful interactional resource.
Typically, multilingual societies tend to assign differ-
ent roles to different languages; one language may be
used in informal contexts with family and friends,
while another for the more formal situations of
work, education, and government. Imagine two
friends who are both bilingual in the same ‘home’
and ‘official’ languages. Suppose that one of them
also works for the local government and that her
friend has some official business with her. Suppose
further that the government employee has two pieces
of advice to give to her friend: one based on her
official status as a government representative, and
one based on their mutual friendship. If the official
advice is given in the ‘government’ language and the
friendly advice in the ‘home’ language, there is little
chance that there would be any misunderstanding
about which advice was which. The friend would
not take the advice given in the ‘home’ language as
official.
There is a frequent debate in countries in which var-
ious languages coexist concerning which languages
are a resource. The favored languages tend to be
those that are both international and particularly
valuable in international trade. A lower place is
8 Bilingualism
given in the status ranking to minority languages,
which are small, regional, and of less perceived
value in the international marketplace. For example,
French has traditionally been the number one
modern language in the British school curriculum,
followed by German and Spanish, and then a choice
between Italian, Modern Greek, and Portuguese. One
may notice that all of these are European languages.
Despite large numbers of mother-tongue Bengali,
Cantonese, Gujarati, Hakka, Hindi, Punjabi,
Turkish, and Urdu speakers in England, these lan-
guages occupy a very low position in the school
curriculum. In the British National Curriculum, the
languages Arabic, Bengali, Chinese (Cantonese or
Mandarin), Gujarati, Modern Hebrew, Hindi,
Japanese, Punjabi, Russian, Turkish, and Urdu
are initially only allowed in secondary schools (for
11–18 year olds) if a major European language
such as French is taught first (Milroy and Milroy,
1985).
Clearly, multilingualism as a national and personal
resource requires careful planning, as would any other
kind of resource. However, language planning has
something that other kinds of economic planning
do not usually have: language as its own unique cul-
tural symbolic value. As has been discussed earlier,
language is a major component of the identity of
a nation and an individual. Often, strong emotions
are evoked when talking about a certain language.
Language planning is not simply a matter of standar-
dizing or modernizing a corpus of linguistic materials,
nor is it a reassignment of functions and status. It is
also about power and influence. The dominance of
some languages and the dominated status of other
languages are partly understandable if we examine
who holds positions of power and influence, who
belong to elite groups that are in control of decision-
making, and who are in subordinate groups, on
whom decisions are implemented. It is more often
than not the case that a given arrangement of lan-
guages benefits only those who have influence and
privileges.
For the multilingual speaker, language choice is not
only an effective means of communication but also an
act of identity (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller, 1985).
Every time we say something in one language when
we might just as easily have said it in another, we are
reconnecting with people, situations, and power con-
figurations from our history of past interactions and
imprinting on that history our attitudes toward the
people and languages concerned. Through language
choice, we maintain and change ethnic group bound-
aries and personal relationships and construct and
define ‘self’ and ‘other’ within a broader political
economy and historical context.
Changes in Attitudes Toward Bilingualism
From the early nineteenth century to about the 1960s,
there was a widespread belief that bilingualism has a
detrimental effect on a human beings’ intellectual and
spiritual growth. Stories of children who persisted in
speaking two languages in school having had their
mouths washed with soap and water or being beaten
with a cane were not uncommon. The following is a
quote from a professor at Cambridge University that
illustrates the dominant belief of the time, even
among academics and intellectuals:
If it were possible for a child to live in two languages at
once equally well, so much the worse. His intellectual
and spiritual growth would not thereby be doubled, but
halved. Unity of mind and character would have great
difficulty in asserting itself in such circumstances.
(Laurie, 1890: 15)
Professor Laurie’s view represented a commonly
held belief throughout the twentieth century that bi-
lingualism disadvantages rather than advantages
one’s intellectual development. Early research on
bilingualism and cognition tended to confirm this
negative viewpoint, finding that monolinguals were
superior to bilinguals on intelligence tests. One of the
most widely cited studies was done by Saer (1923)
who studied 1400 Welsh–English bilingual children
between the ages of 7 and 14 years in five rural and
two urban areas of Wales. A 10-point difference in IQ
was found between the bilinguals and the monolin-
gual English speakers from rural backgrounds. From
this, Saer concluded that bilinguals were mentally
confused and at a disadvantage in intelligence com-
pared with monolinguals. It was further suggested,
with a follow-up study of university students, that
‘‘the difference in mental ability as revealed by intelli-
gence tests is of a permanent nature since it persists in
students throughout their university career’’ (Saer,
1923: 53).
Controversies regarding the early versions of IQ
tests and the definition and measurement of intelli-
gence aside, there were a number of problems with
Saer’s study and its conclusions. First, it appeared to
be only in the rural areas that the correlation between
bilingualism and lower IQ held. In urban areas,
monolinguals and bilinguals were virtually the same;
in fact, the average IQ for urban Welsh–English bilin-
gual children in Saer’s study was 100, whereas for
monolingual, English-speaking children it was 99.
The urban bilingual children had more contact with
English both before beginning school and outside
school hours than did the rural bilinguals. Thus,
the depressed scores of the rural population were
probably more a reflection of lack of opportunity

and contexts to use English and were not necessarily
indicative of any sociopsychological problems.
More important, however, is the issue of statistical
inference in this and other studies of a similar type.
Correlations do not allow us to infer cause-and-effect
relationships, particularly when other variables –
such as rural versus urban differences – may be med-
iating factors. Another major factor is the language
in which such tests were administered, particularly
tests of verbal intelligence. Many such studies mea-
sured bilinguals only in the second or nondominant
language.
At around the same time that Saer conducted
studies on bilinguals’ intelligence, some well-known
linguists expressed their doubts about bilingual
speakers’ linguistic competence. The following is
Bloomfield’s characterization of a Menomini Indian
man in the United States, whom he believed to have
‘deficient’ knowledge of Menomini and English:
White Thunder, a man around 40, speaks less English
than Menomini, and that is a strong indictment, for his
Menomini is atrocious. His vocabulary is small, his
inflections are often barbarous, he constructs sentences
of a few threadbare models. He may be said to speak no
language tolerably. (Bloomfield, 1927: 395)
This is one of the early statements of a view that
became fashionable in educational circles; namely,
that it was possible for bilinguals not to acquire full
competence in any of the languages they spoke. Such
an individual was said to be ‘semilingual.’ These peo-
ple were believed to have linguistic deficits in six areas
of language (see Hansegard, 1975; Skutnabb-Kangas,
1981):
1. Size of vocabulary
2. Correctness of language
3. Unconscious processing of language
4. Language creation
5. Mastery of the functions of language
6. Meanings and imagery.
It is significant that the term ‘semilingualism’
emerged in connection with the study of language
skills of people belonging to ethnic minority groups.
Research that provided evidence in support of
the notion of ‘semilingualism’ was conducted in
Scandinavia and North America and was concerned
with accounting for the educational outcomes of sub-
mersion programs in which minority children were
taught through the medium of the majority language.
However, these studies, similar to the ones conducted
by Saer, had serious methodological flaws, and
the conclusions reached by the researchers were
misguided.
Bilingualism 9
First, the educational tests used to measure lan-
guage proficiencies and to differentiate between peo-
ple were insensitive to the qualitative aspects of
languages and to the great range of language compe-
tences. Language may be specific to a context; a
person may be competent in some contexts but not
in others. Second, bilingual children are still in the
process of developing their languages. It is unfair to
compare them to some idealized adults. Their lan-
guage skills change over time. Third, the comparison
with monolinguals is also unfair. It is important to
distinguish whether bilinguals are ‘naturally’ qualita-
tively and quantitatively different from monolinguals
in their use of the two languages (i.e., as a function of
being bilingual). Fourth, if languages are relatively
underdeveloped, the origins may not be in bilingual-
ism per se but in the economic, political, and social
conditions that evoke underdevelopment.
The disparaging and belittling overtone of the term
‘semilingualism’ itself invokes expectations of under-
achievement in the bilingual speaker. Thus, rather
than highlighting the apparent ‘deficits’ of bilingual
speakers, the more positive approach is to emphasize
that when suitable conditions are provided, languages
are easily capable of development beyond the ‘semi’
state.
One of the specific issues Bloomfield raised in his
comments on the language behavior of members of
the Menomini Indians in North America was the
frequent mixing of their own language and English.
It has been described as ‘verbal salad,’ not particular-
ly appealing but nevertheless harmless, or ‘garbage’
that is definitively worthless and vulgar. Unfortunate-
ly, although switching and mixing of languages occurs
in practically all bilingual communities and all bilin-
gual speakers’ speech, it is stigmatized as an illegiti-
mate mode of communication, even sometimes by the
bilingual speakers themselves. Haugen (1977: 97),
for example, reports that a visitor from Norway
made the following comment on the speech of the
Norwegians in the United States: ‘‘Strictly speaking,
it is no language whatever, but a gruesome mixture of
Norwegian and English, and often one does not
know whether to take it humorously or seriously.’’
Gumperz (1982: 62–63) reports that some bilingual
speakers who mixed languages regularly still believe
such behavior was ‘‘bad manners’’ or a sign of ‘‘lack
of education or improper control of language.’’ One
of the Punjabi–English bilinguals Romaine inter-
viewed said: ‘‘I’m guilty as well in the sense that we
speak English more and more and then what happens
is that when you speak your own language you get
two or three English words in each sentence . . . but
I think that’s ‘wrong’’’ (Romaine, 1995: 294).
10 Bilingualism
Attitudes do not, of course, remain constant over
time. At a personal level, changes in attitudes may
occur when there is some personal reward involved.
Speakers of minority languages will be more moti-
vated to maintain and use their languages if they
prove to be useful in increasing their employability
or social mobility. In some cases, certain jobs are
reserved for bilingual speakers only. At the societal
level, attitudes toward bilingualism change when the
political ideology changes. In California and else-
where in the southwestern United States, for instance,
pocho and calo used to serve as pejorative terms for
the Spanish of local Chicanos. With a rise in ethnic
consciousness, however, these speech styles have be-
come symbolic of Chicano ethnicity and are now
increasingly used in contemporary Chicano litera-
ture. Since the 1960s, there has been a political move-
ment, particularly in the United States, advocating
language rights. In the United States, questions
about language rights are widely discussed not only
in college classrooms and language communities but
also in government and federal legislatures.
Language rights have a history of being tested in
U.S. courtrooms. From the early 1920s to the present,
there has been a continuous debate in U.S. courts of
law regarding the legal status of language minority
rights. To gain short-term protection and a medium-
term guarantee for minority languages, legal chal-
lenges have become an important part of the language
rights movement. The legal battles concerned not just
minority language vs. majority language contests, but
also children vs. schools, parents vs. school boards,
state vs. the federal authorities, and so on. Whereas
minority language activists among the Basques in
Spain and the Welsh in Britain have been taken to
court by the central government for their actions, U.S.
minority language activists have taken the central and
regional government to court.
The language rights movement has received some
support from organizations such as the United
Nations, Unesco, the Council of Europe, and the Eu-
ropean Union. Each of these four organizations has
declared that minority language groups have the right
to maintain their languages. In the European Union, a
directive (77/486/E EC) stated that member states
should promote the teaching of the mother tongue
and the culture of the country of origin in the educa-
tion of migrant workers’ children. The kind of rights,
apart from language rights, that minority groups may
claim include protection, membership of their ethnic
group and separate existence, nondiscrimination and
equal treatment, education and information in their
ethnic language, freedom to worship, freedom of
belief freedom of movement, employment, peaceful
assembly and association, political representation and
involvement, and administrative autonomy.
However, real changes in attitudes toward bilin-
gualism will not happen until people recognize or,
better still, experience the advantages of being bilin-
gual. Current research indicates that there are at least
eight overlapping and interacting benefits for a bilin-
gual person, encompassing communicative, cognitive
and cultural advantages (adapted from Baker and
Prys Jones, 1998: 6–8):
Communicative advantages
Relationships with parents: Where parents have differing
first languages, the advantage of children becoming bi-
lingual is that they will be able to communicate in each
parent’s preferred language. This may enable a subtler,
finer texture of relationship with the parent. Alternative-
ly they will be able to communicate with parents in one
language and with their friends and within the commu-
nity in a different language.
Extended family relationships: Being a bilingual allows
someone to bridge the generations. When grandparents,
uncles, aunts and other relatives in another region speak
a language that is different from the local language, the
monolingual may be unable to communicate with them.
The bilingual has the chance to bridge that generation
gap, build closer relationships with relatives extended
family.
Community relationships: A bilingual has the chance to
communicate with a wider variety of people than a
monolingual. Bilingual children will be able to commu-
nicate in the wider community and with school and
neighbourhood friends in different languages when
necessary.
Transnational communication: One barrier between
nations and ethnic groups tends to be language. Lan-
guage is sometimes a barrier to communication and to
creating friendly relationships of mutual respect. Bilin-
guals in the home, in the community and in society have
the potential for lowering such barriers. Bilinguals can
act as bridges within the nuclear and extended family,
within the community and across societies.
Language sensitivity: Being able to move between two
languages may lead to more sensitivity in Communica-
tion. Because bilinguals are constantly monitoring which
language to use in different situations, they may be
more attuned to the communicative needs of those
with whom they talk. Research suggests that bilinguals
may be more empathic towards listeners’ needs in com-
munication. When meeting those who do not speak their
language particularly well, bilinguals may be more
patient listeners than monolinguals.
Cultural advantages
Another advantage of being a bilingual is having two or
more worlds of experience. Bilingualism provides the
opportunity to experience two or more cultures. The
monolingual may experience a variety of cultures; for
example, from different neighbours and communities

that use the same language but have different ways of
life. The monolingual can also travel to neighbouring
countries and experience other cultures as a passive
onlooker. However, to penetrate different cultures
requires the language of that culture. To participate and
become involved in the core of a culture requires a
knowledge of the language of that culture.
There are also potential economic advantages to being
bilingual. A person with two languages may have a
wider portfolio of jobs available. As economic trade
barriers fall, as international relationships become clos-
er, as unions and partnerships across nations become
more widespread, all increasing number of jobs are like-
ly to require a person to be bilingual or multilingual. jobs
in multinational companies, jobs selling and exporting,
and employment prospects generated by translational
contact make the future of employment more versatile
for bilinguals than monolinguals.
Cognitive advantages
More recent research has shown that bilinguals may
have some advantages in thinking, ranging from creative
thinking to faster, progress in early cognitive develop-
ment and greater sensitivity in communication. For ex-
ample, bilinguals may have two or more words for
cacti object and idea; sometimes corresponding words
in different languages have different connotations. Bilin-
guals are able to extend the range of meanings, associa-
tions and images, and to think more flexibly and
creatively. Therefore, a bilingual has the possibility of
more awareness of language and more fluency, flexibility
and elaboration in thinking than a monolingual.
It would be misleading to suggest that there is no
disadvantage to bilingualism. Some problems, both
social and individual, may be falsely attributed to
bilingualism. For instance, when bilingual children
exhibit language or personality problems, bilingual-
ism is sometimes blamed. Problems of social unrest
may unfairly be attributed to the presence of two or
more languages in a community. However, the real
possible disadvantages of bilingualism tend to be
temporary. For example, bilingual families may be
spending significantly more of their time and making
much greater efforts to maintain two languages and
bring up children bilingually. Some bilingual children
may find it difficult to cope with the school curricu-
lum in either language for a short period of time.
However, the individual, cognitive, cultural, intellec-
tual, and economic advantages bilingualism brings to
a person make all the effort worthwhile.
A more complex problem associated with bilin-
gualism is the question of identity of a bilingual. If a
child has both a French and an English parent and
speaks each language fluently, is he or she French,
English, or Anglo-French? If a child speaks English
and a minority language such as Welsh, is he or she
Welsh, English, British, European, or what? It has
Bilingualism 11
to be said that for many bilingual people, identity is
not a problem. Although speaking two languages,
they are resolutely identified with one ethnic or cul-
tural group. For example, many bilinguals in Wales
see themselves as Welsh first, and possibly British
next, but not English. Others, however, find identity
a real, problematic issue. Some immigrants, for in-
stance, desperately want to lose the identity of their
native country and become assimilated and identified
with the new home country, while some others
want to develop a new identity and feel more com-
fortable with being culturally hyphenated, such as
Chinese-American, Italian-Australian, Swedish-Finn,
or Anglo-French. Yet identity crises and conflicts are
never static. Identities change and evolve over time,
with varying experiences, interactions, and collabora-
tions within and outside a language group.
Bilingualism is not a static and unitary phenom-
enon; it is shaped in different ways, and it changes
depending on a variety of historical, cultural, politi-
cal, economic, environmental, linguistic, psychologi-
cal, and other factors. Our understanding of bilingual
speakers’ knowledge and skills will grow as research
methodology is defined and refined and our attitudes
toward bilingualism change to the positive.
See also: Bilingual Education; Bilingual Language Develop-
ment: Early Years; Bilingualism and Second Language
Learning; Interlanguage; Lingua Francas as Second Lan-
guages; Society and Language: Overview.
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IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bilingual individuals, sometimes referred to as multi-
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proficient in the languages they know, often profi-
ciency and use depend on the social/functional
situations (e.g., work vs. family settings). Thus, it
has been argued that bilinguals are not truly ‘two
monolinguals in one person’ but are holistic, unique,
and specific speaker–hearers (Grosjean, 1989). In
the case of aphasia (language deficits as a result of
brain damage), the various languages can be affected
and recovered differently. Consequently, assessing
and rehabilitating bilingual aphasics warrant con-
siderations that are different from (or additional to)
those associated with monolingual aphasics.
12 Bilingualism
Grosjean F (1985). ‘The bilingual as a competent but
specific speaker-hearer.’ Journal of Multilingual and
Multicultural Development 6, 467–477.
Gumperz J J (1982). Discourse strategies. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Hansegard N E (1975). ‘Tvasprakighet eller havsprakighet?’
Invandrare och Minoriteter 3, 7–13.
Harding E & Riley P (1986). The bilingual family.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Haugen E (1977). ‘Norm and deviation in bilingual
communities.’ In Hornby P (ed.) Bilingualism: psycho-
logical, social and educational implications. New York:
Academic Press.
Hummel K (1986). ‘Memory for bilingual prose.’ In Vaid J
(ed.) Language processing in bilinguals: psycholinguistic
and neurolinguistic perspectives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence
Erlbaum.
Kolers P & Gonzalez E (1980). ‘Memory for words, syno-
nyms and translation.’ Journal of Experimental Psychol-
ogy: Human Learning and Memory 6, 53–65.
Kroll J & Stewart E (1994). ‘Category interference in trans-
lation and picture naming: evidence for asymmetric con-
nections between bilingual memory representations.’
Journal of Memory and Language 33, 149–174.
Lanza E (1997). Language mixing in infant bilingualism.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Laurie S S (1890). Lectures on language and linguistic meth-
od in school. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Le Page R & Tabouret-Keller A (1985). Acts of identity:
Creole-based approaches to language and ethnicity.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Li W & Zhu H (2001). ‘Development of code-switching
and L1 attrition in L2 setting.’ In Almgren M, Barrena A,
Ezeizabarrena M-J, Idiazabal I & MacWhinney B (eds.)
Research on child language acquisition. Somerville, MA:
Cascadilla Press. 174–187.
Mackey W F (1962). ‘The description of bilingualism.’
Canadian Journal of Linguistics 7, 51–85.
MacNamara J (1967). ‘The linguistic independence of bilin-
guals.’ Journal of Verbal Leaning and Verbal Behaviour
6, 729–736.
Bilingualism and Aphasia
P C M Wong, Northwestern University, Evanston,
IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bilingual individuals, sometimes referred to as multi-
linguals or polyglots, are broadly defined as individ-
uals who know (and use) two or more languages.
These individuals possibly acquire (or are still acquir-
ing) the two or more languages at different times in
their lives and use these languages at different levels
of proficiency. Although the term ‘perfect bilingual’
has been used to refer to individuals who are equally
MacNamara J & Kushnir S (1971). ‘The linguistic indepen-
dence of bilinguals: the input switch.’ Journal of Verbal
Leaning and Verbal Behaviour 10, 480–487.
Meisel J M (1989). ‘Early differentiation of languages in
bilingual children.’ In Hyltenstam K & Obler L (eds.)
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proficient in the languages they know, often profi-
ciency and use depend on the social/functional
situations (e.g., work vs. family settings). Thus, it
has been argued that bilinguals are not truly ‘two
monolinguals in one person’ but are holistic, unique,
and specific speaker–hearers (Grosjean, 1989). In
the case of aphasia (language deficits as a result of
brain damage), the various languages can be affected
and recovered differently. Consequently, assessing
and rehabilitating bilingual aphasics warrant con-
siderations that are different from (or additional to)
those associated with monolingual aphasics.

Bilingualism and the Brain
In order to better understand how neurological inju-
ries may affect the linguistic abilities of individuals
who speak more than one language, it is important to
consider how multiple languages may be organized in
the brain. Traditionally, the debate has been centered
on ‘language laterality’ or ‘hemispheric specializa-
tion’; that is, whether one side of the brain (the left
side) is mostly responsible for both languages, wheth-
er the right hemisphere contributes in the case of
bilinguals more so than in monolinguals, and whether
one hemisphere contributes mostly to only one lan-
guage (Paradis, 1990). Although the issue of laterality
has some bearing on predicting the presence or ab-
sence of aphasia as a result of brain injury, it only
considers the brain in very gross neuroanatomic terms
(i.e., left and right hemispheres). Recently, the precise
neuroanatomic circuits within and across cerebral
hemispheres have been considered, as have other
structures in the nervous system, along with factors
such as language use, age of acquisition, proficiency,
and level and medium of exposure, which potentially
have more extensive clinical implications. Recent
neuroimaging studies, although involving only isola-
ted linguistic tasks, suggest that attained proficiency
and the age of language acquisition may be deter-
mining factors in whether the two languages are
subserved by the same neural circuits. Wong et al.
(2005) found that even though both native
Mandarin-speaking and English-speaking adults
(who do not speak Mandarin) were able to discrimi-
nate Mandarin lexical tone patterns, a feature of the
Mandarin language, the two groups used regions near
the inferior frontal gyrus but in opposite hemispheres
when doing so, presumably due to their
corresponding attained proficiency or lack thereof in
Mandarin.
Kim et al. (1997) found that early but not late
bilinguals showed spatially overlapping brain activa-
tions in the left inferior frontal gyrus associated with
sentence generation in first (L1) and second (L2) lan-
guages. Late bilinguals also showed activation in the
left inferior frontal gyrus, but the centers of activation
were further apart relative to the early bilinguals.
However, since early bilinguals tend to have a higher
level of proficiency in both languages, other studies
have suggested that attained proficiency might be the
most important factor in determining whether or not
the two languages are subserved by the same neural
circuit (Perani et al., 1998; for a review, see Abutalebi
et al., 2001). Converging evidence on brain and bilin-
gualism is being built and shows great promise for the
effective assessment and rehabilitation of bilingual
aphasics, especially when combined with existing
Bilingualism and Aphasia 13
knowledge in the neurobiology of monolingual
aphasia. For example, studies suggest that perilesional
areas may be recruited in aphasia recovery (Warburton
et al., 1999). If, as Kim et al. (1997) suggested, L1 and
L2 in late bilinguals (who likely speak L2 with rela-
tively low proficiency) are in the same gross neuro-
anatomic region but nonoverlapping, then one
language may be associated with the perilesional
areas, areas that surround the injured area, in certain
instances of brain injury (i.e., one language might be
more preserved). Consequently, relying on these
perilesional areas (and the less disrupted language) in
rehabilitation of these individuals might be more pro-
ductive than rehabilitation of their early bilingual or
even monolingual counterparts whose injury might
have caused disruption of all language(s) they speak.
It is important to note that although some ideas
have been proposed (Green and Price, 2001), little
evidence exists to support one rehabilitation strategy
over another in bilingual aphasia.
Types of Bilingual Aphasias and Patterns
of Recovery
Different types of bilingual aphasia, as well as differ-
ent patterns of recovery, have been reported, involv-
ing not only speaking and understanding speech but
also reading and writing (Streifler and Hofman,
1976). In addition to cases in which the two or
more languages are equally impaired, it has been
reported that some individuals showed selective
aphasia in which signs of aphasia were evident in
one language but not the other (Paradis & Goldblum,
1989). Differential aphasia has also been reported
where different types of aphasia were shown in dif-
ferent languages (Albert and Obler, 1978; Silverberg
and Gordon, 1979) – for example, conduction apha-
sia in one language and global aphasia in another.
In addition, some individuals showed involuntary
blending of grammatical elements (e.g., syntactic
and morphologic units) of two languages (Glonig &
Glonig, 1965; Perecman, 1984) – for example, com-
bining syllables of two languages, thus creating a new
word (Paradis, 1998). This is different from ‘code
switching,’ which involves the alternative use of two
or more languages in the same conversation (Milroy
and Myusken, 1995). Code switching can function to
convey emotional content, to emphasize or clarify the
references being made, and to quote (De Fina, 1989),
and it is considered to be an important aspect of
normal bilingual discourse in many communities
(Heller, 1995). Patterns of code switching were also
found to be different between bilingual aphasics and
normal individuals (De Santi et al., 1995; Muñoz
et al., 1999).
14 Bilingualism and Aphasia

It has been suggested that the degree and type of Bilingual Aphasia Assessment
linguistic impairments in bilingual aphasics may be
When evaluating a bilingual aphasic individual, vari-
specific to the structures of the language. For exam-
ous important issues warrant special considerations.
ple, it has been found that although Mandarin–
First, a ‘direct translation’ is not the same as cross-
Cantonese bilinguals showed impairment in the
language equivalency. Different languages have dif-
production of lexical tones (pitch patterns used to
ferent (nonoverlapping) grammatical structures and
contrast word meaning), a greater degree of deficit
vocabulary that can potentially influence how
was found in Cantonese production, possibly because
thoughts are expressed; consequently, certain linguis-
Cantonese contains six tonal contrasts, whereas
Mandarin contains only four (Lim and Douglas, tic impairments may or may not manifest themselves
depending on the language, as suggested previously
2000). In Friulian–Italian bilingual aphasics, the
in the Mandarin–Cantonese and Friulian–Italian
most frequently made errors in Friulian but not Ital-
bilingual cases. Furthermore, languages are used
ian involved the omission of the second obligatory
in different social and cultural contexts, resulting in
pronoun, which is a typical feature of Friulian but not
context-dependent interpretations even for the same
Italian (Fabbro and Frau, 2001). In other words, a
utterance. Second, because bilingual aphasics use the
type of linguistic impairment may not be apparent in
two or more languages in different social settings, and
one language because it does not occur as often (or at
all) in that language. This also reinforces the idea of because the two or more languages can be affected
and recovered differently, all languages the individ-
assessing multiple languages in bilingual aphasic
uals speak premorbidly need to be assessed in order to
individuals because impairments in one language do
gain a more complete picture of the aphasia. Third, in
not necessarily predict the same impairments in the
addition to any formal measures, a thorough case
other.
history detailing use and proficiency of each language
With regard to patterns of recovery, as well as
needs to be taken because it can potentially affect the
improvements in both languages in terms of compa-
rehabilitation process.
rable rate and extent (parallel recovery), individuals
show the following kinds of recovery: selective recov- Different formal/standardized test batteries are
available for assessing aphasics who speak different
ery, when only one language improves; successive
languages. These include tests that are originally con-
recovery, when one language improves before the
structed in English but then translated into other
other language; or differential recovery, when one
languages with considerations of the appropriate
language improves more so than the other. Most
linguistic and cultural contexts and/or normative
interestingly, some individuals show antagonistic
data for the specific groups. For example, there is a
recovery, namely improvement in one language but
Cantonese version of the Western Aphasia Battery
deterioration in another (Paradis and Goldblum,
1989). Some even demonstrate alternating antago- (Yiu, 1992), a Spanish version of the Boston Naming
Test (Taussig et al., 1992), and a Japanese version
nism, in which the improvement–deterioration pat-
of the Communication Abilities in Daily Living
tern of the two languages alternates (Paradis et al.,
(Sasanuma, 1991). In addition, there are also tests
1982). It has also been reported that some individuals
designed for assessing bilingual individuals, including
showed paradoxical recovery, namely when the
the Bilingual Aphasia Test developed by Paradis and
patient recovered a ‘dead’ language – that is, a lan-
colleagues for more than 65 languages and 170
guage the individual once had some knowledge of
specific language-pair combinations [e.g., an Urdu
but had never used it premorbidly for ordinary
communicative purposes. For example, Grasset version (Paradis and Janjua, 1987) and a Bulgarian–
French version (Paradis and Parcehian, 1991)] and
(1884) reported a case of a monolingual French-
the Multilingual Aphasia Examination in Chinese,
speaking Catholic woman who started to speak
French, German, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish
single Latin words and prayers (the language of the
(Rey and Benton, 1991).
church) a few days following a left-hemisphere stroke
but was unable to speak French. It is worth noting
that it is not known what single factor influences
Rehabilitation
the pattern of recovery (Paradis, 1998). For example,
it is not always the case that the language spoken Traditional approaches employed in aphasia rehabili-
most proficiently premorbidly will be the language tation still apply to rehabilitating bilingual
affected the most or the least by brain injury or the aphasic individuals, such as language stimulation ap-
language that will be recovered first. proaches that emphasize individual linguistic units

and processes such as grammar and naming, as well
as compensatory approaches that target the indivi-
dual’s participation in vocational and social settings
despite linguistic impairments. However, additional
challenges exist when more than two languages are
present. For example, should rehabilitation focus on
one or two languages? If one, which one? No one set
of widely accepted guidelines exists for selecting one
or all languages in aphasia rehabilitation, and evi-
dence and arguments exist for either consideration
(Bond, 1984; Chlenov, 1948; Linke, 1979; Wald,
1958). Similarly, it is still unclear whether skills ac-
quired from the rehabilitation of one language can be
transferred to another. Evidence suggests that skill
transfer across affected languages may be optimal if
the languages are closely related (e.g., Spanish and
Italian) (Paradis, 1998). As stated previously, differ-
ent individuals use their multiple languages in differ-
ent social and vocational settings. In rehabilitation,
the affected individual and her or his family should be
counseled to consider the preponderating need of one
language over another. For example, the social penal-
ty of linguistic impairments in English may be greater
for Spanish–English bilinguals whose immediate
peers are English-speaking, even though Spanish
might be the more proficient language.
Conclusion
Basic knowledge of how multiple languages are
represented in the brain and what factors influence
representation undoubtedly have bearing on the
clinical process. Moreover, careful documentation of
linguistic impairment characteristics and the course
of recovery in the two languages can also inform us
about how the brain is organized. With increasing
interaction between individuals from diverse linguis-
tic and cultural backgrounds, due to factors such as
immigration, globalization, and state unionization,
the number and proportion of individuals who
know and use more than one language will most
likely increase. The clinical population as well as
clinical needs will likewise increase. Thus, a greater
basic and clinical understanding of bilingualism and
the brain is warranted.
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Bilingualism and Second Language Learning
T K Bhatia, Syracuse University, Syracuse, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
There is a widespread perception in monolingual
societies, particularly in the United States, that bilin-
gualism is a rare and exceptional occurrence in com-
munication. By contrast, from a global perspective,
bilingualism is a world-wide phenomenon. In fact,
global communication is often carried out through
a speaker’s second, third, or even fourth language.
According to David Crystal (1997) approximately
two-thirds of the world’s children grow up in a bilin-
gual environment which, in turn, leads to adult
bilingualism/multilingualism. However, childhood bi-
lingualism is not the only reason for adult bilingual-
ism. A host of different factors (such as marriage,
religion, education, linguistic plurality of a particular
region, migration, jobs, government policies, urbani-
zation, etc.) also lead to adult bilingualism. How,
then, do humans become bilingual? Is adult second-
language learning different from child-language
learning? Is bilingual-language acquisition different
from monolingual-language acquisition? Is early bi-
from the Asian-Pacific region. San Diego: Academic
Press.
Silverberg R & Gordon H (1979). ‘Different aphasia in two
bilingual individuals.’ Neurology 29, 51–55.
Streifler M & Hofman S (1976). ‘Sinistrad mirror writing
and reading after brain concussion in a by-systemic
(oriento-occidental) polyglot.’ Cortex 12, 356–364.
Taussig I, Henderson V & Mack W (1988). Spanish trans-
lation and validation of a neuropsychological battery:
performance of Spanish- and English-speaking Alzhei-
mer’s disease patients and normal comparison subjects.
Paper presented at the meeting of the Gerontological
Society of America, San Francisco.
Wald I (1968). Problema afazii poliglotov. Voprosy Kliniki I
Patofiziologii Afazii. 140–176.
Warburton E, Price C & Swinburn K (1999). ‘Mechanisms
of recovery from aphasia: evidence from positron
emission tomography studies. Journal of Neurology,
Neurosurgery, and Psychiatry 66, 155–161.
Wong P C M, Parsons L M, Martinez M & Diehl R L
(2004). ‘The role of the insula cortex in pitch pattern
perception: the effect of linguistic contexts.’ Journal of
Neuroscience 24, 9153–9160.
Yiu E M-L (1992). ‘Linguistic assessment of Chinese-
speaking aphasics: development of a Cantonese aphasia
battery.’ Journal of Neurolinguistics 7, 379–424.
lingualism different from late bilingualism? Does sec-
ond language learning have adverse cognitive effects
on children? And how are two (or more) languages
represented in the brain? This chapter attempts to
answer these and other questions concerning bilingual
language learning and use.
Key Concepts
Before discussing language development among bilin-
guals, it is crucial to give an overview of key funda-
mental concepts concerning language development in
children and adults. Also, it should be mentioned that
the term ‘second language learning’ is used in a wider
sense to include the learning of any additional lan-
guage during a period ranging from childhood to
adulthood. An additional language may be a lan-
guage of the country or spoken outside the country
(i.e. foreign language).
Acquisition vs. Learning
A child’s process of learning languages is different
from an adult’s process. A child can learn any lan-
guage relatively effortlessly, while the same task
becomes rather challenging for adults. For this rea-
son, some second language researchers (Krashen,
16 Bilingualism and Aphasia
Paradis M (1990). ‘Language lateralization in bilinguals:
enough already!’ Brain and Language 39, 576–586.
Paradis M (1998). ‘Acquired aphasia in bilingual speakers.’
In Sarno M (ed.) Acquired aphasia, 3rd edn. New York:
Academic Press. 531–549.
Paradis M & Goldblum M (1989). ‘Selective crossed apha-
sia followed by reciprocal antagonism in a trilingual
patient.’ Brain and Language 15, 55–69.
Paradis M, Goldblum M & Abidi R (1982). ‘Alternate
antagonism with paradoxical translation behavior in
two bilingual aphasic patients.’ Brain and Language 15,
55–69.
Paradis M & Janjua N (1998). Bilingual Aphasia Test
(Urdu version). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Paradis M & Parcehian P (1991). Bilingual Aphasia Test
(Bilingual-French version). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence
Erlbaum.
Perani D, Paulesu E, Galles N S et al. (1998). ‘The bilingual
brain. Proficiency and age of acquisition of the second
language.’ Brain and Language 121(10), 1841–1852.
Perecman E (1984). ‘Spontaneous translation and language
mixing in a polygot aphasic.’Brain and Language 2, 43–63.
Rey G & Benton A (1991). Examen de afasia multilingue:
manual de intrucciones. Iowa City, IA: AJA Associates.
Sasanuma S (1991). ‘Aphasia rehabilitation in Japan.’ In
Sarno M & Woods D (eds.) Aphasia rehabilitation: views
Bilingualism and Second Language Learning
T K Bhatia, Syracuse University, Syracuse, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
There is a widespread perception in monolingual
societies, particularly in the United States, that bilin-
gualism is a rare and exceptional occurrence in com-
munication. By contrast, from a global perspective,
bilingualism is a world-wide phenomenon. In fact,
global communication is often carried out through
a speaker’s second, third, or even fourth language.
According to David Crystal (1997) approximately
two-thirds of the world’s children grow up in a bilin-
gual environment which, in turn, leads to adult
bilingualism/multilingualism. However, childhood bi-
lingualism is not the only reason for adult bilingual-
ism. A host of different factors (such as marriage,
religion, education, linguistic plurality of a particular
region, migration, jobs, government policies, urbani-
zation, etc.) also lead to adult bilingualism. How,
then, do humans become bilingual? Is adult second-
language learning different from child-language
learning? Is bilingual-language acquisition different
from monolingual-language acquisition? Is early bi-
from the Asian-Pacific region. San Diego: Academic
Press.
Silverberg R & Gordon H (1979). ‘Different aphasia in two
bilingual individuals.’ Neurology 29, 51–55.
Streifler M & Hofman S (1976). ‘Sinistrad mirror writing
and reading after brain concussion in a by-systemic
(oriento-occidental) polyglot.’ Cortex 12, 356–364.
Taussig I, Henderson V & Mack W (1988). Spanish trans-
lation and validation of a neuropsychological battery:
performance of Spanish- and English-speaking Alzhei-
mer’s disease patients and normal comparison subjects.
Paper presented at the meeting of the Gerontological
Society of America, San Francisco.
Wald I (1968). Problema afazii poliglotov. Voprosy Kliniki I
Patofiziologii Afazii. 140–176.
Warburton E, Price C & Swinburn K (1999). ‘Mechanisms
of recovery from aphasia: evidence from positron
emission tomography studies. Journal of Neurology,
Neurosurgery, and Psychiatry 66, 155–161.
Wong P C M, Parsons L M, Martinez M & Diehl R L
(2004). ‘The role of the insula cortex in pitch pattern
perception: the effect of linguistic contexts.’ Journal of
Neuroscience 24, 9153–9160.
Yiu E M-L (1992). ‘Linguistic assessment of Chinese-
speaking aphasics: development of a Cantonese aphasia
battery.’ Journal of Neurolinguistics 7, 379–424.
lingualism different from late bilingualism? Does sec-
ond language learning have adverse cognitive effects
on children? And how are two (or more) languages
represented in the brain? This chapter attempts to
answer these and other questions concerning bilingual
language learning and use.
Key Concepts
Before discussing language development among bilin-
guals, it is crucial to give an overview of key funda-
mental concepts concerning language development in
children and adults. Also, it should be mentioned that
the term ‘second language learning’ is used in a wider
sense to include the learning of any additional lan-
guage during a period ranging from childhood to
adulthood. An additional language may be a lan-
guage of the country or spoken outside the country
(i.e. foreign language).
Acquisition vs. Learning
A child’s process of learning languages is different
from an adult’s process. A child can learn any lan-
guage relatively effortlessly, while the same task
becomes rather challenging for adults. For this rea-
son, some second language researchers (Krashen,

1985) distinguish between two types of mechanisms
in language development: a subconscious process
resulting in tacit knowledge of the language (i.e.,
‘language acquisition’), and a more conscious process
(i.e., ‘language learning’). While children go through
the former process, adults undergo the latter in their
quest to become bilingual.
The Critical Period Hypothesis and Its
Biological Basis
In addition to degree of effort, it has been frequently
observed that even very proficient bilinguals fall short
of being perfect bilinguals. In spite of the complete
mastery of syntax, their speech is marked by traces of
the first language accent. Similarly, it is also shown
that in spite of considerable effort and motivation, the
ultimate attainment of some grammatical structures
by adults is seldom achieved. To explain these and
other differences in language acquisition and recovery
from aphasia Lenneberg (1967) proposed the ‘‘critical
period hypothesis,’’ which is sensitive to age. This
hypothesis claims that there is a period in the matura-
tion of human organism, lasting from two years to
puberty, in which nearly effortless and complete
language acquisition is possible. Afterwards, this
hypothesis notes, language learning requires more
effort and motivation, largely because of a loss of
brain plasticity resulting in the completion of the
lateralization of the language function in the left
hemisphere. Recent research claims have additionally
shown that there are different critical periods for
different grammatical structures of language. Since
the accent (phonetics and phonology) of a second
language is the most difficult to attain, the critical
period for phonetics and phonology (approximately
from five to seven years) is earlier than that for
morphology and syntax. See Johnson and Newport
(1991) and Bhatia and Ritchie (1999) for details.
Access to Universal Grammar (UG)
Children are born to acquire human languages. Re-
gardless of gender, race, ethnicity, or nationality,
every normal child is capable at birth of acquiring
any human language. In theoretical studies following
from the Chomskyan mentalistic framework, this in-
nate ability is termed the access to universal grammar
(UG). In this case, a child has full access to universal
grammar, whereas an adult has either limited or no
access. These and other universal principles of gram-
matical structures and principles of learning largely
lead a child’s language development. The role of pa-
rental input then becomes to trigger an appropriate
value for innately given or set parameters, specific to
the language to which the child is exposed. One such
parameter, called the ‘head parameter,’ describes
Bilingualism and Second Language Learning 17
how a child does not have to even learn the specific
word order of his/her language, but only has to
choose between already specified values – head-
initial or head-final – based on the nature of the
input language. Children begin to learn to set para-
metric values even from the one-word stage.
A Japanese child learns to choose the head-final sys-
tem, whereas an English-speaking child chooses the
head-initial value. These principles are generally
refereed to as a child’s language acquisition device
(LAD).
Input and Learning Environment: Natural vs.
Unnatural Settings
Usually children become bilinguals or multilingual in
a natural way. A normal child can become a fluent
bilingual by the age of five, for instance, without any
formal training. In the process of acquiring a lan-
guage, the role of input (motherese, etc.) or imitation
is important but limited. Children do not learn a
language by mindlessly imitating the input provided
by mothers or caretakers. That is, while the role of
parental input cannot be ruled out, language acquisi-
tion studies show that neither motherese nor imita-
tion plays a significant role in a child’s language
development. Instead, this burden is carried by the
child himself/herself. Research on child-language ac-
quisition reveals that the child learns the language by
using the ‘rule formulation strategy.’ For instance, an
English-speaking child learns on his/her own that by
the addition of the inflection ‘-ed’ to a verbal stem,
one generates the corresponding past tense form of
the verb. In this process, the child over-generalizes
and produces utterances such as ‘I go-ed’ [go-PAST].
Even after being corrected [i.e. provided negative
evidence] by the mother or caretaker that the child
meant ‘I went’ [go.PAST], the child still does not
reject the rule s/he has formulated in his or her mind
and which s/he still produces in utterances such as ‘I
went-ed’ [go.PAST-PAST]. The role of the adult is
thus to prevent the child’s grammar from overgener-
alization. In other words, the child has an innate
capacity to acquire languages in an environment
which is termed a ‘natural’ environment, whereas,
by contrast, adults and school-age children learn lan-
guage in formal settings such as schools and colleges
through a formal instructional method.
Defining and Measuring Bilingualism
What is bilingualism and who is bilingual? Defining
and measuring bilingualism is a very complex task
due to the number and types of input conditions,
biological, socio-psychological, and other non-
linguistic factors that can lead to a varying degree
18 Bilingualism and Second Language Learning
of bilingual competencies. In short, there is no
widely-accepted definition or measures of bilinguals.
Instead, a rich range of scales, dichotomies, and
categories are employed to characterize bilinguals. If
a bilingual can understand but cannot speak a second
language, such an individual is called a receptive
bilingual, whereas a productive bilingual demon-
strates a spoken proficiency in two languages. If
the second language is acquired in a natural setting
before the age of five that individual is termed
an early bilingual, in contrast with a late bilingual
who learns his second language after the age of five
either in home or in schools. Labels such as fluent vs.
non-fluent, functional vs. non-functional, balanced
vs. unbalanced, primary vs. secondary, and partial
vs. complete refer, either to a varying command in
different types of language proficiency (e.g., spoken,
listening, writing, etc.), or an asymmetrical relation-
ship (dominance) between two languages. A com-
pound vs. coordinate bilingual refers to the way two
languages are processed in the brain. The list is by no
means exhaustive. Other major distinctions such
as simultaneous vs. sequential are discussed in the
next section. Similarly, bilingualism can be viewed
from individual, societal (attitudes towards bilingual-
ism), and political (i.e., government policies toward
bilingualism) perspectives.
In general, a bilingual person demonstrates many
complex attributes rarely seen in a monolingual per-
son. For that reason, a bilingual is not equivalent to
two monolinguals, but something entirely different.
This working definition of bilingualism is offered by
Bloomfield (1933), who claimed that a bilingual is
one who has a native-like control of two languages,
i.e., a balanced bilingual (see Grosjean 1982 or
Edwards, 2004 for more details).
Patterns and Mechanisms in Bilinglual
Language Development
Providing either a natural environment or inputs in
monolingual/dominant language speech communities
is not a challenging task. The same is also true for
those societies where social and political systems are
conducive to bilingualism. For instance, in India,
where bilingualism is viewed as natural, approved
by society, and further nurtured by government lan-
guage policies, linguistic groups and communities do
not need to take any special measures to assure that
their children receive input from two languages. In
sharp contrast, in societies where bilingualism is not
valued or where the language of a minority is distinct,
it becomes imperative for families to plan meaningful
strategies to ensure the smooth exposure to the family
language. One such strategy that families employ in
this second setting, described by Bhatia and Ritchie
(1999) as ‘‘discourse allocation,’’ restricts the use of
one language to one social agent or social setting and
the other language to other social situations. The
various manifestations of such strategies are the fol-
lowing: (a) one-parent/one-language (e.g., the child’s
mother speaks one language and, the child’s father
speaks the other. This strategy was employed by
Leopold (1939–1949) in his classic study of bilingual
language development of his daughter, Hildegard;
(b) one-place/one-language (e.g. speaking one lan-
guage in the kitchen and the other elsewhere); (c) a
language/time approach; and (d) a topic-related ap-
proach. Although the discourse allocation approach
is better than providing no input and thus raising a
monolingual child, it leads to different patterns in
bilingual language development than developing bi-
lingualism in a natural setting. For instance, during
the early stages of Hildegard’s bilingualism, she de-
veloped a rule that fathers speak German and
mothers speak in English.
Childhood Bilingualism
Other factors such as age and amount of exposure to
the two languages also result in differences in the
pattern of childhood bilingualism. The distinction
between simultaneous and sequential bilinguals in
research on bilingual language acquisition is based
on age and the degree of exposure to two languages.
When the child is exposed to two languages to more
or less the same degree from birth onward, the pat-
tern of language development is referred to as simul-
taneous, whereas sequential bilingualism describes
the attainment of one language first and the second
language later, preferably before the age of seven.
Similarly, the term late bilingual is used for those
sequential bilinguals who acquire their second lan-
guage at a relatively younger age than adults learning
a second language. Although there is unanimous
agreement among researchers about the validity of
the simultaneous and sequential bilinguals, there is
no consensus among scholars about the exact line of
demarcation between the two. See McLaughlin
(1984) and De Houwer (1995) for either theoretical
or methodological grounds.
One of the most intriguing aspects of the childhood
bilingualism is how children learn to separate the two
languages, particularly in a natural setting (i.e., a
simultaneous bilingual) in initial stages. After all,
when parents provide input, they do not tag or
prime their input with a language identification
label. Even if parents go to the absurd length of
identifying the language of each word or sentence
they use, these labels are semantically empty for

children. Furthermore, bilingual parents unwittingly
make the task of separating the two languages even
harder for children because of their normal tendency
to mix two languages. In short, a child is provided
with three distinct types of linguistic inputs: two lan-
guages, each in an unmixed/pure form, and one with
a mixture of two languages. Given this state of affairs,
how does the child learn to separate the two lan-
guages in question? This task is not challenging for
a monolingual child because only one language serves
as a source of input. The two hypotheses which at-
tempt to shed light on this question are the unitary
system hypothesis and the dual system hypothesis.
According the unitary system hypothesis (Volterra
and Taeschner, 1978), the child undergoes three
stages before s/he is able to separate two input lan-
guages. During the first two stages, the child experi-
ences confusion. During the first stage, s/he is unable
to distinguish the two lexicons and grammars of the
linguistic systems. At this stage, they have a single
lexicon made up of items drawn from the lexicons
of both languages. Hence, no translational equiva-
lents or synonyms are found in their vocabulary.
Volterra and Taeschner claim that their two bilingual
subjects at the ages of 1 year 10 months and 1 year
6 months had a hybrid list of 137 words with no
translational equivalents. During the second stage,
the child slowly learns to separate the two lexicons,
but is still unable to separate the grammatical sys-
tems. Cross-linguistic synonyms emerge, but the child
applies the same set of syntactic rules to both lan-
guages. It is only during the third stage that the child
becomes capable of separating the two sets of voca-
bularies and grammars. Findings of recent research
reveal that the unitary system hypothesis cannot sus-
tain the scrutiny of the succeeding research and the
evidence motivating the three stages of bilingual lan-
guage development is full of shortcomings and con-
tradictions both on methodological and empirical
grounds.
The dual system hypothesis states that bilingual
children, based on their access to Universal Grammar
and language specific parameter setting, have the
capacity of separating the two grammars and lexical
systems right from the beginning. A wide variety of
cross-linguistic studies (e.g., different input condi-
tions – one parent/one language and mixed input
condition; and different word order types) lends sup-
port to this hypothesis. For instance, in a study
devoted to the language development of a Hindi-
English bilingual child, it is clear that at age 2, the
child is capable of developing two distinct lexicons
using a syllabification strategy. At the age of 1 year 7
months, two different word orders develop – SVO
[subject-verb-object] for English and SOV for Hindi.
Bilingualism and Second Language Learning 19
For a more detailed treatment of the shortcomings of
the unitary system hypothesis and the strengths of the
dual system hypothesis, see Bhatia and Ritchie 1999:
591–614.
Another fascinating feature of bilingual speech is
that, not only are bilinguals capable of keeping the
two linguistic systems separate, but they often mix
them either within a sentence or inter-sententially.
This behavior is often termed ‘code-mixing’ or ‘code-
switching’ in sociolinguistic literature. Depending
upon the theoretical and empirical objectives of their
research, some researchers do not distinguish
between the two terms and use them interchangeably;
for those researchers who distinguish between the
two, the code-mixing refers to intra-sentential mixing
while the term code-switching refers to the intersen-
tential mixing in bilinguals. Both bilingual children
as well as adults show this behavior. What explains
this behavior of language mixing? Earlier research
attempted to explain it in terms of the language defi-
ciency hypothesis: it was claimed that bilinguals in
general and children in particular have language gaps.
As claimed by the unitary system hypothesis the lack
of synonyms compels them to mix the two lexical
systems during stage I. Similarly, stage II yields the
mixing of two language systems due to confusion. In
other words, the lack of proficiency in either one
language (i.e., the absence of balanced bilingualism)
or both languages (i.e., semi-bilingualism) leads to
mixing.
The language augmentation hypothesis is capable
of offering deeper insights into the bilingual mixing
behavior. As it has been shown earlier in the discus-
sion of the dual system hypothesis, children do not go
through the initial stages of treating the two linguistic
systems as if they were one system, but begin to
distinguish them immediately. The consideration of
optimization leads bilinguals to mix language with an
aim to get maximum mileage from the two linguistic
systems at their disposal. An analogy drawn from the
beverage industry further explains this point. The
separation of juices (e.g., apple vs. orange juice) ren-
ders two distinct tastes. However, if one mixes the
two juices, the result is a new taste, a distinct from the
two pure juices. The same is true of bilingual lan-
guage mixing. Research on the linguistic and socio-
linguistic motivations for language mixing both in
children and adults shows that such considerations
as semantic domains and semantic complexity (an
item less complex or salient in one language), stylistic
effects, clarification, elaboration, relief strategy (i.e.,
a linguistic item is temporarily unavailable in one
language), interlocutor’s identification, discourse
strategies of participants/topics, addressee’s perceived
linguistic capability and speaker’s own linguistic
20 Bilingualism and Second Language Learning
ability, and other complex socio-psychological rea-
sons, such as attitudes, societal values, and personali-
ty, prompt bilinguals to mix two languages. The list
of motivations is by no means exhaustive (see Bhatia
and Ritchie, 1996, for more details).
Adult Bilingualism: Second Language Learning
In contrast to sequential childhood bilingualism,
adults who learn a second language after they have
learned their mother tongue experience the learning
of a second language as a laborious and conscious
task. As pointed out earlier, unlike children who are
able to universally and uniformly acquire native com-
petency in their mother tongue, adults rarely achieve
native-like competency in their second language.
Depending on the level of their motivation and hard
work, adults can learn a second language with vary-
ing degrees of competence. However, there comes a
point during the second language learning that even
the most talented learner cannot bypass the stage of
‘fossilization.’ This stage is marked with second lan-
guage errors which no amount of training can cor-
rect. For these reasons, second language (L2) learning
is viewed as fundamentally different from first lan-
guage (L1) acquisition. The hypothesis which aims at
accounting for these differences between the child
and the adult language is termed the fundamental
difference hypothesis.
In spite of the asymmetrical relation between L1
and L2 learning, one should not draw a conclusion
that there is nothing in common between the two.
What is common between L1 and L2 learners is that
both undergo stages of language development. In
other words, like L1 learners, in the process of gram-
mar construction, L2 learners undergo stages of
development: the intermediate stages of grammar
development between the initial stage and the ulti-
mate stage are termed interlanguage grammars. Take
the case of the development of negation in English L1
and L2 learners. The grammar of negation in L2
learners of English shows the same stages of develop-
ment as in L1 English learners – Stage I: the sentence-
initial placement of negation; Stage II: preverbal
placement of negation with no auxiliary verb; and
Stage III: preverbal placement of negation with an
appropriate auxiliary verb.
Native Language Influence and Dominance
An important way in which L2 learning is different
from L1 learning is the influence of the mother tongue
on second-language learning. The mother tongue or
L1 plays an important role in the process of L2 acqui-
sition. Research on grammatical errors of L2 shows
that L2 learners transfer the grammatical rules –
phonetic, phonological, morphological, and syntactic
rules – of L1 to their second language. An English-
speaking learner of Hindi has difficulties in hearing
and producing a four-way contrast between Hindi
aspiration and voicing contrast (i.e., unvoiced unas-
pirates, unvoiced aspirates, voiced unaspirates, and
voiced aspirates).
It would be a gross simplification to claim that L2
learners transfer all grammatical features of L1 to L2.
Adult learners possess a relatively higher level of logi-
cal and cognitive ability than do children; therefore,
these qualities color their second language learning.
For instance, English-speaking learners of Hindi will
not translate there in these sentences:
1. There is a chair in the room
2. The chair is over there
in an identical way (i.e. by choosing the remote loca-
tive adverb in both cases). Similarly, it would be an
oversimplification to claim that childhood bilingual-
ism is free from the dominance relationship between
the two languages. Not only does the mother tongue
influence second language acquisition in children, it
also affects their school achievement.
Approaches to Second Language Learning
In adult language acquisition research, the term sec-
ond language is used in a wider sense to include both
the acquisition of a second language which may or
may not be foreign to a country. However, in the
context of language teaching the distinction between
the two is made to highlight major differences in the
learning aims, teaching methods, and the achieve-
ment levels to be attained.
A number of approaches have been developed to
facilitate the learning of second/foreign languages.
Some of the following are notable:
1. Grammar-translation method: Following the tra-
dition of teaching classical languages such as
Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit, this method places
emphasis on memorization and rote learning.
Learners memorize nominal and verbal paradigms
of the second language and translate L1 into L2 or
vice versa. Very little emphasis is placed on devel-
oping spoken proficiency in the foreign language,
while reading and written comprehension receives
overwhelming importance. This method is per-
haps the oldest method of language teaching
which dates back to the 19th century.
2. The direct method: Also known as oral or natural
methods, it departs from the grammar-translation
method in three important respects: one, memori-
zation receives a back seat in the learning of the
second language; two, special emphasis is placed
on acquiring spoken and listening competencies;

and three, the introduction of the target language
is free from any reference to the native lan-
guage of learners. Native language is never used
as a tool to explain either grammar or other intri-
cacies of the target language usage. This model
attempts to simulate the native speaker environ-
ment of the target language. However, in actual
practice there are severe constraints on replicating
the natural setting of the native speaker’s learning
environment in an actual classroom setting.
3. The audio-lingual method is a byproduct of World
War II during which the United States experienced
an urgent need to quickly train its troops in foreign
languages for overseas military operations. An em-
phasis is placed on spoken and listening compe-
tencies, rather than on written ones.
4. The structural method: In order to speed up the
acquisition of foreign languages, insights of struc-
tural linguistics were applied to language teaching.
This method exposes learners to different structur-
al patterns and transformation drills.
Audio-lingual structural models assume that L2 is
acquired through imitation. The discussion in the key
concept section shows the limitation of this model.
A number of other methods such as the natural ap-
proach and ‘suggestopedia’ have been proposed, but
the fact remains that no method has a grip on the
complexity involving learning a second language.
Bilingual Education: Additive vs.
Subtractive Bilingualism
Teaching children a school language, particularly if
the school language is different from the child’s home
language, is one of the major challenges for bilingual
education programs. Bilingual education programs in
America aim at minority students learning English.
Such programs have attracted a great deal of contro-
versy on the basis of their merit and outcome. While
there is rapid growth of bilingual education programs
in the United States, the aim of such programs is not
always to introduce additive bilingualism which
ensures the maintenance of the child mother tongue,
while learning the school/dominant language. A large
number of bilingual education programs in the United
States aim at subtractive bilingualism. In other words,
while they offer children a transition to learning the
school/majority language, in that process they do not
ensure the maintenance of the child’s mother tongue.
In contrast, the language policies of bilingual
nations such as India, Canada, and Switzerland are
very conducive to the promotion of language rights
for minority languages. The government of India,
for instance, favors the advancement of linguistic
Bilingualism and Second Language Learning 21
diversity and pluralism by the introduction of the
Three Language Formula, which calls for trilingual-
ism in education. In addition to learning two national
languages, Hindi and English, students are expected
to learn a third language beyond their native tongue.
For example, in northern India, students are expected
to learn one of the four Dravidian languages (Tamil,
Telugu, Kannada, and Malayalam) from southern
India.
While bi- or multi-lingual education programs like
India’s do not view bilingualism in general and the
maintenance of minority languages in particular as a
threat to national integration, this is not the case with
bilingual education in the United States. U.S. educa-
tional policies are not conducive to linguistic and
cultural diversity.
A notable feature of the Canadian bilingual educa-
tion program is termed the language immersion pro-
gram. Introduced in the 1960s in Quebec, the
program was introduced at the request of the En-
glish-speaking minority to provide their children a
high level of proficiency in schools in the dominant
language of the region, French. Children were im-
mersed in schools in the second language of students
(i.e., French) in which children used their mother
tongue to communicate with a bilingual teacher
who would reply in French. This process leads chil-
dren from what Cummins (1981) calls basic interper-
sonal communication skills (BICS) proficiency to
cognitive-academic language proficiency (CALP) in
the school language. BICS refer to the language profi-
ciency level of students with restricted vocabulary
and simpler syntax, whereas CALP requires a type
of proficiency suitable for academic pursuits – a de-
veloped vocabulary and sufficiently complex syntax
suited for abstract and analytical thinking. The suc-
cess of the Canadian language immersion model con-
tinues to generate enthusiasm and controversy in
bilingual education in the United States.
Socio-Psychological Factors
Successful language learning not only depends on
teaching methods but also on learners’ motivation,
intelligence, opportunities, and other factors, such as
their attitude toward the target language and culture.
Keeping in mind the motivation and the learners’
attitudes, there are two types of learners: instrumen-
tal and integrative learners. Instrumental learners,
who learn a language for the purpose of gaining
external rewards (monitory gains, good jobs, etc.),
however, tend to be less successful learners than
integrative learners, who have a positive attitude
toward the culture of the target language. Psycholog-
ical factors such as the affective filter (Krashen, 1985)
22 Bilingualism and Second Language Learning
either inhibit or promote the learning of a second
language: negative influences such as anxiety, lack
of self-confidence, and inadequate motivation can
create serious obstacles to successful language learn-
ing. Due to a lack of self-esteem and a higher level of
performance anxiety, minority children tend to raise
the affective filter, which results in the reduction of
comprehensible input. Consequently, it takes a toll on
their progress in language acquisition. Similarly, since
adults show more self-consciousness than children,
they put themselves in a disadvantageous position in
terms of language acquisition.
Effects of Bilingualism
Does bilingualism have an adverse linguistic and cog-
nitive effect, particularly on children? Earlier research
in the United States pointed out that exposing chil-
dren to more than one language during their child-
hood leads them to semi-bilingualism and confusion.
Crowding their brain with two or more languages,
this research suggested, not only leads children to
linguistic deficiency, both in competence and perfor-
mance levels (semi-lingualism, stuttering, etc.), but
also to a wide variety of cognitive and psychological
impairments such as low intelligence, mental retarda-
tion, left-handedness, and even schizophrenia.
Research by Peal and Lambert (1962), however,
put to rest such a negative view of bilingualism:
their findings and the work of succeeding researchers
provide ample evidence that these negative conclu-
sions of earlier research were premature, misguided
(biased toward immigrant communities), and unnec-
essarily pessimistic. Solid on methodological grounds,
Peal and Lambert’s study revealed a positive view of
bilingualism, including the conclusion that bilingual
children demonstrate more cognitive flexibility than
monolinguals. Contrary to previous studies, bilinguals
performed better than monolinguals in both verbal
and non-verbal measures. The study, which was con-
ducted in Montreal, was revolutionary in its own right,
changing the face of research on bilingualism forever
(see Hakuta, 1985: Chap. 2 for details). This study has
been replicated in a number of countries confirming
the positive effects of bilingualism.
Conclusions
A number of diverse and complex conditions and
factors lead to life-long bilingualism. These factors –
biological, social, psychological, and linguistic –
account for a varied pattern amongst bilinguals,
witnessed around the world. Thus, a bilingual is
neither two monolinguals in the brain, nor are two
bilinguals clones of each other. These complexities
indicate why no theory of language learning and/or
teaching is capable of explaining bilingual verbal
behavior and the mechanisms leading to bilingual
language development.
See also: Bilingualism; Bilingual Education; Bilingual Lan-
guage Development: Early Years; Code Switching and
Mixing; Foreign Language Teaching Policy; Interlan-
guage; Second and Foreign Language Learning and
Teaching; Second Language Acquisition: Phonology,
Morphology, Syntax.
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Binbinka See: Wambaya.
Binding Theory
A Asudeh, Carleton University, Ottawa, Canada
M Dalrymple, Oxford University, Oxford, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
What Is Binding?
Binding theory concerns syntactic restrictions on
nominal reference. It particularly focuses on the pos-
sible coreference relationships between a pronoun
and its antecedent (the nominal that a nondeictic
pronoun depends on for its reference). For instance,
in (1a) himself must refer to the same individual as he.
In contrast, in (1b) her cannot refer to the same indi-
vidual as she. Instead, the sentence must mean that
some person voted for some other person.
(1a) He voted for himself.
(1b) She voted for her.
Pronouns like himself or ourselves, which must
corefer with some other noun phrase in the sentence,
are called reflexive pronouns or reflexives. Pronouns
like she, her, and us are called nonreflexive pronouns.
Two nominal expressions that corefer, or refer to the
same individual or individuals, are annotated by iden-
tical subscripts; if two nominals do not corefer, they
are annotated with different subscripts:
(2a) Hei voted for himselfi.
(2b) Shei voted for herj.
In an example like Hei voted for himselfi, we say
that the reflexive pronoun himself is bound by he, and
that he is the binder of himself.
Reciprocals like each other and one another must
also be bound by a local antecedent and are grouped
in binding-theoretic terms with reflexives:
(3a) Theyi voted for each otheri.
(3b) * Ii voted for each otherj.
Reflexives and reciprocals are together called
anaphors.
Some major works on binding are Faltz (1977),
Wasow (1979), Chomsky (1981, 1986), Reinhart
(1983), Dalrymple (1993), Reinhart and Reuland
(1993), and Pollard and Sag (1994). Huang (2000)
contains a rich cross-linguistic survey of pronominal
systems. Büring (2004) provides a recent comprehen-
sive overview of the syntax and semantics of binding
and presents a new synthesis.
Binding Theory 23
Binding Conditions
Binding theory is typically stated in terms of con-
ditions that refer to three key aspects: the class of
nominal involved, the syntactic region that constitu-
tes the domain of binding, and a structural condition
on the syntactic relation between a nominal and its
potential binder.
Classes of Nominals
For the purposes of binding theory, nominals are tra-
ditionally partitioned into several classes, as shown
here:
(4)
The first major division is between pronouns and
nonpronouns. Pronouns are then further subdivided
into reflexives and reciprocals, which are collectively
referred to as ‘anaphors,’ and nonreflexive pronouns,
often simply called ‘pronominals’ or ‘pronouns’ (in
opposition to anaphors). We will here refer to non-
reflexive pronouns as ‘pronominals,’ reserving the
term ‘pronoun’ for the class that includes anaphors
and other pronouns. This yields three classes for the
purposes of binding theory: anaphors, pronominals,
and nonpronouns. Each class is governed by its own
binding condition.
Binding Domains
Traditional definitions of binding domains distinguish
local from nonlocal domains. Consider the following
sentence:
(5) Billi said that [Gonzoj voted for himself*i,j]
The reflexive himself must be bound in its local do-
main, here the subordinate clause Gonzo voted for
himself. The only appropriate binder in this domain
is Gonzo. The reflexive cannot be bound by the
higher subject Bill, which is outside the reflexive’s
local domain. This is indicated by placing the marker
of ungrammaticality (*) beside the illicit index.
A pronominal in the same position must not be
bound in its local domain:
24 Binding Theory
(6) Billi said that [Gonzoj voted for himi,*j]
The local domain for the pronominal is also the sub-
ordinate clause, and it cannot be bound in this do-
main. It can, however, be bound by the matrix
subject, which lies outside the local domain.
Command
Besides a syntactic domain condition, binding in-
volves the requirement that the binding nominal be
in a structurally dominant position. This required
relation between a pronoun and its binder is called
‘command’ and is defined in different ways in differ-
ent theories. The structural condition on binding
means that certain elements cannot be binders, even
if they fall within the correct syntactic domain:
(7) Gonzoi’s friendj voted for himself*i,j.
The entire subject Gonzo’s friend can bind the reflex-
ive, but the possessor Gonzo cannot, because the
possessor does not command the reflexive.
We have thus far seen that anaphors must be bound
within some local domain and that pronominals
cannot be bound within some local domain. Nonpro-
nouns cannot be bound in any domain, whether local
or nonlocal:
(8a) * Hei voted for Billi.
(8b) * Hei said that Gonzo voted for Billi.
(8c) When hei voted for George, Gonzoi was drunk.
In (8a) and (8b), the pronoun is in the proper struc-
tural relation to command the name. Since this results
in the nonpronoun being bound, the sentences are
ungrammatical on the indexation indicated. In (8c),
by contrast, the pronoun is not in the proper structur-
al relation to command the name, because the pro-
noun is too deeply embedded. Although the pronoun
and the name corefer, as indicated by the coindexa-
tion, there is no binding relation, and the sentence is
grammatical.
Bringing these ideas together, a typical statement of
binding conditions is as follows (based on Chomsky,
1981):
A. An anaphor (reflexive or reciprocal) must be
bound in its local domain.
B. A pronominal (nonreflexive pronoun) must not be
bound in its local domain.
C. A nonpronoun must not be bound.
Following Chomsky (1981), these binding principles
are often referred to as Principle A, the condition
on anaphors; Principle B, the condition on pronom-
inals; and Principle C, the condition on nonpronouns.
Principles A, B, and C are also called Conditions A,
B, and C.
Variation in Structural Relation
All versions of binding theory incorporate some notion
of structural domination or superiority as a component
of the binding relation. We referred to this relation
above as command. One commonly assumed version
of command is the tree-configurational relation of
c-command (Reinhart, 1983):
(9a) A c-commands B if and only if A does not
dominate B and the first branching node
dominating A also dominates B.
(9b)
In the tree in (9b), the first branching node dom-
inating A, labeled X, also dominates B, and A does
not dominate B. Therefore, A c-commands B. B does
not c-command A, because the first branching node
dominating B is Y, and Y does not dominate A.
Other tree-based definitions of command have
been proposed; in them, command is relativized to
nodes other than the first branching node. For exam-
ple, the similar relation of m-command makes refer-
ence to the first maximal projection dominating
A. Thus, in diagram (9b), A m-commands B if X is
a maximal projection (see X-Bar Theory). Notice also
that if X is a maximal projection and Y is not a
maximal projection, then B also m-commands
A because the first maximal projection dominating
B dominates A and B does not dominate A. Some
literature on binding continues to use the term
‘c-command’ but defines it as m-command.
Other theories define a command relation on lin-
guistic structures other than trees. In lexical functional
grammar (LFG), command is defined on f(unctional)-
structures, which represent predicates and their
adjuncts and subcategorized grammatical functions.
The command relation relevant for binding in LFG is
called ‘f-command’ and is defined as follows:
(10a) An f-structure A f-commands an f-structure B if
and only if A does not contain B and every
f-structure that contains A also contains B.
(10b)
In the f-structure in (10b), the f-structure labeled A
f-commands B: A does not contain B, and the
f-structure X that contains A also contains B. B does
not f-command A because there is an f-structure
Y that contains B but not A. Notice that in (10),
A and Y f-command each other, just as in a tree there

is mutual c-command between sisters. Since A can be
the subject and Y the object, we need an additional
principle to ensure that the subject binds the object
but not vice versa. Otherwise a perfectly grammatical
sentence like (11) would be a Principle B violation
because the object reflexive would bind the subject
pronominal.
(11) Hei injured himselfi.
Cases of mutual f-command like the above occur not
just between subjects and objects but among all coar-
guments of a given predicate. Such cases are handled
by an independently motivated relational hierarchy
of grammatical functions based on the notion of
obliqueness, in which the subject outranks the object,
which in turn outranks the other arguments.
In head-driven phrase structure grammar (HPSG),
grammatical functions are encoded on SUBCAT (subcat-
egorization) lists, which are ordered according to the
aforementioned obliqueness hierarchy: the subject is
the first member of SUBCAT, the object is the second,
and so on. Early work in HPSG defined a version of
command called o-command on the SUBCAT list,
in terms of this obliqueness relation. A simplified
definition of o-command follows:
(12a) A o-commands B if and only if A does not
contain B and A precedes B on a SUBCAT list,
or A o-commands X and X contains B.
(12b)
In the SUBCAT list in (12b), A o-commands B because
A o-commands X and X contains B. B does not
o-command A, on the other hand, because B does
not precede A on a SUBCAT list and B does not
o-command anything that contains A. The o-com-
mand relation in HPSG and LFG’s f-command rela-
tion are similar in that they are defined on structures
that encode grammatical functions. The two theories
are also similar in using the relational hierarchy to
define binding constraints.
More recent work in HPSG (Manning and Sag,
1999) defines binding on the ARG-ST (argument struc-
ture) list, a basic representation of argument structure,
rather than on SUBCAT. The ARG-ST version of
HPSG binding replaces o-command with a-com-
mand, where a-command can be defined by replacing
all mention of o-command in (12) with a-command
and all mention of SUBCAT with ARG-ST. To the extent
that ARG-ST encodes thematic relations like agent
(logical subject) and patient (logical object), the a-
command version of HPSG binding is related to
proposals that define the structural binding relation
Binding Theory 25
on a thematic hierarchy, such as Agent > Goal >
Theme (Jackendoff, 1972; Wilkins, 1988).
Variation in Binding Domain
Some theories assume that the local domain for the
anaphoric and pronominal binding conditions (Prin-
ciples A and B) is the same: anaphors are required
to be bound in exactly the same domains in which
pronouns are required not to be bound. For example,
Chomsky (1981) proposed that the local binding
domain for both anaphors and pronominals is the
governing category, where a governing category for
an element is the minimal domain containing a
subject and the head that selects the element. This
predicts that anaphors and pronominals are in com-
plementary distribution, a prediction that seems to
be borne out by examples like the following:
(13a) Gonzoi saw himselfi/*himi.
(13b) Gonzoi thought that George liked himi/
*himselfi.
Huang (1983) subsequently pointed out that the
prediction above is incorrect, based on examples like
the following:
(14a) Theyi saw each otheri’s pictures.
(14b) Theyi saw theiri pictures.
(15a) Theyi saw pictures of each otheri/themselvesi.
(15b) Theyi saw pictures of themi.
In (14) and (15), the anaphors and pronominals occur
in identical positions: there is no complementary dis-
tribution. Chomsky (1986) addressed this problem
by proposing that the local domain for anaphoric
and pronominal binding is the smallest domain in
which the binding constraint in question could
be satisfied. For the anaphoric cases in (14a) and
(15a), there is no possibility of satisfying Principle
A within the noun phrase that contains the anaphor.
Therefore, the anaphor’s local domain becomes the
domain of the containing NP; since the anaphors in
(14a) and (15a) are bound in this slightly larger do-
main, the sentences are grammatical. In contrast, the
local domain for the pronominals in (14b) and (15b)
is the smaller domain constituted by just the NP con-
taining the pronominal since Principle B is satisfiable
within this domain.
Although the English examples above are amenable
to a treatment along these lines, data from other
languages indicate that a unified notion of local bind-
ing domain for all anaphora is inadequate. Some
languages have several anaphors, each with a differ-
ent local domain. Consider the two Norwegian
reflexives seg and seg selv:
26 Binding Theory
(16a) Joni fortalte meg om seg selvi /*segi
J. told me about self
‘Jon told me about himself.’
(16b) Joni hørte oss snakke om segi /*seg selvi
J. heard us talk about self
‘Jon heard us talk about him.’
Based on data like the above, Manzini and Wexler
(1987), Dalrymple (1993), and others argued that
binding constraints must be parameterized as lexical
properties of particular pronouns. Thus, part of the
lexical entry for seg selv specifies that it must be
bound to an argument of the same syntactic predi-
cate, whereas the lexical entry for seg specifies that
it must be bound in the minimal finite clause in
which it is contained but cannot be bound by a co-
argument. Thus, a single language can have various
anaphors, each with its own binding domain. Indeed,
Norwegian has a third reflexive (ham selv) that has
yet a different binding domain.
Furthermore, many languages have long-distance
reflexives that must be bound within the same sen-
tence but place no further restrictions on their binding
domain (Koster and Reuland, 1991; Cole et al.,
2001). The possibility for a reflexive to allow long-
distance binding has been claimed to correlate with
its morphological form (Faltz, 1977; Pica, 1987):
morphologically complex reflexives like English him-
self or Norwegian seg selv allow only local binding,
whereas morphologically simple reflexives like Nor-
wegian seg allow long-distance binding.
A puzzle that has gone largely unaddressed in the
literature on binding is the local nature of reciprocal
binding. Although there are many examples of reflex-
ive pronouns that need not be locally bound, there
seem to be no comparable examples of long-distance
reciprocals. Treating reflexives and reciprocals as
anaphors that must obey the same binding principle
does not lead us to expect this difference in behavior.
Defining the Binding Relation
In all of the examples we have examined so far,
the relation between the pronoun and its potential
antecedent has involved either coreference or non-
coreference. In more complicated cases involving
plurals, the possibility of partial overlap of reference
arises. Lasnik (1981) discussed examples like (17),
which he marked as ungrammatical:
(17) * We like me.
In this example, the speaker is included in the refer-
ent of the subject, leading to the impossibility of a
pronoun referring to the speaker in object position.
Lasnik also claimed that in (18), the group of people
referred to as they cannot include the referent of him:
(18) They like him.
Examples such as these have prompted some research-
ers to revise the treatment of the binding relation by
introducing a more complicated indexing system.
Higginbotham (1983) proposed that the symmet-
rical coindexation mechanism be replaced with an
antisymmetrical linking mechanism, represented by
an arrow notation:
(19)
This mechanism is particularly adept at representing
split antecedents—cases in which a plural pronoun’s
antecedent is made up of two syntactically separate
nominals:
(20)
The referential dependency of the pronoun on the
two nominals is represented by linking it to both
antecedents simultaneously.
The most extensively explored revision to the
standard coindexation mechanism is the proposal to
represent the index for plural noun phrases as a set
containing an index value for each individual in the
set (Lasnik, 1981). In (21), they refers to two indivi-
duals, i and j. This index value is used to prevent the
object him from referring to either individual i or
individual j:
(21) They{i,j} like him*{i}/*{j}/{k}.
This move necessitates a corresponding adjustment
to the binding condition for pronominals, which
must now refer to overlap of set-valued indices rather
than simply to identity of atomic indices. For exam-
ple, Principle B would be reformulated to require
that the index of a pronominal must not overlap
with the index of a commanding nominal in the pro-
nominal’s local domain. Overlap is understood in set-
theoretic terms: a set index A does not overlap with a
set index B if and only if the intersection of A and
B is empty. Notice that this treatment of indexation
also blocks readings in which there is overlapping
reference between plural pronouns:
(22) They{i,j} like them*{i,j}/*{i,k}/*{j,k}/{k,l}.
With the move to set-valued indices and a notion of
overlap based on intersection, the binding relation no
longer concerns coreference and noncoreference, but
rather coreference and disjoint reference. Principle
B requires disjoint reference, as discussed above,
whereas Principle A still requires coreference, i.e.,
total overlap/equality of set indices:

(23a) They{i,j} like himself*{i}/*{j}.
(23b) They{i,j} like themselves{i,j}.
(23c) They{i,j} like themselves*{i,k}/*{i,j,k}.
Example (23a) is ungrammatical because there is no
coindexation that can make the set index of the
reflexive equal to the set index of the antecedent
(himself cannot be plural). Example (23b) is, by con-
trast, grammatical: the set index of the reflexive and
its antecedent are equal. Example (23c) illustrates
that overlap of reference or intersection is not suffi-
cient for reflexive binding, since the sentence cannot
have an interpretation in which a group of people
likes another group of people that includes only
some of the first group.
A problem for this approach is that there are gram-
matical examples that appear to be structurally iden-
tical to the ungrammatical examples above. Berman
and Hestvik (1997) presented the following example,
which, while syntactically similar to (18), is accept-
able for many speakers:
(24) John and Mary often connive behind their
colleagues’ backs to advance the position of
one or the other. This time they got her a job
in the main offce.
Since they refers to John and Mary and her refers to
Mary, the grammatical sequence they{i,j} got her{j} a
job appears to be identical in binding-theoretic terms
to the ungrammatical indexing they{i,j} like him{j} for
(18).
Reinhart and Reuland (1993) and Kiparsky (2002)
proposed that the crucial difference between ungram-
matical and grammatical instances of overlapping re-
ference lies in whether the predicate taking the
pronominal as an argument is interpreted collectively
or distributively. If the predicate is a collective predi-
cate, then overlapping reference is possible, but if it is
a distributive predicate, then overlapping reference is
impossible. This is meant to derive the difference
between the grammatical (25a) and the putatively
ungrammatical (25b):
(25a) We elected me.
(25b) * We voted for me.
The idea is that elect is a collective predicate and
the overlapping reference is allowed, but vote for
involves each individual voting separately and is
therefore distributive, rendering the sentence un-
grammatical. Similarly, the context of (24) makes it
clear that John and Mary together got her a job – the
predicate is interpreted collectively. However, many
speakers find (25b) just as grammatical as (25a), even
though vote for is presumably equally distributive
for these speakers. In addition, certain grammatical
Binding Theory 27
instances of overlapping reference do not obviously
involve collective predication or do not involve predi-
cates whose collective reading is logically distinct
from their distributive reading (Büring, 2004), and
certain ungrammatical instances of overlapping refer-
ence similarly do not involve obviously distributive
predicates.
Semantic Approaches to Binding Theory
Bach and Partee (1980) provided a semantic alter-
native to syntactic binding theories, couched in
Montague semantics. They argue that functional
application in the semantics yields a sufficiently rich
structural relation to model binding theory, provided
that certain auxiliary assumptions are made. These
assumptions can be thought of as analogous to bind-
ing constraints. Bach and Partee principally sought to
show that a semantic binding theory achieves a cov-
erage equal to syntactic binding theories (of the time),
but they noted that one advantage of their semantic
binding theory is that it generalizes readily to lan-
guages whose syntactic structure is less configu-
rational. These languages nonetheless have rules of
semantic composition similar to those of configu-
rational languages, even if notions like subject and
object in these languages are not defined configura-
tionally. In this respect, their binding theory is similar
to syntactic binding theories that define binding in
terms of grammatical functions rather than on struc-
tural configurations, which only indirectly model
grammatical functions. The HPSG and LFG binding
theories discussed in an earlier part of this article are
two such theories.
Keenan (1988) also offered a semantic binding the-
ory, but one based on his semantic case theory rather
than on Montague semantics. His binding theory
deals principally with reflexives and shares with the
Bach and Partee theory (1980) the advantage of ap-
plying readily to nonconfigurational languages. The
basic insight behind Keenan’s theory of reflexiviza-
tion is that a reflexive denotes a function SELF that
when applied to a binary relation R returns the set of
x such that hx, xi is in R. The function SELF thus
reduces the arity of the relation that it applies to. This
treatment of reflexivization as an arity-reducing func-
tion is shared by Bach and Partee (1980).
Reinhart and Reuland (1993) offered a mixed syn-
tactic/semantic approach to binding theory. Their
theory centers around the notion of predication,
with syntactic predicates distinguished from semantic
predicates. A semantic predicate is a predicate and its
semantic arguments. A syntactic predicate is a head,
all of its selected internal arguments, and, crucially,
28 Binding Theory
an external argument (a subject). Reinhart and Reu-
land proposed the following two binding conditions:
1. A reflexive-marked syntactic predicate is reflexive.
2. A reflexive semantic predicate is reflexive-marked.
A predicate is reflexive-marked if and only if one of
its arguments is a reflexive. A predicate is reflexive if
and only if two of its arguments are coindexed.
Given these conditions, a sentence like Gonzoi
injured himselfi is allowed since injured is a reflexive-
marked predicate (marked by himself), that is
reflexive (the arguments of the predicate are co-
indexed). The sentence *Gonzoi injured himi is dis-
allowed because the predicate is reflexive but not
reflexive-marked. And the sentence *Gonzoi said
Kate injured himselfi is unacceptable since injured is
reflexive-marked but not reflexive (Kate and himself
are not coindexed).
Exemption and Logophoricity
Certain formulations of binding theory allow some
occurrences of anaphors to be excluded from the
purview of binding constraints. For example, HPSG’s
Principle A states that a locally commanded anaphor
must be locally bound (where the command relation
is either o-command or a-command, depending on
the version of the theory, as discussed above). If an
anaphor is not locally commanded, HPSG’s Principle
A does not apply to it: the anaphor is exempt
from binding (Pollard and Sag, 1994). For example,
the reflexive in the following sentence is an exempt
anaphor:
(26) Gonzoi downloaded a picture of himselfi.
Similarly, in (27) the reflexive is in noncomplemen-
tary distribution with a pronoun and is treated as
exempt from binding constraints:
(27) Gonzoi saw a snake near himi/himselfi.
The binding theory of Reinhart and Reuland (1993) is
similar in treating some anaphors as exempt. Recall
that their Principle A requires a reflexive-marked
syntactic predicate to be reflexive. Crucially, a syntac-
tic predicate must have a subject. Therefore, although
the noun picture in (27) is reflexive-marked, it does
not count as a syntactic predicate, and Reinhart and
Reuland’s Principle A does not apply to it. Theories
like these, in which some anaphors are exempt
from binding constraints, contrast with approaches
like that of Chomsky (1986), sketched earlier. In
Chomsky’s view, reflexives in examples like (27) are
not exempt from binding but rather must be bound in
a slightly larger syntactic domain. The binding theory
of LFG is similar in this regard.
Constraints on the distribution of exempt anaphors
are often claimed to be defined in nonsyntactic terms.
For example, Pollard and Sag (1994) argued that
exempt anaphors are used to refer to an antecedent
whose point of view is being reported. In this view,
exempt anaphors are subject to discourse and prag-
matic constraints, as discussed extensively by Kuno
(1987). In cases of noncomplementary distribution,
such as (27), Kuno argued that the reflexive indicates
that the speaker has taken on the subject’s point of
view but the pronoun does not. The encoding of point
of view in pronominal systems is typically discussed
under the rubric of logophoricity.
Theories of exemption differ on the treatment of
the specifier or possessor of a noun phrase. Reinhart
and Reuland’s theory (1993), like Chomsky’s (1986),
treats specifiers of noun phrases as subjects for pur-
poses of binding theory. This predicts that sentences
like (28) are ungrammatical:
(28) * Gonzoi downloaded her picture of himselfi.
Since the specifier her is in the right structural posi-
tion to count as a subject, the reflexive must be bound
in the NP, either because it can be bound in this
minimal domain (in Chomsky’s 1986 account) or
because the head noun counts as a syntactic predicate
and is reflexive marked (in the Reinhart and Reuland
account).
Recent psycholinguistic evidence has been shown to
bear on this issue; speakers in fact find sentences like
(28) grammatical (Asudeh and Keller, 2001; Runner
et al., 2003):
(29) Gonzoi downloaded her picture of himselfi.
Asudeh and Keller (2001) argued that the result
exemplified by (29) supports predication-based bind-
ing theories that do not treat possessors as subjects,
such as certain versions of HPSG and LFG binding
theory. They noted that the possessor in the noun
phrase is not an argument of the head noun and
concluded that if the possessor is not a semantic argu-
ment, then it is not a subject in predication-based
theories. In an HPSG binding theory, the reflexive in
(29) is exempt. In an LFG account, the reflexive is not
exempt but must be bound in the minimal domain
containing a subject, which corresponds to the matrix
clause.
Pragmatic and Blocking Approaches to
Binding
In the binding theories reviewed thus far, Principle
A and Principle B derive a kind of blocking effect:
pronouns are in general barred where reflexives are

required. Pronouns and reflexives are thus predicted
to be in mostly complementary distribution, although
the complementarity is relaxed in certain situations,
using a variety of mechanisms. Kiparsky (2002) noted
that this derivative notion of blocking has the concep-
tual disadvantage of lacking deep motivation: the
general complementarity seems merely coincidental.
He argued that the grammar should include blocking
principles that explicitly compare structures contain-
ing pronouns to ones containing reflexives. He gave
an overview of the issues involved and offered a hy-
brid binding theory that includes blocking principles.
Huang (2000) presented an alternative sort of
blocking account based on a theory of neo-Gricean
pragmatics. Huang’s analysis followed in an estab-
lished tradition of pragmatic approaches to bind-
ing, which he reviewed extensively. His account
contrasts with that of Kiparsky (2002), in which the
blocking constraints rely on notions of featural and
morphological economy rather than on pragmatic
principles.
Although blocking accounts arguably provide an
explanation of pronoun/reflexive complementarity
that nonblocking accounts lack, they are by the same
token seriously challenged when the complementarity
breaks down. Reflexives and pronouns must be
shown to give rise to different meanings or pragmatic
effects in such environments, with the result that the
blocking relation fails to apply since it chooses only
between semantically or pragmatically equivalent
options (Kiparsky, 2002; Huang, 2000).
Reflexives and Valence Reduction
Reflexive forms do not always fill a syntactic and
semantic role of a predicate. In many languages, the
same form can play two roles. It can be a reflexive
pronoun with an independent syntactic and semantic
role in some cases, and it can mark intransitivity or
valence reduction, with no associated semantic role,
in other cases. For example, the Swedish form sig
serves as an argument long-distance reflexive in
(30a). However, in (30b) it simply marks the verb as
intransitive. Examples (30c) and (30d) show that the
verb is intransitive, since the verb cannot take a full
local reflexive or a free object.
(30a) Johani hörde oss prata om sigi.
J. heard us talk about self
‘Johan heard us talk about him.’
(30b) Johan skyndade sig.
J. hurried self
‘Johan hurried up.’
(30c) * Johani skyndade sig självi.
J. hurried self
Binding Theory 29
(30d) * Johan skyndade Maria.
J. hurried M.
A question raised by this pattern of data is why the
long-distance reflexive is used for valence reduction.
Reinhart and Reuland (1993) offered an explanation
of these facts based on the observation that long-
distance reflexives are morphologically simple
(Faltz, 1977; Pica, 1987). However, in languages
like English, which lack morphologically simple
reflexives, full reflexives seem to serve a similar func-
tion:
(31a) Gonzo behaved himself.
(31b) * Gonzo behaved David.
A detailed study of reflexivization and its relation to
syntactic and semantic valence reduction was pre-
sented by Sells et al. (1987).
Binding and Movement
Binding theory is invoked in certain treatments of
A-movement (movement to an argument position)
and A-bar movement (movement to a nonargument
position) in transformational grammar. Such treat-
ments assume that the passive example of A-move-
ment in (32a) and the wh-question example of A-bar
movement in (32b) involve transformations, in which
the t represents the original position – the trace – of
the coindexed element:
(32a) Gonzoi was accosted ti.
(32b) Whoi did someone accost ti?
The fact that binding theory applies to these examples
might initially appear puzzling since binding theory is
about anaphors, pronominals, and nonpronouns, and
traces do not seem to fit into any of these categories.
However, Chomsky (1982) gave a featural break-
down of overt noun phrases in terms of the features
[ ! a(naphor)] and [ ! p(ronominal)] and then ap-
plied the classification to covert noun phrases, i.e.,
empty categories. The passive trace is grouped with
anaphors using the feature assignment [þ a, #p]. The
trace in wh-movement is grouped with nonpronouns
using the feature assignment [#a, #p]. This classifi-
cation enables the statement of locality relations on
transformations in terms of binding requirements on
traces of moved elements.
The binding-theoretic treatment of empty catego-
ries has been considerably revised in more recent
transformational work. Hornstein (2001) revived
the connection by claiming that anaphors are the
result of overt A-movement. In this view, pronom-
inals and reflexives are both claimed to be grammati-
cal formatives introduced during derivations, not by
lexical insertion. This treatment of binding has the
30 Binding Theory
advantage for transformational grammar of reducing
binding to movement, which is independently moti-
vated in transformational theory. However, it faces a
number of challenges. The account does not readily
extend to long-distance, intransitivizing, or exempt/
logophoric reflexives. In addition, it treats deictic
pronouns differently from anaphors and pronom-
inals, as lexical items introduced through lexical
insertion. This raises the question of why nondeictic
personal pronouns, which are purely grammatical
formatives, uniformly have the same morphological
realization as deictic personal pronouns.
Despite these challenges, further evidence for bind-
ing as movement apparently comes from resumptive
pronouns, as in the following Swedish example:
(33) Vilken elev trodde Maria att han fuskade?
which student thought M. that he cheated?
‘Which student did Maria think cheated?’
This example seems to indicate that wh-movement
has left a pronoun in the extraction site. This could
be explained by treating resumptive pronouns as
overt traces that result from a last-resort attempt to
save a derivation. Boeckx (2003) offered an alterna-
tive movement-based account in which a resumptive
pronoun is the result of spelling out a head whose
complement has moved away to become the resump-
tive’s antecedent. However, resumptive pronouns do
not obey standard constraints on movement and do
not possess other characteristics of wh-traces. They
therefore do not lend straightforward support to the
binding-as-movement view. In a recent overview of
resumption, Asudeh (2004) argued that resumptive
pronouns are not last-resort grammatical devices,
overt traces, or the result of movement but are rather
ordinary, lexically inserted pronouns that are bound
by the wh-phrase and whose distribution is explained
on the basis of semantic composition.
Lastly, binding is also relevant to movement as a
diagnostic tool for the extraction site for movement.
Reconstruction, as in (34a), and connectivity, as in
(34b), are two particular phenomena in which bind-
ing has been crucial:
(34a) Which picture of himselfi does nobodyi likei?
(34b) What nobodyi was was sure of himselfi.
The locality of reflexive binding has been used as
evidence that the wh-phrase in (34a) must be recon-
structed in its base position. Similarly, the free rela-
tive’s subject in its surface position in (34b) does not
command, and therefore cannot bind, the reflexive.
In order to bind the reflexive, the free relative’s
subject must at some nonsurface level be the subject
of the second copula. Büring (2004: chapter 12)
gave an extensive overview of reconstruction and
connectivity, as well as other issues concerning
binding and movement.
See also: Anaphora, Cataphora, Exophora, Logophoricity;
Anaphora: Philosophical Aspects; Command Relations;
Coreference: Identity and Similarity; Deixis and Anaph-
ora: Pragmatic Approaches; Pronouns; Scope and
Binding: Semantic Aspects; X-Bar Theory.
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for a predication-based binding theory.’ In Andronis M,
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distance reflexives, Syntax and semantics, vol. 33. San
Diego: Academic Press.
Dalrymple M (1993). The syntax of anaphoric binding.
[CSLI Lecture Notes, number 36.] Stanford, CA: CSLI
Publications.
Faltz L M (1977). ‘Reflexivization: a study in universal
syntax.’ Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley.
[Reprinted by Garland Press, New York, 1985.]
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inals.’ Linguistic Inquiry 14, 395–420.
Hornstein N (2001). Move! a minimalist theory of constru-
al. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
Huang C-T J (1983). ‘A note on the binding theory.’ Lin-
guistic Inquiry 14, 554–560.
Huang Y (2000). Anaphora: a cross-linguistic study.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Jackendoff R S (1972). Semantic interpretation in genera-
tive grammar. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Keenan E L (1988). ‘On semantics and the binding theory.’
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Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. 105–144.
Kiparsky P (2002). ‘Disjoint reference and the typology of
pronouns.’ In Kaufmann I & Stiebels B (eds.) More than
words. [no. 53 in Studia Grammatica] Berlin: Akademie
Verlag. 179–226.
Koster J & Reuland E (eds.) (1991). Long-distance ana-
phora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Kuno S (1987). Functional syntax: anaphora, discourse,
and empathy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lasnik H (1981). ‘On two recent treatments of disjoint
reference.’ Journal of Linguistic Research 1, 48–58.
[Also in Lasnik H (1989). Essays on anaphora. Dor-
drecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers.]
Manning C D & Sag I A (1999). ‘Dissociations between
argument structure and grammatical relations.’ In Kathol
A, Koenig J-P & Webelhuth G (eds.) Lexical and con-
structional aspects of linguistic explanation. Stanford,
CA: CSLI Publications. 63–78.
Manzini M R & Wexler K (1987). ‘Parameters, binding
theory, and learnability.’ Linguistic Inquiry 18, 413–444.
Pica P (1987). ‘On the nature of the reflexivization cycle.’ In
McDonough J & Plunkett B (eds.) Proceedings of the
Biosemiotics
S Brier, Copenhagen Business School, Copenhagen,
Denmark
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Semiotics develops a general theory of all possible
kinds of signs, their modes of signification and infor-
mation, whole behavior and properties, but is usually
restricted to human communication and culture.
Biosemiotics (bios, life and semion, sign) is a growing
field that studies the production, action, and interpre-
tation of signs, such as sounds, objects, smells, and
movements, as well as signs on molecular scales, in
an attempt to integrate the findings of biology and
semiotics to form a new view of life and meaning as
immanent features of the natural world. Life and
semiosis are seen as coexisting. The biology of recog-
nition, memory, categorization, mimicry, learning,
and communication are of interest for biosemiotic
research, together with the analysis of the application
of the tools and notions of semiotics such as interpre-
tation, semiosis, types of sign, and meaning. The
biosemiotic doctrine accepts nonconsciously inten-
tional signs in humans, nonintentional signs, also
between animals as well as between animals and
humans, and signs between organs and cells in the
body and between cells in the body or in nature. Thus
the biological processes between and within living
Biosemiotics 31
Seventeenth Annual Meeting of the North Eastern Lin-
guistic Society, vol. 17. Amherst, MA: GLSA Publica-
tions/University of Massachusetts. 483–500.
Pollard C & Sag I A (1994). Head-driven phrase structure
grammar. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Reinhart T (1983). Anaphora and semantic interpretation.
London: Croom Helm.
Reinhart T & Reuland E (1993). ‘Reflexivity.’ Linguistic
Inquiry 24, 657–720.
Runner J T, Sussman R S & Tanenhaus M K (2003).
‘Assignment of reference to reflexives and pronouns in
picture noun phrases: evidence from eye movements.’
Cognition 89, B1–B13.
Sells P, Zaenen A & Zec D (1987). ‘Reflexivization varia-
tion: Relations between syntax, semantics, and lexical
structure.’ In Iida M, Wechsler S & Zec D (eds.) Working
papers in grammatical theory and discourse structure.
Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications. 169–238. [CSLI Lec-
ture Notes, number 11.]
Wasow T (1979). Anaphora in generative grammar. Ghent:
E. Story.
Wilkins W (1988). ‘Thematic structure and reflexivization.’
In Wilkins W (ed.) Syntax and semantics: thematic rela-
tions, vol. 21. San Diego: Academic Press. 191–214.
beings transcend the conceptual foundation of the
other natural sciences.
In the tradition of Peirce, who founded semiotics as
a logic and scientific study of dynamic sign action in
human and nonhuman nature, biosemiotics attempts
to use semiotic concepts to answer questions about
the biologic and evolutionary emergence of meaning,
intentionality, and a psychic world. Peircian bio-
semiotics builds on Peirce’s unique triadic concept of
semiosis, where the ‘interpretant’ is the sign concept
in the organism that makes it see/recognize something
as an object. This is its interpretation of what the
outer sign vehicle stands for in a motivated context
by relating to a code that is connected to that specific
functionality. For instance, why a small gazelle, and
not an elephant, is seen as prey for a cheetah. As
Peirce’s semiotics is the only one that deals systemati-
cally with nonintentional signs of the body and of
nature at large, and therefore accepts involuntary
body movements (such as instinctive motor patterns
in animal courtship) and patterns of and within the
body (such as plumage for another bird and small-
pox for a physician) as signs, and further patterns
and differences in nature (such as the track of a tor-
nado), it has become the main source for semiotic
contemplations of the similarities and differences of
signs of inorganic nature, signs of the living systems,

Keenan E L (1988). ‘On semantics and the binding theory.’
In Hawkins J A (ed.) Explaining language universals.
Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. 105–144.
Kiparsky P (2002). ‘Disjoint reference and the typology of
pronouns.’ In Kaufmann I & Stiebels B (eds.) More than
words. [no. 53 in Studia Grammatica] Berlin: Akademie
Verlag. 179–226.
Koster J & Reuland E (eds.) (1991). Long-distance ana-
phora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Kuno S (1987). Functional syntax: anaphora, discourse,
and empathy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lasnik H (1981). ‘On two recent treatments of disjoint
reference.’ Journal of Linguistic Research 1, 48–58.
[Also in Lasnik H (1989). Essays on anaphora. Dor-
drecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers.]
Manning C D & Sag I A (1999). ‘Dissociations between
argument structure and grammatical relations.’ In Kathol
A, Koenig J-P & Webelhuth G (eds.) Lexical and con-
structional aspects of linguistic explanation. Stanford,
CA: CSLI Publications. 63–78.
Manzini M R & Wexler K (1987). ‘Parameters, binding
theory, and learnability.’ Linguistic Inquiry 18, 413–444.
Pica P (1987). ‘On the nature of the reflexivization cycle.’ In
McDonough J & Plunkett B (eds.) Proceedings of the
Biosemiotics
S Brier, Copenhagen Business School, Copenhagen,
Denmark
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Semiotics develops a general theory of all possible
kinds of signs, their modes of signification and infor-
mation, whole behavior and properties, but is usually
restricted to human communication and culture.
Biosemiotics (bios, life and semion, sign) is a growing
field that studies the production, action, and interpre-
tation of signs, such as sounds, objects, smells, and
movements, as well as signs on molecular scales, in
an attempt to integrate the findings of biology and
semiotics to form a new view of life and meaning as
immanent features of the natural world. Life and
semiosis are seen as coexisting. The biology of recog-
nition, memory, categorization, mimicry, learning,
and communication are of interest for biosemiotic
research, together with the analysis of the application
of the tools and notions of semiotics such as interpre-
tation, semiosis, types of sign, and meaning. The
biosemiotic doctrine accepts nonconsciously inten-
tional signs in humans, nonintentional signs, also
between animals as well as between animals and
humans, and signs between organs and cells in the
body and between cells in the body or in nature. Thus
the biological processes between and within living
Biosemiotics 31
Seventeenth Annual Meeting of the North Eastern Lin-
guistic Society, vol. 17. Amherst, MA: GLSA Publica-
tions/University of Massachusetts. 483–500.
Pollard C & Sag I A (1994). Head-driven phrase structure
grammar. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Reinhart T (1983). Anaphora and semantic interpretation.
London: Croom Helm.
Reinhart T & Reuland E (1993). ‘Reflexivity.’ Linguistic
Inquiry 24, 657–720.
Runner J T, Sussman R S & Tanenhaus M K (2003).
‘Assignment of reference to reflexives and pronouns in
picture noun phrases: evidence from eye movements.’
Cognition 89, B1–B13.
Sells P, Zaenen A & Zec D (1987). ‘Reflexivization varia-
tion: Relations between syntax, semantics, and lexical
structure.’ In Iida M, Wechsler S & Zec D (eds.) Working
papers in grammatical theory and discourse structure.
Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications. 169–238. [CSLI Lec-
ture Notes, number 11.]
Wasow T (1979). Anaphora in generative grammar. Ghent:
E. Story.
Wilkins W (1988). ‘Thematic structure and reflexivization.’
In Wilkins W (ed.) Syntax and semantics: thematic rela-
tions, vol. 21. San Diego: Academic Press. 191–214.
beings transcend the conceptual foundation of the
other natural sciences.
In the tradition of Peirce, who founded semiotics as
a logic and scientific study of dynamic sign action in
human and nonhuman nature, biosemiotics attempts
to use semiotic concepts to answer questions about
the biologic and evolutionary emergence of meaning,
intentionality, and a psychic world. Peircian bio-
semiotics builds on Peirce’s unique triadic concept of
semiosis, where the ‘interpretant’ is the sign concept
in the organism that makes it see/recognize something
as an object. This is its interpretation of what the
outer sign vehicle stands for in a motivated context
by relating to a code that is connected to that specific
functionality. For instance, why a small gazelle, and
not an elephant, is seen as prey for a cheetah. As
Peirce’s semiotics is the only one that deals systemati-
cally with nonintentional signs of the body and of
nature at large, and therefore accepts involuntary
body movements (such as instinctive motor patterns
in animal courtship) and patterns of and within the
body (such as plumage for another bird and small-
pox for a physician) as signs, and further patterns
and differences in nature (such as the track of a tor-
nado), it has become the main source for semiotic
contemplations of the similarities and differences of
signs of inorganic nature, signs of the living systems,
32 Biosemiotics
and the cultural and linguistic signs of humans living
together in a society.
Semiotics is also defined as the study – or doctrine –
of signs and sign systems, where sign systems are most
often understood as codes. Examples of biological
codes are those for the production of proteins from
the information of the genome, for the reception and
effects of hormones, and neurotransmitters spring to
mind as obvious biological sign systems. Marcello
Barbieri (2001) has pointed to the importance of
codes in living systems such as the genetic code, signal
codes for hormones and between nerve cells, and
between nerve cells and muscles, codes for recogni-
tion of foreign substances and life form in the immune
system, etc. He defines codes as rules of correspon-
dence between two independent worlds such as the
Morse code standing for letters in the alphabet.
A code gives meaning to differences or information
in certain contexts. But information is not a code in
itself. He also points to the peculiar fact that the
proteins in the living cell are different from proteins
created through external spontaneous chemical pro-
cesses. Living systems are not natural in the same way
as physical and chemical systems because the protein
molecules they are self-constructed from are manu-
factured by molecular machines (the ribosomes and
connected processes). The ribosomes, that is an or-
ganelle in the cell constructed by huge RNA mole-
cules connected with several enzymes, are systems
that are capable of assembling molecules by binding
their subunits together in the order provided by a
template. Cell proteins have the sequences of their
amino acids determined by the internal code system
in the cell connected to the genes in the nucleus’s
DNA. The ribosomal system for building proteins
uses the base sequence of messenger-RNA, which
comes out to the ribosome from inside the nucleus,
in itself a template of the gene in the DNA, to deter-
mine the amino acid sequence in the proteins. Living
systems are thus built out of artificially produced,
code-based molecules from the cell’s molecular as-
sembler machine. They are autopoietic (self-creating)
– as pointed out by Maturana and Varela – as they
produce their own elements and internal organiza-
tion. A living system’s structure, organization, and
processes are determined by internal codes and they
are therefore in a certain way artificial.
Thus a code is a set of process rules or habits (for
instance, how the ribosome works) that connects
elements in one area (e.g., genes) with another area
(e.g., proteins) in a specific meaning context (here
the creation, function, and survival of the cell).
As the biosemiotician Kalevi Kull (1999) points out,
codes are correspondences that cannot be inferred
directly from natural laws. To most biosemioticians,
it is crucial that the correspondence is not a universal
natural law but is motivated from a living signifying
system. Thus machines do not make codes them-
selves. A sequence of differences such as the base
pairs in DNA can be information for coding, but is
not a code in itself. Biosemiotics argues that codes are
triadic sign processes where an interpretant makes the
motivated connection between objects and signs
(representamens). Living systems function based on
self-constructed codes. This differentiates them from
physical, chemical, and technological systems (com-
puters do not make their own codes as they function
causally after the codes we have made and installed).
As Alexis Sharov (1998) notes, a sign is an object that
is a part of some self-reproducing system. A sign is
always useful for the system and its value can be
determined by its contribution to the reproductive
value of the entire system. Thus semiosis is a crucial
part of those processes that make systems living and
lift them out of the physical world’s efficient causality
through the informational realm of formal causality
in chemistry into the final causation in semiotic pro-
cesses. Thus, biosemiotics works with more types of
causation than classical sciences inspired by Peirce’s
semiotic philosophy.
In Peirce’s philosophy, efficient causality works
through the transfer of energy and is quantitatively
measurable. Formal causality works through pattern
fitting, difference, and with signals as information in
a dualistic proto-semiotic matter. Final causation is
semiotic signification and interpretation. Semiosis,
both in the form of signification and communication,
is viewed as an important part of what makes living
systems transcend pure physical, chemical, and even
the informational explanations of how computers
function. Molecules are composed of sequences of
atoms and make three-dimensional shapes. They in-
teract informationally through formal causality. The
biological macromolecules are composed of minor
molecules often put in sequences. Cells interpret the
molecules as coded signs and interact with them
through final causation in semiosis.
Thus far, biosemiotics considers the living cell to be
simplest system possessing real semiotic competence.
Biosemiotics sees the evolution of life and the evolu-
tion of semiotic systems as two aspects of the same
process. The scientific approach to the origin and
evolution of life has overlooked the inner qualitative
aspects of sign action, leading to a reduced picture
of causality. The evolution of life is not only based
on physical, chemical, and even informational
processes, but also on the development of semiotic
possibilities, or semiotic freedom as one of the found-
ing biosemioticians, Jesper Hoffmeyer (1996), calls it.
It is the evolution of semiotic freedom that creates the
 Biosemiotics 33

Figure 1 The model classifies types of semiosis and proto-semiotic (informational) processes. On the left side is Luhmann theory of
viewing the body, the psyche, and the linguistic system as autopoietic (closed and self-organized). The localization of the processes in
this diagram is symbolic and not really related to actual physical locations; for example, the head is also part of biological autopoiesis
and the location of endosemiotic processes. To simplify this model, I have placed all the cybernetic-autopoietic concepts on the left and
all the biosemiotic ones on the right, although all concepts concern both persons. Each person is placed within a signification sphere
(Umwelt). When these spheres are combined through sociocommunicative autopoietic language games, a common signification
sphere of culture is created. One part of exosemiotic signification is based on the linguistic processes of conceptualization and
classifications. Underneath the language games is the biological level of instinctually based sign games, and under that is the
informational exchange through structural couplings. Thus, exosemiotics also has a level of biopsychological, or emphatic, significa-
tion, as well as a level of structural couplings that the organism, or rather the species, has developed through evolution. Endosemiotics
is made up of the processes between cells and organs in the body. Phenosemiotics is prelinguistic sign processes in the mind such as
emotions and imaging, where thought semiosis is conceptualized thinking. On the far left side are the signification processes toward the
environment that consists of nonintentional potential signs that become the signification sphere when they are interpreted as signs.

zoosemiotic system of sign games, as the bio- and
cybersemiotician Søren Brier (1995) calls it. These
sign games are the primary system behind the foun-
dation of human language games and the tertiary
system of culture such as Thomas Sebeok and Marcel
Danesi (2000) have thoroughly shown in their
Modeling System Theory.
Multicellular living individual beings are then un-
derstood as swarms of communicatively organized
semiotic cellular units. The human body is seen as
organized in swarms of swarms of biological and
as layer upon layer of internal (endo) semiotic pro-
cesses, as well as external (exo) signification processes
building up a signification sphere (Umwelt) and final-
ly exo-semiotic social processes between individuals
constructing language and first-person experiences
(see Figure 1).
Complex self-organized living systems are not only
governed by physically efficient causation; they are
also governed by formal and final causality. They
are governed by formal causality in the sense of the
downward causation from a higher level structure
(such as a tissue, an organ, or the entire organism)
to its individual cells, constraining their action, but
also endowing them with functional meanings in re-
lation to the entire metabolism (as systems science has
shown). Organisms are governed by final causality in
the sense that they tend to take habits and generate
future interpretants of the present sign actions, as
in learning. In this sense (Brier, 1998), biosemiotics
draws upon the insights of fields such as systems
theory, theoretical biology, and the physics of com-
plex self-organized systems. As Sharov (1998) points
out, biosemiotics can be viewed as a root of biology
and semiotics rather than a branch of semiotics (in
its conventional limit to human languages). As such,
biosemiotics also represents a suggestion for a deep-
er foundation that can connect biology with the
humanities in another way than sociobiology and
evolutionary psychology do.
34 Biosemiotics
Biological systems are then understood as being
held together for communicative reasons and are
therefore not natural in physical–chemical under-
standing. They are communicative structures, as Kull
(2001) argues. One could also call them discursive
material systems. As we can call humans language-
cyborgs because our minds are artificially formed
by language, we can call all other living systems sign-
cyborgs because they are made of coded molecules and
organized communicatively by semiotic processes.
But computers only work on and are organized
around differences or informational bits. Thus, they
are dualistic and therefore proto-semiotic (Nöth,
2002), as genuine semiosis is triadic according
to Peirce. The same goes for information in natural
systems, for example dissipative structures such as
tornadoes.
Biosemiotics offers a rich field of exploration and
ongoing research into the life of signs as they are
found in the actual world’s ecological, mental, and
artificial systems (Emmeche, 1998). Examples of
relevant topics are sign functions in physical, chemi-
cal, biological, and computational systems such as
molecular biology, cognitive ethology, cognitive sci-
ence, robotics, and neurobiology; communication
of all living systems including the area of ethology;
the semiotics of cellular communication in the body
among organs, the immune system, and in the brain
such as psychoneuroimmunology, the representa-
tional dynamics of disease and possible relevance
for medical diagnose and treatment; the study of
the semiotics of complex systems, anticipatory sys-
tems, artificial life, and real life; the semiotics of
collective biological phenomena such as emergent
signs in swarm intelligence; the metaphysics of
Darwinism: can semiotics provide a foundation for
a new evolutionary paradigm through Peirce’s idea
of Thirdness, and the emergence of interpretants
in biotic evolution? Biosemiotics can help develop
the theory of biological self and its relation to the
emotional and sign-producing systems in animals
as well as the linguistic thinking system in humans,
the theory of the embodiment of consciousness and
language and internal mental causation. Such may
be a short and bold formulation of the biosemiotic
view combining several researchers’ contribution to
a view that is as close to consensus as possible for
the leading researchers in this still young research
program.
Apart from C. S. Peirce, early pioneers of biosemi-
otics are Jakob von Uexküll (1864–1944), Charles
Morris (1901–1979), Heini Hediger (1908–1992),
and Giorgio Prodi (1928–1987); the founding fathers
are Thomas A. Sebeok (1920–2001) and Thure von
Uexküll (1908–2004), and the founders of the
second wave are contemporary scholars such as
Jesper Hoffmeyer and Claus Emmeche (who formed
the biosemiotic group in Copenhagen in the 1980s),
Kalevi Kull (the Jakob von Uexküll center), Alexei
Sharov, Søren Brier, Marcello Barbieri, Anton
Markos, Dario Martinelli (zoosemiotic musicolo-
gy), and semioticians such as Floyd Merrell, John
Deely, Myrdene Anderson, Lucia Santaella, Frederik
Stjernfelt, Tommi Vehkavaara, and Winfried Nöth
have also contributed as part of their more general
work. In the following, we look into the foundations
and specific theories. However, it is interesting that
F. S. Rothschild (1899–1995), who did not notably
influence the development of biosemiotics, was the
first to use the term in 1962 in the Annals of the New
York Academy of Sciences 96: 774–784.
Thomas Sebeok’s Development of
Zoosemiotics and Biosemiotics
Ever since Umberto Eco formulated the problem of
the semiotic threshold, Peircian semiotics has devel-
oped further into the realm of biology. The efforts of
Thomas Sebeok (1920–2001) have led to the devel-
opment of a biosemiotics encompassing all living
systems, including plants and microorganisms as
sign users (Petrilli and Ponzio, 2001). Sebeok’s name
is associated most of all with the term ‘zoosemiotics,’
the study of animal sign use (Sebeok, 1972). It was
coined in 1963 and it deals with species-specific
communication systems and their signifying beha-
viour. Zoosemiotics is concerned more with the syn-
chronic perspective than the ethology of Lorenz and
Tinbergen, which focuses more on the diachronic
dimension. Sebeok’s research succeeded in broaden-
ing the definition of semiotics beyond human lan-
guage and culture to a biosemiotics encompassing
not only human nonverbal communication but also
all sign processes between and within animals
(Sebeok, 1990). He pointed out that we are living in
a world of signs: a ‘semiossphere.’ Sebeok argued that
the biosphere and the semiossphere are linked in a
closed cybernetic loop where meaning itself powers
creation in self-excited circuits. With Sebeok’s enthu-
siastic support as editor, the two large special volumes
of Semiotica on biosemiotics (Sebeok et al., 1999),
and on Jakob von Uexküll’s contribution to the foun-
dation of biosemiotics (Kull, 2001) were edited by
first the Copenhagen and next the Tartu school of
biosemiotics. Later, through the collaboration of
these schools of biosemiotics, a series of annual con-
ferences under the name Gatherings in Biosemiotics
has been developed since 2000, now also in collabo-
ration with biosemioticians in Prague. In 2004,
through further cooperation with the Italian school

of semantic biology (Barbieri), work on starting a
Journal of Biosemiotics has begun.
Hoffmeyer and Emmeche’s Theory of
Code Duality
Later Sebeok decided that that zoosemiotics rests on
a more comprehensive science of biosemiotics. This
global conception of semiotics, namely biosemiotics,
equates life with sign interpretation and communica-
tion. It is carried by an inspiration from Jakob von
Uexküll’s theory that all living beings are the center
of a phenomenal Umwelt (Sebeok, 1989). This idea
was carried on through Thure von Uexküll, with
whom Sebeok interacted in creating the foundations
for a modern biosemiotics. In the late 1980s, these
ideas merged with the ideas of the Danish biochemist
Jesper Hoffmeyer’s communicative view of life and
his and the biophilosopher Claus Emmeche’s theory
(Emmeche and Hoffmeyer, 1991; Hoffmeyer and
Emmeche, 1991) of the foundational code duality of
living systems: they see living systems defined by the
interactions through evolution between a digital code
in the gene or genotype and an analog code in the
whole individual or phenotype. The gene is a code for
memory and self-representation and the individual
living body is a code for action and interaction
with the real world and its ecology. Thus life appears
also to be an interplay of different types of self- and
other-descriptions. The egg and the hen as two inter-
acting aspects of a living system evolving through
time and space is another example. Thus signs and
not molecules are the basic units of the study of life
and the semiotic niche is the species home. Biological
evolution is a development toward more semiotic
freedom. Hoffmeyer’s contribution to biosemiotics
is summarized in Emmeche et al. (2002).
The Roots from Uexküll and Ethology
Although biosemiotics is already prefigured in Jakob
von Uexküll’s Umweltlehre, although not in semiotic
terms, Sebeok fruitfully combined the influences of
von Uexküll and Charles S. Peirce, to merge them into
an original whole, in an evolutionary perspective,
arriving at the thesis that symbiosis and semiosis are
one and the same (Sebeok, 1989). Biosemiotics finds
its place as a master science, which encompasses the
parallel disciplines of ethology and comparative psy-
chology. As Uexkull was one of Konrad Lorenz’s most
important teachers, the ethology he and Tinbergen
developed fitted nicely into biosemiotics as it devel-
oped from Sebeok’s studies of animal communication
and ethology.
Biosemiotics 35
Figure 2 Jakob von Uexküll’s functional circle that demon-
strates his (phenomenal constructivistic) concept of objects
(von Uexküll 1957: 10–11; referred to as ‘Figure 3.’) In cybernetic
recursive e processes between receptors and effectors, the per-
ceptual object is created on the basis of a functional tone.
In J. and T. von Uexküll’s writings (J. von Uexküll,
1934; T. von Uexküll et al., 1982) on the species-
specific and subjective Umwelt in animals, one finds
the roots of important concepts such as sign stimuli,
innate release mechanisms, and ‘functional tones’ that
are later utilized in Lorenz’s ethological research pro-
gram as the concept of motivation. J. von Uexküll’s
‘tone’ concept is the root of Lorenz’s specific
motivation, but it seems even more closely related to
Gibson’s affordances, although it is unclear wheth-
er Gibson ever read von Uexküll. The functional
tones are the number of functions an animal can dis-
tinguish in its surroundings, which creates its func-
tional images of ‘thing’ that thus becomes ‘object’ in
the animals Umwelt. Brier (1999) has coined the term
‘signification sphere’ to give a modern semiotic term
to Uexküll’s presemiotic concepts. Figure 2 shows the
presemiotic Uexküll model of object perception.
As von Uexküll’s concept of ‘tone’ becomes
Lorenz’s ‘motivation,’ the ‘subjectively defined ob-
ject’ becomes the ‘sign stimuli’ in ethology, and fi-
nally the ‘functional relation between receptors
and effectors’ becomes the ‘IRM’ (innate response
mechanism). However, it is clear that von Uexküll’s
biophenomenological concepts differ from the bio-
cybernetic and partially mechanistic framework
found in the theoretical foundation of Lorenz and
Tinbergen’s articles from around 1950. First in the
new biosemiotics, this conceptual difference can be
solved using Peirce’s philosophy (Brier, 2001).
Animal Languages or Sign Games?
The empiricist and natural science readings Sebeok
offers for communication were new to the semi-
otics field. References to animal models are made
throughout his work in the context of ethology. The
approaches of ethology and sociobiology have been
controversial and, in their applicability to human
culture and society, accused of reductionism. Sebeok
shows that some of this controversy may find itself
36 Biosemiotics
played out in the new transdisciplinary framework of
biosemiotics. In 1992, he and his wife Jean Umiker-
Sebeok published ‘The semiotic web 1991’ as a vol-
ume titled Biosemiotics. This volume was predicated
on a book they edited in 1980, Speaking of apes,
which presented a detailed critical evaluation of cur-
rent investigations of the ability of apes to learn lan-
guage. Sebeok showed in a profound critique of the
way the experiments were constructed that it is
very doubtful that apes have such capabilities. Thus
biosemiotics does not entail that there are no signifi-
cant differences between human and ape linguis-
tic capabilities. But through biosemiotics, Sebeok
and Danesi (2000) argued that a zoosemiotic system
exists as the foundation of human language, which
has to be called the primary one; thus languages
become secondary and culture tertiary, as already
mentioned.
Anthroposemiotics as Part
of Biosemiotics
But biosemiotics does not only deal with animals
in zoosemiotics; it also deals with signs in plants
in phytosemiotics, with bacterial communication.
According to one standard scheme for the broad clas-
sification of organisms, five super kingdoms are now
distinguished: bacteria, protists (protozoa-like slime
molds and primitive algae, all with a nucleus), plants;
animals; and fungi. Thus the major classification
categories in biosemiotics are: bacteriosemiotics,
protistosemiotics, phytosemiotics (Krampen, 1981),
mycosemiotics, and zoosemiotics (Deely, 1990).
Within zoosemiotics, anthroposemiotics encom-
passes the human race. There are two biosemiotic
interpretations of anthroposemiotics. One is that it
encompasses the traditional area of semiotics of lan-
guage and culture plus the embodiment of human
signification. The other one, that leading biosemioti-
cians share, is that it only deals with the human
body and the biological parts of human cognition
and communication. Going into the body of multicel-
lular organisms, endosemiotics (T. von Uexküll et al.,
1993) deals with communication between the cells in
the body of all living systems, including human phys-
iology. In the framework of endosemiotics, there is,
for instance, a special area of immunosemiotics
dealing with the immunological code, immunological
memory, and recognition. The way that we now know
that the nervous system’s, the hormone system’s, and
the immunological system’s communicative codes
work on each other is considered to be the basis of
the biological self: an endosemiotic self-organized
cybernetic system with a homeostasis.
The Peircian Influence
The majority of biosemiotics builds on Peirce’s
unique triadic concept of semiosis, where the inter-
pretant is the sign concept in the organism’s mind,
which is the interpretation of what the outer sign
vehicle stands for: its object. For instance, that a
raised fist’s object is a physical threat. Peircean biose-
miotics is based on Peirce’s theory of mind as a basic
part of reality (in Firstness) existing in the material
aspect of reality (in secondness) as the inner aspect of
matter manifesting itself as awareness and experience
in animals and finally as consciousness in humans.
Peirce’s differentiation between the immediate object
of semiosis and the dynamic object – that is all we can
get to know about it in time – is a differentiation
between the object of the organism and the environ-
ment or universe outside it. Biosemiotics begins with
the process of knowledge: how signification occurs
within living systems, making perception and cogni-
tion possible.
Peircian Biosemiotics
Modern Peircian biosemiotics is very different from
the symbolic semiotics of human language that cyber-
neticians distanced themselves from many years ago.
The theories of Heinz von Foerster on recursive func-
tions in the nervous system establishing perceptual
objects as eigen functions of this recursive cognitive
interplay between nervous system and environment
has supported Uexküll’s older concept of object
(Brier, 1996). Humberto Maturana and Francisco
Varela’s concept and theory of autopoiesis, the cell
as a self- and closure-organizing system recursively
reproducing the closure and internal organization
of living systems, have had a significant influence on
the development of the Copenhagen school of
biosemiotics (Brier, 1995). The interaction between
the autopoiesis, the genome, and semiosis in an ani-
mal (here a small fish) as understood through bio-
semiotics can be modeled as shown in Figure 3.
Peircian biosemiotics is distinct from other semiot-
ic paradigms in that it not only deals with intentional
signs of communication, but also encompasses non-
intentional signs such as symptoms of the body and
patterns of an inanimate nature. Peircian semiotics
breaks with the traditional dualistic epistemological
problem of first-order science by framing its basic
concept of cognition, signification, within a triadic
semiotic philosophy. Triadic semiotics is integrated
into a theory of continuity between mind and mat-
ter (Synechism) where the three basic categories
(Firstness, Secondness, and Thirdness) are not only
inside the perceiver’s mind, but also in the nature
 Biosemiotics 37

Figure 3 Brier’s model showing two autopoietic systems (males) of the same species (gene pool) see the same sign in an object,
creating the interpretant of a female of the same species. This occurs through the partially inherited structural coupling that ethology
calls the innate response mechanism (IRM), which is tuned to anticipate certain differences as significant for survival and proliferation,
i.e., as sign stimuli. The whole model is within one life form (naturalizing Wittgenstein’s concept), mating, which again generates the
mating sign game or ground (Peirce). I have excluded here, for simplicity, the female’s point of view as a species-specific autopoietic
system.

perceived. This is connected to the second important
ontological belief in Peirce’s philosophy, namely
Thycism that sees chance and chaos as basic charac-
teristics of Firstness. This is combined with an evolu-
tionary theory of mind (Agapism), where mind has a
tendency to form habits in nature. Chaos and chance
are seen as a First, which is not to be explained further
(for instance, by regularities). It is the basis of habit-
forming and evolution. The chaos of Firstness is not
seen as the lack of law, as it is in mechanicism and
rationalism, but as something full of potential quali-
ties to be manifested individually in Secondness and
as general habits and knowledge in dynamic objects
and semiosis in Thirdness. This is the deep foundation
of Peirce’s pragmaticism (Brier, 2003).
Biosemiotics and Information in
Computer and Physiosemiotics
The essential question for the current debate about
the possibility of a transdisciplinary information/
signification science is whether the Percian biosemi-
otics can comprise uninterpreted natural objects,
dissipative structures, and other spontaneous genera-
tions of order and patterns in nature as signs. These
objects were previously described in physical–chemi-
cal terms. Now some adherents of the paninforma-
tional paradigm want to explain them in purely
informational terms (Brier, 1992). From a Peircian
point of view, these phenomena are proto-semiotic,
or quasi-semiotic, when compared to the semiosis of
living systems, because they are only displays of Sec-
ondness in the well-argued view of Winfred Nöth
(2002). There is thus competition between the infor-
mational and the semiotic approaches in producing
that new transdisciplinary framework that can unite
the traditional views of nature by the sciences, with
the new understandings of computers and cognition
and finally the social aspects of language and con-
sciousness in communication.
But some scholars even accept to use the sign con-
cept on processes between nonliving entities in nature
and machine: physiosemiotics. John Deely (1990) is
one of the more prominent promoters of a Peircean
view of semiotics as a transdisciplinary theory encom-
passing both the human mind and its text production
as seen from phenomenology and hermeneutics as
well as all of nature and life seen from a biosemiotic
as well as a physiosemiotic viewpoint. That is not
the discussion of whether any natural thing can be-
come a sign when placed in a meaningful context by a
living system, but if the objects and their processes
are signs per se.
It is interesting to see that semiotics thus has moved
from the humanities into biology and from there even
into the other natural sciences at the same time as the
38 Biosemiotics
Figure 4 The relevance of the bottom-up informational view
and the top-down semiotic view in the area of the foundation of
information science. On the left side is a hierarchy of sciences
and their objects, from physics to humanities and vice versa. On
the right is an illustration of the two most common scientific
schemas for understanding and predicting communicative and
organizational behavior: (1) the semiotic top-down paradigm of
signification, cognition, and communicative and (2) the informa-
tional bottom-up functionalistic view of organization, signal trans-
mission, and AI. The width of the two paradigms in correlation
with the various subject areas shows an estimate of how the
relevance of the paradigm is generally considered, although
both claim to encompass the entire spectrum.
formulation of objective informational concepts has
been used as the basis of understanding all types
of cognitive processes in animals, machines, humans,
and organizations in the information processing
paradigm. Information science is thus moving from
computer science down into nature and up into cog-
nitive systems, human intelligence, consciousness and
social systems, and communication in competition
with semiotics that is moving in the other direction
(see Figure 4).
Information theory is now an important part of the
consciousness research program, but there is a great
deal of work to do for serious philosophy, considering
how many central philosophical topics of mind, lan-
guage, epistemology, and metaphysics will be affected
by the biosemiotic development. Peircian biosemio-
tics may contribute to a new transdisciplinary frame-
work in understanding knowledge, consciousness,
meaning, and communication. But to do this, new
elements have to be integrated, making it possible to
unite the functionalistic approaches to information
and communication coming from cybernetics and
computer science with the semantic pragmatic
approaches coming from the linguistic point of view
and semiotics if we want to bridge this gap in our
culture and knowledge. Concepts of closure, self-or-
ganization, and differentiation of biological, psycho-
logical, and social systems developed in second-order
cybernetics and autopoiesis theory need to be
integrated into theories of embodiment and Peircian
biosemiotics.
Cyber(bio)semiotics
Søren Brier (2003) has developed such a philosophy
of information, cognition, and communication sci-
ence framework that encompasses biosemiotics
and information science and well as second-order
cybernetics and autopoiesis to this transdisciplinary
area, which he calls Cybersemiotics.
Peircean cybersemiotics is based on Peirce’s theory
of mind as a basic part of reality (in Firstness) existing
in the material aspect of reality (in Secondness) as
the inner aspect of matter (hylozoism) manifesting
itself as awareness and experience in animals and
finally as consciousness in humans. Combining this
with a general systems theory of emergence, self-
organization, and closure/autopoiesis, and a semio-
tized version of Luhmann’s triple autopoietic theory
of communication (see Figure 1) combined with prag-
matic theories of embodied social meaning, it forms
an explicit theory of how the inner world of an or-
ganism is constituted and, therefore, how first-person
views are possible and are just as real as matter. Such
a theory has been missing from the modern discus-
sions of a science of consciousness. Through this
foundation for semiosis, a theory of meaning and
interpretation including mind – at least as immanent
in nature – is possible, and cybernetic views of infor-
mation as well as autopoietic views on structural
couplings can be combined with pragmatic theories
of language in the biosemiotic perspective.
The term ‘pro- and quasi-semiotic objects’ recog-
nizes that systems in nature and culture work with
differences, often in the form of coding, instead of
through either physical causality or meaningful semi-
osis. Systems of Secondness have established an infor-
mation level above the energetic and causal level of
nature. This area, delimited from a semiotic point
of view, is part of what classical first-order cyber-
netics considers their subject area: goal-oriented
machines and pattern-forming, self-organized pro-
cesses in nature that are based on information. The
terms ‘informational,’ ‘coding,’ and ‘signal’ are used
mainly in cybernetic contexts for these systems, be-
fore attempts, foreshadowed by Wiener, to create a

paninformational paradigm (Brier, 1992). In Peircean
biosemiotic philosophy, these levels can be bound
together by Synechism, Tychism, and Agapism, com-
bined with an evolutionary view of the interactions
between Firstness, Secondness, and Thirdness. The
view of Firstness as a blend of qualities of mind and
matter containing qualia and living feeling and a
tendency to form habits is crucial for understanding
the self-organizing capabilities of nature and how
what seems to be dead matter can, through evolution-
ary self-organization, become autopoietic and alive
with cognitive/semiotic and feeling abilities (Brier,
2003).
To summarize, cybersemiotics develops a semiotic
and informational theory accepting several levels of
existence, such as a physical and a conscious social
linguistics, now placed in the broader cybersemiotics
framework that combines Peirce’s triadic semiotics
with systemic and cybernetic views including auto-
poiesis and second-order cybernetics. When talking
about reality, I think we should distinguish between:
1. The first level of quantum vacuum fields entangled
causality is not considered physically dead, as is
usually the case in physicalistic physics. Cyberse-
miotics conceives it as a part of Firstness, which
also holds qualia and pure feeling. Although
physicists may be bothered by this new metaphys-
ical understanding of this level of reality, they
cannot claim that there is no room for new inter-
pretations, because physics has a complete under-
standing of it. On the contrary, this is one of the
most mysterious levels of reality we have encoun-
tered, and its implications and interaction with the
observers’ consciousness have been discussed since
the 1930s and were central in the disputes between
Bohr and Einstein, and now some researchers are
attempting to exploit the entanglement to explain
the possibility of teleportation.
2. The second level of efficient causation is clearly
what Peirce describes as Secondness. This realm
is ontologically dominated by physics as classical
kinematics and thermodynamics. But for Peirce, it
is also the willpower of the mind. It is mainly ruled
by efficient causation. Thus Peircean cybersemio-
tics does not accept a level of pure mechanical
physics; nor did Ilya Prigogine.
3. The third level of information is where the formal
causation manifests clearly and where the regula-
rities and Thirdness becomes crucial for interac-
tions through stable patterns that are as yet only
proto-semiotic. This level is ontologically domi-
nated by the chemical sciences. This difference in
ontological character may be one of the keys to
understanding the differences between physics and
Biosemiotics 39
chemistry. It is not only a matter of complexity but
also of organization and type of predominant cau-
sality, which here is formal causation.
4. On the fourth level, where life has self-organized,
the actual semiotic interactions emerge. First inter-
nally in multicellular organisms, such as in endo-
semiotics, and between organisms such as in sign
games. This framework – based on biosemiotics –
points out that the informational concept may be
useful for analyzing life at the chemical level, but it
is not sufficient to capture the communicative,
dynamic organizational closure of living systems.
This is one of the reasons why Maturana and
Varela do not want to use the information concept
in their explanations of the dynamics of life and
concept. But they do not use a semiotic either.
Final causation dominates here as in the next
level where it emerges as purpose.
5. Finally on the fifth level with syntactic language
games, human self-consciousness emerges and
with that rationality, logical thinking, and creative
inferences (intelligence). Intelligence is closely
connected to abduction and conscious finality.
Abduction is crucial to signification. It is the abili-
ty to see something as a sign for something else.
This something else has to be a habit of nature,
mind or society. Some kind of regularity or stabili-
ty in nature that the mind can recognize as some-
what lawful is necessary for it to be a fairly stable
eigen value in the mind (an interpretant) and be
useful for conscious purposeful action and inter-
action in communication as well as in ethical so-
cial praxis (Phronesis).
See also: Barthes, Roland (1915–1980); Eco, Umberto
(b. 1932); Information Theory; Jacobsen, Lis (1882–1961);
Luhmann, Niklas (1927–1998); Morris, Charles (1901–
1979); Peirce, Charles Sanders (1839–1914); Sebeok,
Thomas Albert: Modeling Systems Theory; Semiology ver-
sus Semiotics.
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Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
M Naguib, Universitat Bielefeld, Bielefeld, Germany
K Riebel, Leiden University, Leiden, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The melodious beauty and complexity of birdsong
have long attracted amateurs, naturalists, and scien-
tists alike. Despite the almost ubiquitous presence
of birdsong in both natural and anthropogenous
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Relevant Websites
http://www.ento.vt.edu – The international biosemiotics
page.
http://www.nbi.dk – Gatherings in Biosemiotics.
http://www.zbi.ee – Jakob von Uexküll Centre.
http://www.zoosemiotics.helsinki.fi/ – Zoosemiotics home
page.
http://triplec.uti.at – Brier’s article in TripleC.
environments, few people are aware that birdsong is
one of the most elaborate acoustic communication
systems in the animal kingdom. Birdsong shows
some basic and almost unique similarities to human
speech, an aspect that has attracted considerable
interdisciplinary scientific attention from biologists,
psychologists, and linguists. As in human speech
acquisition, vocal learning by songbirds plays a
prominent role in song development (Catchpole and
Slater, 1995). There is a sensitive period in which the
basic species-specific structure is acquired, in much
40 Biosemiotics
cybernetics of Heinz von Foerster.’ Systems Research
13(3), 229–244.
Brier S (1998). ‘The cybersemiotic explanation of the emer-
gence of cognition: the explanation of cognition, signifi-
cation and communication in a non-Cartesian cognitive
biology.’ Evolution and Cognition 4(1), 90–102.
Brier S (1999). ‘Biosemiotics and the foundation of cyber-
semiotics. Reconceptualizing the insights of ethology,
second order cybernetics and Peirce’s semiotics in bio-
semiotics to create a non-Cartesian information science.’
Semiotica 127(1/4), 169–198.
Brier S (2001). ‘Cybersemiotics and Umweltslehre.’ Semio-
tica 134(1/4), 779–814.
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Hoffmeyer J (1996). Signs of meaning in the universe.
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Kull K (ed.) (2001). ‘Jakob von Uexküll: a paradigm for
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Human Knowing 9(1), 3–22.
Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
M Naguib, Universitat Bielefeld, Bielefeld, Germany
K Riebel, Leiden University, Leiden, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The melodious beauty and complexity of birdsong
have long attracted amateurs, naturalists, and scien-
tists alike. Despite the almost ubiquitous presence
of birdsong in both natural and anthropogenous
Petrilli S & Ponzio A (2001). Thomas Sebeok and the signs
of life. Icon Books.
Sebeok T A (1972). Perspectives in Zoosemiotics. The
Hague: Mouton.
Sebeok T (1989). Sources in Semiotics VIII. The sign & its
masters. New York: University Press of America.
Sebeok T A (1990). Essays in zoosemiotics. Toronto:
Toronto Semiotic Circle.
Sebeok T A & Danesi M (2000). The forms of meaning:
modeling systems theory and semiotic analysis. Berlin:
Mouton de Gruyter.
Sebeok T A, Hoffmeyer J & Emmeche C (eds.) (1999).
Biosemiotica. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Sebeok T A & Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) (1980). Speaking of
apes: a critical anthology of two-way communication
with man. New York: Plenum Press.
Sebeok T A & Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) (1992). Biosemiotics:
the semiotic web 1991. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Sharov A (1998). ‘From cybernetics to semiotics in biology.’
Semiotica 120(3/4), 403–419.
Uexküll J von (1982). ‘The theory of meaning.’ Semiotica
42(1), 25–82.
Uexküll J von (1934). ‘A stroll through the worlds of
animals and men. A picture book of invisible worlds.’
reprinted In Schiller C H (ed.) (1957) Instinctive behav-
ior. The development of a modern concept. New York:
International Universities Press. 5–80.
Uexküll T von, Geigges W & Herrmann J M (1993).
‘Endosemiosis.’ Semiotica 96(1/2), 5–51.
Relevant Websites
http://www.ento.vt.edu – The international biosemiotics
page.
http://www.nbi.dk – Gatherings in Biosemiotics.
http://www.zbi.ee – Jakob von Uexküll Centre.
http://www.zoosemiotics.helsinki.fi/ – Zoosemiotics home
page.
http://triplec.uti.at – Brier’s article in TripleC.
environments, few people are aware that birdsong is
one of the most elaborate acoustic communication
systems in the animal kingdom. Birdsong shows
some basic and almost unique similarities to human
speech, an aspect that has attracted considerable
interdisciplinary scientific attention from biologists,
psychologists, and linguists. As in human speech
acquisition, vocal learning by songbirds plays a
prominent role in song development (Catchpole and
Slater, 1995). There is a sensitive period in which the
basic species-specific structure is acquired, in much

the same way that humans have to acquire the pho-
nemes of their language in the first few years of life.
The only other well-established examples of animal
communication in which learning plays such a central
role in signal acquisition are found in parrots, hum-
mingbirds, bats, and marine mammals (Janik and
Slater, 1997).
Using birdsong as a model system allows us to
study the complexity of animal behavior from both
mechanistic and functional perspectives. Because it
is the best studied vertebrate communication system
on almost all levels of scientific investigation, from
molecular biology to evolutionary ecology, birdsong
development has become a textbook example for
illustrating basic biological processes (Alcock, 2001;
Campbell and Reece, 2001; Barnard, 2004). In most
songbirds that breed in the temperate zones, only the
males sing; their songs function to defend a territory
against other males and to attract and stimulate
females (Catchpole and Slater, 1995), but there is an
enormous variation in song structure and phenome-
nology, development, and delivery. The taxonomic
order of perching birds (passerines) can be subdivided
into two distinct groups: the oscines (over 4000 spe-
cies), which in general learn their song, and the sub-
oscines (about 1000 species), for which there is limit-
ed evidence that key structural components of the
species-typical song are learned (Kroodsma, 2004).
Many of the sub-oscines are tropical birds and their
song is often much simpler than is the highly complex
song common in oscine species. Songbirds in the
tropics also differ from those in the temperate zones
in how and when they sing: singing tends to occur all
year round and often females also sing. Even more
strikingly, mated pairs may combine their songs into
highly coordinated duets (Hall, 2004). The speed and
precision in coordination of timing of duets results in
a composite signal that, even for an experienced
human listener, sounds like the song of a single indi-
vidual. This article will mainly focus on song by males
in temperate zone passerines, as these are much better
studied than tropical birds and are ideal to illustrate
general principles of songbird vocal communication.
Birdsong versus Bird Calls
Birdsong is distinguished from the remainder of song-
bird vocalizations, which are generally referred to
as calls. Calls have been defined based on both struc-
tural and functional criteria. Calls are given by both
sexes, they are simple in structure, and in many cases
they are highly context specific, such as begging calls
or alarm calls (Marler, 2004). Other than song, which
is normally delivered only in the breeding season,
calling occurs all year. Calls have long been thought
to be affected little, if at all, by vocal learning.
Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 41
However, with more studies addressing call learning,
it has emerged that there is much more developmental
plasticity than previously thought. Among the vari-
ous calls given by birds, the alarm calls given in
response to predators have received specific attention,
because they can vary gradually with the urgency of
the threat and even provide functionally referential
information (see Alarm Calls), a trait that has long
been viewed to be specific to human language.
Singing Versatility
Birdsong structure and versatility vary enormously,
from structurally simple songs with only one repeat-
ed element (e.g., grasshopper warblers, Locustella
naevia) to highly complex songs (e.g., nightingales,
Luscinia megarhynchos) in which each male sings
around 200 different song types, each of which is
composed of many different elements (Figure 1). For
the purpose of comparative studies, it has proved
useful to categorize birds into continuous and dis-
continuous singers (Hartshorne, 1973; Catchpole
and Slater, 1995). Continuous singers such as reed
warblers (Acrocephalus scirpaceus) produce long, al-
most continuous streams of elements (the basic units
of vocal production). The elements in the song re-
pertoire of a continuous singer are usually recom-
bined in various ways, so that each new sequence is
slightly different from the previous ones. Most male
songbirds, however, are discontinuous singers, i.e.,
they alternate songs (which are a specific combina-
tion of song elements) with silent intervals (Figure 1).
Among different species of discontinuous singers,
there are two discrete singing styles. In some species,
males repeat the same song type several times before
switching to a song of a different type. This way of
singing is most characteristic for species in which
males have a small to medium repertoire of different
song types (i.e., a repertoire of 2 to 10 acoustically
distinct songs/male). There are some exceptions
to this rule, though; for example, Carolina wren
(Thryothorus ludovicianus) males have a repertoire
of about 40 distinctly different song types, but deliver
their repertoire with eventual variety. Birds following
this repetitive mode are generally said to be singing
with ‘eventual variety.’ Examples are song sparrows
(Melospiza melodia), yellowhammers (Emberiza
citrinella), chaffinches (Fringilla coelebs), and great
tits (Parus major). In other species, males hardly ever
repeat the same song type in immediate succession
but instead, after each song, switch to a different song
type within their repertoire. This singing style is ‘re-
ferred to as showing ‘immediate variety’ and is char-
acteristic of species that have larger song repertoires,
such as mockingbirds (Mimus polyglottus), European
blackbirds (Turdus merula), or nightingales.
42 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication

Figure 1 Sound spectrograms of 25-s singing sequences by males of five different species of songbirds. (A) Grasshopper warbler,
Locustella naevia, (B) Carolina wren, Thryothorus ludovicianus, (C) song sparrow, Melospiza melodia, (D) yellowhammer, Emberiza citrinella,
(E) nightingale, Luscinia megarhynchos; (B)–(D) show singers with eventual variety and (E) shows a species with immediate variety.

Song Development reinforcement (‘channeled’ or ‘pre-programmed’ lear-

Songbirds have an exceptional faculty for vocal
learning (Figure 2). Song learning consists of a phase
of acquisition (sensory phase: memorization of song
patterns) and a phase of production learning, i.e.,
the sensorimotor learning phase of the complex
motor pattern. The timing of these two processes
during development varies across species, from tight-
ly overlapping to completely separate in time. The
acquisition process is often limited to a sensitive
phase during the first year of life (which is the
time to maturation in most songbird species), with
no additional learning after the first breeding
season (‘closed-ended learners’; e.g., chaffinches or
zebra finches (Taeniopygia guttata)). In other species,
learning might continue throughout life (‘open-ended
learners’; e.g., canaries (Serinus canaria) or starlings
(Sturnus vulgaris)). Often this entails repertoire size
increasing with age.
Song acquisition learning seems to take place dur-
ing a sensitive phase without apparent external
ning). Unlearned biases (varying in their specificity
across species) guide what types of vocalizations are
preferentially learned. Generally, the first auditory
memories are laid down during the first weeks of
life, often around the time when the young birds
fledge from the nest, and the sensory learning phase
precedes the motor learning phase. In seasonal spe-
cies, this might not occur until months after the off-
spring heard adult birds sing. Early singing consists of
quiet, amorphous warbling (subsong) that proceeds
to more structured and phonologically varied song
(plastic song). Whereas these first two phases may
take several weeks, the last transition, to the fully
crystallized song, often occurs rather rapidly, within
a few days. After that, phonology, phonological
syntax, and timing fully are those of adult song
(Figures 3 and 4). The onset of motor practice and
song crystallization correlates with changes in steroid
hormone levels, which are triggered by photoperiod
in temperate zones but exhibit less clear circannual
patterns in tropical nonseasonal species. Where song

Figure 2 Culturally transmitted song types in the zebra finch (Taeniopygia guttata). Columns show spectrograms of tutors’ songs in the
top row (adult males w709 and o554, respectively) and their respective tutees. Young males were housed with their respective tutors
throughout the sensitive phase for song learning (days 35–65 posthatching); as a result, songs of tutees resemble the song of their tutor
and each other more than do those of full brothers.
Figure 3 An example of changes in one song motif in the
course of ontogeny in a chaffinch, Fringilla coelebs. The crystal-
lized song type was also in the final song type repertoire of this
individual (illustrated in Figure 4, tutee song type 2).
and testosterone titers are seasonal, a brief phase of
subsong is observed before the onset of the breeding
season even in adult birds.
In the sensorimotor model of song learning, a crude
early template sets the sensory predispositions that
filter the types of acoustic stimuli that are laid down
as specific song memories (the ‘template’) during
the sensory learning phase. The template is adjusted
Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 43
by learning and plays an important role in the devel-
opment of full song in the subsequent sensori-
motor phase. This is in line with observations that
song developed by young birds deprived of adult
song tutors contains species-specific characteristics
(a song-deprived nightingale sounds different from
a song-deprived starling) but lacks the fine detail of
normal adult song. With the onset of the motor
learning phase, auditory feedback is crucial to adjust
the song output until it matches the template. Inter-
rupting the auditory feedback by masking it with
noise or by blocking the central nervous connections,
thus making the bird unable to hear its own song,
will result in the development of song that is even
more impoverished than the song of isolate-raised
birds. The original model of song learning has been
updated and altered over the years, but both behav-
ioral and neurobiological findings seem to support
the principle underlying ideas of a two-phase process
(sensory and sensorimotor learning phases), and this
still serves well as an appropriate description of the
basic pattern observed in many species.
Consequences of vocal learning are increased
interindividual and geographic variation arising
from imprecise song copying (see individual w83 in
Figure 2 and differences between tutor’s and tutee’s
songs in Figure 4). As in human speech, birds can
have local dialects that are discretely different from
44 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
Figure 4 Four song types were played on tape to young fledgling chaffinches (tape tutor). The final repertoire of one of the respective
tutees in the subsequent spring is shown (for song development, see Figure 3). Redrawn from Riebel K and Slater P J B (1999), Ibis 141,
680–683.
other dialects in the same species, with clear-cut dia-
lect boundaries (see Dialects in Birdsongs). Popula-
tion changes in time and space have been relatively
well studied due to short avian generation times, and
cultural changes in song can be easily observed and
documented. Songbirds thus provide an important
study system for nonhuman gene-culture co-evolu-
tion studies and diachronic and geographic change
such as dialect formation.
Development of Vocalizations in Non-oscine Birds
In contrast to the extensive vocal learning process
in most songbirds, their closest relatives, the sub-
oscines, seem to be able to develop species-specific
song even when deprived of adult song or auditory
feedback, although vocal learning now also has been
shown to occur in some sub-oscines. Vocal learning
in songbirds seems to have evolved independently
several times and has also been reported for at least
two other avian orders, parrots (Psittacidae) and
hummingbirds (Trochilidae). Vocal learning has
been little investigated in other avian taxa and may
be even more widespread than reported (Kroodsma,
2004). Developmental changes during maturation
also occur in taxa not described as vocal learners.
For example, specialized juvenile vocalizations (such
as begging calls) may disappear from the vocal reper-
toire or the characteristics of the vocal tract may
change during growth. An analogue to human ‘voice
breaking’ has been described in a number of bird
species. Even in bird species in which the sexes do
not exhibit substantial morphological differences,
adult males and females often show consistent differ-
ences in acoustic parameters such as fundamental
frequencies and harmonic composition. These differ-
ences often seem to come about rather suddenly dur-
ing sub-adult development and possibly coincide with
steroid hormone-induced changes of the vocal tract
(Ballintijn and ten Cate, 1997).
Song Production
Birds have a larynx located at the top of their trachea,
but vocalize with the aid of a specialized organ, the
syrinx, located much lower down where the two
bronchi join to form the trachea (see Vocal Production
in Birds). The tonal character of many bird vocaliza-
tions and the existence of a unique sound-producing
organ have triggered a wealth of hypotheses as to
possible fundamental differences in sound production
mechanisms between birds and mammals. Recent
findings suggest that the basic mechanism is the
same: cyclic opening and closing of the gap between
the vocal membranes lead to harmonic sound at the
source, which undergoes filtering by the vocal tract.
However, whereas a larynx consists of only one pair
of vocal folds, there are two sets (one in each bron-
chus) of each of the several pairs of membranes
involved in birdsong production (Goller and Larsen,
2002). The two halves of the syrinx are innervated
 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 45

independently, creating two potential sound sources

that can, within certain limits, be operated indepen-
dently. In most songbirds, one side of the syrinx seems
dominant over the other, and this lateral dominance
might even differ from syllable to syllable and even
within a syllable. As in mammal sound production,
including human speech, the settings of the songbird
vocal tract act as a vocal filter and movements of
the neck, tongue, and beak contribute to changes in
resonance properties.

Neurobiological Correlates of Singing

and Song Learning
Songbird brains show special adaptations for the
production and acquisition of song (Figure 5).
A number of interconnected brain nuclei (the ‘song
system’) are absent in non-vocal-learning bird species
and are sexually dimorphic in those species in which
producing song is a behavioral dimorphism. The
brain areas involved are highly specialized and easy
to distinguish from surrounding brain tissue using
standard tissue staining techniques. Two main path-
ways are involved in sound production (Figure 5A).
The posterior (or motor) pathway descends from ce-
rebral areas to control the syrinx via the hypoglossal
nerve (XII); two cerebral regions (HVC and RA; see
Figure 5 for abbreviations) show neuronal activation
synchronized with singing. The anterior pathway
plays an important role in song learning, and lesions
in either Area X or MAN in young birds disrupt song Figure 5 Song system. Schematic drawings of a parasagittal
acquisition; such lesions do not affect singing in adult section of the songbird brain. Abbreviations are based on the
birds. The well-delineated sensitive phases of sensory revised nomenclature of Reiner et al. (2004), Journal of Comparative
Neurology 473, 377–414: CMM, caudal medial mesopallium (for-
learning in many songbird species allow controlled
mer: caudal medial hypertriatum ventrale, CMHV); DLM, medial
experimental assessment of the quantity and quality part of the dorsolateral thalamus; HVC, high vocal center; L, Field
of the sensory input. Avian song learning is thus a L2; LaM, lamina mesopallialis (former: lamina hyperstriatica,
prime model to study the neurobiological basis of LH); MAN, magnocellular nucleus of the anterior nidopallium;
vocal learning and adult neuronal plasticity (seasonal MLd, mesencephalic lateral dorsal nucleus (dashed lines indicate
the nucleus is located more medially than the illustrated section);
changes, neurogenesis). Insights from neurophysiolo-
NCM, caudal medial nidopallium; nXIIth, nucleus hypoglossalis
gy and anatomy and from studies on effects of differ- partis tracheosyringalis; Ov, nucleus ovoidalis; RA, magnocellular
ential gene expression mediating neuroanatomical nucleus of the arcopallium; V, lateral ventricle. (A) Anterior and
and functional change have greatly advanced our posterior pathway. Arrows connect nuclei of the conventional ‘song
understanding of the subtle neuroanatomical changes system’ that consists of the posterior (motor) pathway and the
anterior forebrain pathway. Two main pathways are involved in
involved in learning (Jarvis, 2004).
sound production and learning; the posterior (motor) pathway is
activated during singing and descends from the HVC (pallium):
Sex Differences HVC ! RA ! nXIIts ! syrinx. The anterior pathway, HVC !
Area X ! DLM ! MAN ! RA, is involved in vocal learning. (B)
The avian song system has provided examples of Auditory pathway: input from cochlea via auditory nerve (VIII) and
the most extreme sex differences in functional brain brain stem nuclei (not shown) ! MLd (mesencephalon) ! OV (in
anatomy in vertebrates documented so far. The pro- the thalamus) ! L (with primary and secondary auditory cells of the
nounced sex difference related to song systems and pallium) ! tertiary auditory areas of the nidopallium (NCM, CMM,
HVC shelf, and RA cup). From the HVC shelf there is also a des-
the pronounced seasonal changes in neuronal number
cending pathway via the RA cup to the auditory regions of the
and volume (up to threefold) and of the song nuclei midbrain. The gray areas show neuronal activation when the bird
(Tramontin and Brenowitz, 2000) provide interesting is exposed to conspecific song. Figure kindly provided by Terpstra
insights into the role of steroid hormones in neuronal N and Brittijn M (2004), Journal of Neurosciences 24, 4971–4977.
46 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
development and differentiation. Large differences
between closely related species, ranging from species
in which females have never been observed to sing
to those in which females sing as much as males,
provide excellent opportunities for comparative stud-
ies in neuroethology (Brenowitz, 1997; MacDougall-
Shackleton and Ball, 1999). They also provide a
prime model for the study of hormonal and genetic
effects in gender differentiation. When song is sexual-
ly dimorphic, it is possible to differentiate production
and perception learning and to identify specialized
adaptations of the brain. In a cross-species compari-
son across 20 or so species, sex differences in the
neuronal song system were found to be correlated
with sex differences in song output and repertoire
size (MacDougall-Shackleton and Ball, 1999). How-
ever, it is unclear whether this is due to sex differences
in song output or to vocal learning. Most studies so far
have been based on sex differences related to quantity
and quality of adult song output and not to song
learning (Gahr et al., 1998). Though many species
show clear sex differences in song usage, there have
been few studies investigating female vocal learning
abilities, but this is a rapidly growing field of research
(Riebel, 2003). Evidence is quickly accumulating that
early learning greatly influences adult female song
and its perception. Future studies will thus have to
show whether females differ from males in when and
what they learn, or only in how much they sing.
Hearing and Perception
The Avian Ear and the Auditory Pathway
For any communication system, the study of physical
properties of signals and their production needs to be
paralleled by the study of the corresponding recep-
tors. Bird ears are similar to mammal ears in many
respects, but differ in a number of key features. The
outer ear lacks an external pinna, and its opening in
the skull is covered by feathers and there is only a
single middle ear bone (the columella). Moreover, the
basilar papilla is straight rather than coiled and shows
a greater diversity of sensory hair cell types compared
to mammal ears (Causey Whittow, 2000). These dif-
ferences might explain why the range of audible fre-
quencies seems little curtailed despite the remarkably
short basilar papilla, which is only about 2–3 mm
long (compared to up to 9 mm in owls and 30 mm
in humans). Despite these differences, in general,
birds’ ears work like those of mammals. Sound
waves set the membrane separating the inner from
the outer ear vibrating. This motion is transmitted via
the columella to the fluid of the inner ear. The pres-
sure changes and motions within the fluid excite the
hair cells on the sensory epithelium; the hair cells
act as transducers, leading to sound-specific patterns
of discharge in the auditory nerve (the (nVIIIth)).
From nVIIIth, the auditory pathway (Figure 5B) con-
tinues, ascending via a number of nuclei in the brain
stem, the mesencephalon, and the thalamus (ovoi-
dalis) to primary and secondary auditory cells of
the pallium. From there, auditory information is
transmitted to tertiary auditory areas of the nidopal-
lium. Thus, in line with songbirds’ sensory learning
abilities, there is a full ascending sensory pathway to
higher forebrain regions.
Hearing Range and Perception
The hearing ranges of birds have been determined
using both electrophysiological methods (recording
neuronal activities on sound playback) and behavior-
al methods (training birds to indicate behaviorally
whether they can discriminate between two sounds).
Bird hearing is remarkably acute both in the low-
and high-frequency ranges, despite the short basilar
papilla. Audiograms show species-specific peaks and
troughs, with specialists such as night-hunting owls
showing higher sensitivities. Inspection of avian audi-
bility curves reveals no ultra- or infrasonic hearing
(Figure 6). Though birds might hear from roughly
0.5 to 10 kHz, they generally hear best between
1 and 6 kHz, with absolute sensitivity approach-
ing 0–10 dB SPL at the most sensitive frequency,
which is usually at around 2–3 kHz (Dooling, 2004).
Generally, the sounds that birds produce map
Figure 6 Avian and human audibility curves. Owls (Strigi-
formes) have a higher sensitivity compared to an average song-
bird and to humans. Redrawn from Dooling R J et al. (2000), in
Dooling R J, Fay R R, and Popper A N (eds.) Comparative hearing:
birds and reptiles, 308–359, New York: Springer Verlag; and Dooling
(2004).

well onto the frequency range of their most sensitive
hearing.
Despite their small head size, songbirds also show
good directional hearing. Instead of integrating the
information of directionality using differential arrival
times of a sound at both ears, songbirds’ ears are
connected via the air cavities in the skull bones so
that sound is incident on the inner surface of the
tympanic membrane at the opposite ear. Two differ-
ent pressures build up on either side of the mem-
branes; by moving its head until the two pressures
are equalized, the bird localizes the sound. The mag-
nitude of spatial masking release is similar to that in
humans (10–15 dB, with tone and masking noise 90!
apart). Masking effects of noise are frequency specific
and strongest when overlapping with the actual signal
(Klump, 1996). Compared to humans, birds do less
well in detecting changes in intensity, but when dis-
criminating between complex sounds, birds demon-
strate fine temporal resolution, exceeding that of
humans. However, birds’ perception also shows
some interesting parallels with human abilities, and
there is good experimental evidence for auditory
stream analysis (filtering of auditory objects from
general background noise) and categorical perception
(both for avian and non-avian vocalizations; i.e.,
birds show categorical perception of human pho-
nemes). Birds also superficially show complex serial
pattern recognition (for example, in the discrimina-
tion of musical tunes), but use different strategies for
categorization than humans. Unlike humans, who
focus on differences in relative pitch, in bird species
tested so far, absolute pitch and absolute frequency
range were more important in classification of complex
sounds.
Development of Hearing and Perception The de-
velopment of hearing and perception has not been
widely studied, compared to song production. How-
ever, even in species not known as vocal learners,
perception is modulated by experiences during devel-
opment. In ducklings (Anas platyrhynchos), prefer-
ences for and recognition of the species-specific
maternal call are greatly impaired in birds that are
deprived of hearing their mother’s and their own calls
while still in the egg (Gottlieb, 1978). Development and
learning are of even greater impact when complex
vocalizations, such as the learned songs in songbirds,
are concerned. During the sensorimotor learning
phase, auditory neurons develop specific responsive-
ness to elements of, first, the tutor and, later, the bird’s
own song. Song discrimination abilities are impaired in
both males and females if they are deprived of species-
specific song during development, suggesting that the
fine tuning of song perception also depends on early
Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 47
experiences in non-singing females. Moreover, evi-
dence is accumulating that female preferences for spe-
cific variants of conspecific songs are also greatly
influenced by social learning processes (Riebel, 2003).
Evolution and Functions of Birdsong
Functions of Birdsong
So far we have dealt with the proximate causation of
song: its development, control and perception. But
why do birds sing? And what kind of information
do they signal and extract from a song that they
hear? It is well documented that birdsong is an adver-
tisement signal with a dual function: territory defense
and mate attraction. However, the precise functions
of song can differ among species. Moreover, within
species, the function of song may differ with time of
day or season and it may differ depending on how
birds sing, i.e., which song patterns they sing and how
they use them when interacting with each other. Song
encodes information about the singer and such infor-
mation can be relevant for other males and females.
Nevertheless, females and males may attend to differ-
ent aspects of song so that, even though song may be
addressed to both sexes, the specific traits that are
used to assess a singer may differ, depending on which
sex is listening.
Birdsong as a Long-Range Signal
Unlike human speech, birdsong, in common with
other advertisement signals in the animal kingdom,
is used as a long-range signal, often over 100 or more
meters. During transmission through the environ-
ment, acoustic signals inevitably attenuate and de-
grade (Wiley and Richards, 1982; Slabbekoorn,
2004) (Figure 7). Thus the structure of a song at the
position at which a receiver makes a decision differs
from its structure at its source. The nature of these
environmentally induced changes in a song depends
on habitat structure and weather conditions. The
differences in the acoustic properties of a given habi-
tat are of evolutionary significance, and certain signal
structures will be more effective than others in long-
range communication. As a consequence, songbirds
in forests sing differently from those that live in open
areas, such as woodlands or fields. The reflecting
surfaces of the vegetation in forests are the main
cause of sound degradation (signal reverberation);
in contrast, open habitats cause negligible rever-
beration. Rapid repetitions of elements with the
same frequency structure, i.e., trills, are particularly
susceptible to being blurred by reverberation. Indeed,
birds in closed habitats have been found to sing trills
with slower repetition rates compared to birds in
48 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication

Figure 7 Undegraded and degraded sound spectrograms and oscillograms of a chaffinch song. Upper panel: song as recorded from a
singing male within a distance of 10 m is undegraded. Lower panel: song as recorded at a distance of 40 m in a deciduous forest. Here
the oscillogram (top) and spectrogram (bottom) show temporal smearing of the sound.

open habitats. Because vegetation also causes addi-

tional attenuation of sound, and specifically of the
higher frequencies, there should be strong selection
to avoid higher frequencies for long-range communi-
cation in forests. Empirical findings show that birds
in open habitats use, on average, more high frequen-
cies than do birds in closed habitats. However, the
environmental effects on song transmission not only
mask information coded in the song but also
provide additional relevant information. Degradation
and attenuation with distance are to some extent
predictable, so that birds, like humans, have been
shown to use cues from degradation and attenuation
as distance cues (Figure 8). This can be crucial for an
effective defense of large territories against rival
males (Naguib and Wiley, 2001). Because they can
assess the distance to a singing rival, males need only
invest time and energy in repelling a rival that is
nearby and therefore is a likely threat; energy need Figure 8 Response scores of Carolina wrens to playback of
not be wasted when the rival is far away and beyond undegraded (clear) song and song with added distance cues.
the territorial boundary. Scores on the principal component (shown on the Y axis) indicate
strength of response. Birds, like humans, use reverberation and
Territorial Function and Communication high-frequency attenuation as separate cues to distance. Repro-
among Males duced from Naguib M (1995), Animal Behaviour 50, 1297–1307.

Song in most passerine birds is used as a territorial

signal, i.e., to advertise an area that will be defended
against rival males. In a classic study on the territorial
function of birdsong, Krebs and colleagues (Krebs,
1977) removed male great tits from their territories;
installed loudspeakers then played recorded con-
specific song or a control sound, or no sound was
broadcast (Figure 9). Territories in which no song or
the control song (a tune on a tin whistle) was broad-
cast were occupied by new males earlier than when
conspecific songs were broadcast. This and subse-
quent experiments provided convincing evidence
that male song keeps out rival males. Moreover,
 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 49

Figure 9 Schematic representation of a classic experiment on the territorial function of song in great tits. Males were removed from
their territory and were replaced by loudspeakers either playing great tit songs (‘experimental’) or playing back a control stimulus, or no
stimulus was broadcast. Shaded areas on the right indicate re-occupation of the territory by other males after 8 or 10 hours. Males settle
only in those areas (‘control silent’, ‘control sound’) in which no great tit songs were broadcast. Redrawn from Krebs J R and Davies
N B (1992), An introduction to behavioural ecology, Oxford: Blackwell Scientific.

playback experiments in the field and observations of
undisturbed singing in different contexts have shown
that males obtain important information from a riv-
al’s song on which they base their decision on how to
respond to that rival. As in all social behavior, indi-
vidual specific information is of central relevance
when repeated encounters occur. Birds can use such
information to distinguish between familiar and un-
familiar individuals. Moreover, males discriminate
not only between neighbors and strangers, but also
become more aggressive when they hear their neigh-
bor’s song from the opposite side of their territory
(Figure 10). Thus, information on familiarity with
song is linked to a location from which it is usually
heard. The reduced response to a neighbor’s song
when received from the ‘correct’ direction is termed
the ‘dear enemy effect’ (Stoddard, 1996). Neighbors
are rivals in competition for space and matings, but,
once a relation is established, neighboring males
benefit by reduced aggression toward each other. In
addition, neighbors also can act as an early warning
system when a stranger starts singing somewhere
in the territorial neighborhood, an issue that has
received specific attention in studies using birdsong
as a model in investigating communication networks
(Naguib, 2005; Peake, 2005).
During territorial conflicts, males can signal their
readiness to escalate a contest by a range of different
singing strategies. There is variation within and
among species as to which strategy has which signal
value (Todt and Naguib, 2000). Males may time
their songs during an interaction so that they overlap
songs of their opponent. In almost all species studied
to date, song overlapping is used and perceived as an
agonistic signal. Another way of agonistically addres-
sing a rival is to match his song type, i.e., to reply with
the same song pattern the rival has just sung. Song
rate and the rate of switching among different song
types can likewise signal changing levels of arousal.
In barn swallows (Hirundo rustica), the structure of
the song can be correlated with levels of testosterone
(Figure 11), and thus song may be used as a predictor
of fighting vigor. The importance of song in territory
defense also may vary with time of the season and
50 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
Figure 10 Response strength of male territorial song sparrows
to playback, at different locations in their territory, of song of
neighbors and strangers. Neighbor/stranger discrimination usu-
ally occurs only at the boundary toward the territory of the neigh-
bor whose song is broadcast. At the center of a territory or at the
opposite boundary, no discrimination is observed, suggesting
that intrusions at these sites are assessed as equally threatening
regardless of the identity of the intruder. Redrawn from Stoddard
P K et al. (1991), Behavioural Ecology and Sociobiology 29, 211–215.
Figure 11 Relation between levels of plasma testosterone and
number of impulses per rattle in barn swallow songs. Males with
more impulses in the rattles of their song had higher testosterone
levels, suggesting that song codes information on the physiolog-
ical state of the singer. Redrawn from Galeotti P et al. (1997),
Animal Behaviour 53, 687–700.
with time of the day. The dawn chorus, for instance, a
marked peak of singing activity early in the morning
in many temperate-zone songbirds, has a specific
function in territory defense in some species (Staicer
et al., 1996).
Function in Mate Attraction
Song provides information on male motivation and
quality and there is now good evidence that females
Figure 12 Nocturnal singing activity of male nightingales. Bars
indicate the period of the breeding cycle when males sing at
night. Males cease nocturnal song after pairing but resume it
when their females lay eggs. Males that remain unpaired
(‘bachelors’) continue nocturnal song throughout the entire
breeding season (bachelors, N ¼ 12; mated males, N ¼ 18).
Modified from Amrhein et al. (2002), Animal Behaviour 64, 939–944.
use this information for pairing and mating decisions.
Females may choose a male partner on the basis of his
song and, once paired, still mate additionally with
other males with more attractive song, in so-called
extra-pair copulations. There are two lines of evi-
dence showing the function of song in female
choice. Field studies have shown that song traits
are linked to mating success and to paternity, and
laboratory studies have shown that females are
more responsive to specific song traits. In many bird
species, males change their singing behavior after
pairing, suggesting that the function of song differs
between the period of mate attraction and the period
thereafter. Many warblers show a marked decrease
in singing activity after pairing, and nocturnally
singing birds such as the nightingale cease nocturnal
song the day after a female has settled within their
territory (Amrhein et al., 2002) (Figure 12).
Sedge warbler (Acrocephalus schoenobaenus) males
become paired earlier when they have large vocal
repertoires (Figure 13), suggesting that repertoire size
is a trait used by females in mating decisions. Great
reed warbler (Acrocephalus arundinaceus) females ex-
hibit more display behavior in response to complex
songs than to simple ones (Figure 14) and have been
shown to copulate only with those neighboring males
that have a song repertoire larger than their social
mate has (Figure 15). Dusky warblers (Phylloscopus
fuscatus) that produce song elements at a higher rela-
tive amplitude gain more extra-pair matings than do

Figure 13 Pairing and song repertoire in sedge warblers.
Males with larger song repertoires pair earlier, suggesting
that song repertoire is used in female choice. Redrawn from
Catchpole C (1980), Behaviour 74, 149–166.
males that sing their elements ‘less well’. Further-
more, studies have shown that males usually increase
their song output when their mate disappears or is
removed experimentally. In addition, studies under
controlled laboratory conditions have shown that
females show strong preferences for specific song
traits. Females show more copulation solicitation dis-
plays (a specific posture females use to elicit co-
pulations) when hearing large song repertoires than
when hearing smaller, less complex song repertoires,
as in great reed warblers (Figure 14). In canaries, a
substructure of the song, a complex syllable category
(a trill), has been identified as a ‘sexy syllable’ to
which females pay specific attention. More recent
studies have used operant techniques in which
females were allowed to peck a key to release play-
back of songs of different complexity, and with this
technique it is possible to test female preference for
song in more detail (Riebel, 2003).
Comparison to Human Speech
Both human speech and birdsong consist of finite sets
of smaller units (humans: phonemes; birds: elements
or syllables) that are arranged by a species-specific
combinatorial system into larger units (humans:
words and sentences; birds: phrases and songs).
Despite the very different functions fulfilled by bird-
song (territorial and mate-attracting signal) and
human speech (physical carrier of human language),
there are many parallels. Both types of communica-
tion are acquired by a form of channeled social
learning, whereby some sounds are more likely to be
copied than others. Learning of speech by humans
and song by birds takes place without obvious exter-
nal reward, occurs at specific phases during develop-
ment, and relies on auditory feedback and a
prolonged phase of motor learning (birds:
Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication 51
Figure 14 Female copulation solicitation displays in response
to playback of songs of different complexity in great reed war-
blers. Female displays last longer in response to larger song
repertoires, suggesting that males with larger song repertoires
are more attractive. Redrawn from Catchpole C et al. (1986),
Ethology 73, 69–77.
subsong; humans: babbling). As in the (prelinguistic)
acquisition of phonemes in humans, in birds a sensory
learning phase precedes the first production attempts.
Babbling babies, like young birds, undergo a long
phase of motor practice during which initial phono-
logical (over)production moves toward producing
phonological units that become more and more simi-
lar to the phonologies that are heard. In human
speech acquisition, learning to produce the phonetic
units precedes the mapping of meaning onto these
units. It is thus in the acquisition of auditory
memories and in the first (prelinguistic) phase of
motor learning that birdsong and speech develop-
ment can perhaps best be seen as an analogue.
Next to similarities on the behavioral level, highly
specialized brain regions control vocal learning,
memory, production, and perception, both in human
speech and in birdsong. Songbirds’ vocal learning
ability is mirrored in highly specialized forebrain
areas solely dedicated to the acquisition and percep-
tion of vocalizations and to the control of the com-
plex motor patterns underlying song. Both song and
speech acquisition have sensitive periods during
which learning is greatly enhanced and sensory ex-
perience leads to learned representations guiding
vocal output via complex feedback mechanisms. In-
creasing experience and sub-adult hormonal changes
later slow down or stop further acquisition learning.
These similarities of the acquisition of vocal units
suggest that similar neural mechanisms might under-
lie vocal learning in birds and in humans. In line with
this, studies on functional morphology of the bird
brain now suggest that avian forebrain areas are
functionally much more equivalent to mammalian
forebrain areas than previously thought. Moreover,
central and peripheral control of both song and
speech show lateralization, which is a clear indication
of evolutionarily highly derived systems. Birdsong
phonology is often highly complex and can show
52 Birdsong: a Key Model in Animal Communication
Figure 15 Relation between male song repertoire and survival
of their offspring in great reed warblers. Offspring survival
(measured as recruits to the next year’s breeding population) is
positively related to the father’s song repertoire size, suggesting
that song repertoire is an indicator of male quality. Data from
Hasselquist et al. (1996), Nature 381, 229–232.
more than one hierarchical level (elements show spe-
cific associations resulting in phrases and songs; these
higher units will also show nonrandom sequential
organization). However, in birdsong there is no evi-
dence of the recursiveness (the embedding of units of
the same hierarchical category within each other) that
is found in human language. Moreover, alternative
combinations of units do not normally create differ-
ent semantic meanings, except in a very limited sense:
Different combinations of units may code for general
information such as species, age, gender, and motiva-
tion. Song is thus best seen as an analogue to human
speech (not language) and to nonverbal aspects of
acoustic communication. In this respect, it is a valu-
able model for comparative studies (Doupe and Kuhl,
1999; Hauser et al., 2002) on mechanisms (behavior-
al, neurobiological, gene regulatory, and hormonal)
as well as on the evolution of vocal learning (Fitch,
2000). In addition, how learning processes affect
diachronic change and geographical variation of sig-
naling provides interesting opportunities for com-
parative research into gene-culture co-evolutionary
processes (see Dialects in Birdsongs).
See also: Alarm Calls; Animal Communication: Deception
and Honest Signaling; Animal Communication: Dialogues;
Animal Communication: Long-Distance Signaling; Animal
Communication Networks; Animal Communication: Over-
view; Animal Communication: Parent–Offspring; Animal
Communication: Signal Detection; Animal Communica-
tion: Vocal Learning; Communication in Grey Parrots;
Communication in Marine Mammals; Development of
Communication in Animals; Dialects in Birdsongs;
Fish Communication; Frog and Toad Communication;
Individual Recognition in Animal Species; Insect
Communication; Non-human Primate Communication;
Traditions in Animals; Vocal Production in Birds.
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Amrhein V, Korner P & Naguib M (2002). ‘Noc-
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Krebs J R (1977). ‘Song and territory in the great tit Parus
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Naguib M (2005). ‘Singing interactions in song birds: im-
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300–319.
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Bislama
C Hyslop, La Trobe University, Bundoora,
VIC, Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bislama, an English-lexifier pidgin-creole, is the na-
tional language of Vanuatu, a republic in the south-
west Pacific within the region of Melanesia. Along
with English and French, it is also one of the official
languages of the country. As the national language, it
is spoken by the majority of the population as either
a first or second language. There are as many as 100
distinct languages spoken in Vanuatu (81 actively
spoken languages according to Lynch and Crowley,
2001) for a population of only 186 678 (1999 cen-
sus), and as a result Bislama is vital as a lingua franca
between speakers of different language groups. In
urban areas and even in some rural areas, it is fast
becoming the main language used in daily life.
According to the 1999 census, in urban areas, where
there is a great deal of intermarriage, Bislama is the
Bislama 53
Peake T M (2005). ‘Communication networks.’ In
McGregor P K (ed.) Communication networks. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Riebel K (2003). ‘The ‘‘mute’’ sex revisited: vocal produc-
tion and perception learning in female songbirds.’
Advances in the Study of Behavior 33, 49–86.
Slabbekoorn H (2004). ‘Singing in the wild: the ecology of
birdsong.’ In Marler P & Slabbekoorn H (eds.) Nature’s
music: the science of birdsong. San Diego: Elsevier Aca-
demic Press. 181–208.
Staicer C A, Spector D A & Horn A G (1996). ‘The
dawn chorus and other diel patterns in acoustic signal-
ing.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H (eds.) Ecology and
evolution of acoustic communication in birds. London:
Cornell University Press.
Stoddard P K (1996). ‘Vocal recognition of neighbors by
territorial passerines.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H
(eds.) Ecology and evolution of acoustic communication
in birds. Cornell: University Press. 356–376.
Todt D & Naguib M (2000). ‘Vocal interactions in birds:
the use of song as a model in communication.’ Advances
in the Study of Behaviour 29, 247–296.
Tramontin A D & Brenowitz E A (2000). ‘Seasonal plastic-
ity in the adult brain.’ Trends in Neurosciences 23,
251–258.
Wiley R H & Richards D G (1982). ‘Adaptations for acous-
tic communication in birds: sound transmission and sig-
nal detection.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H (eds.)
Acoustic communication in birds, vol. 2. New York:
Academic Press. 131–181.
main language used at home in 58% of households;
in rural areas, this figure is considerably lower, at
13.3%. However, even in the most remote areas of
the country only a minority of elderly people are not
fluent in Bislama. Currently, English and French are
the principal languages of education in Vanuatu
and Bislama is generally banned in schools. However,
Bislama is used for many other government and com-
munity services. For example, the majority of radio
broadcasts are in Bislama, although only some of
the content of newspapers is published in Bislama.
Parliamentary debates are conducted in the language,
as are local island court cases.
Bislama is a dialect of Melanesian Pidgin, mutually
intelligible with Solomons Pijin (Pijin), spoken in
Solomon Islands, and Tok Pisin, spoken in Papua
New Guinea. Thus, the language is not just an impor-
tant lingua franca of Vanuatu, but also a common
regional language that allows for communication
among most peoples of Melanesia. Only in New
Caledonia is Melanesian Pidgin not spoken.

Jarvis E D (2004). ‘Brains and birdsong.’ In Marler P &
Slabbekoorn H (eds.) Nature’s music: the science
of birdsong. San Diego: Elsevier Academic Press.
226–271.
Klump G (1996). ‘Bird communication in the noisy world.’
In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H (eds.) Ecology and
evolution of acoustic communication in birds. Ithaca,
New York: Cornell University Press. 321–338.
Krebs J R (1977). ‘Song and territory in the great tit Parus
major.’ In Stonehouse B & Perrins C (eds.) Evolutionary
ecology. London: Macmillan. 47–62.
Kroodsma D E (2004). ‘The diversity and plasticity of
birdsong.’ In Marler P & Slabbekoorn H (eds.) Nature’s
music: the science of birdsong. San Diego: Elsevier
Academic Press. 108–131.
MacDougall-Shackleton S A & Ball G F (1999). ‘Compara-
tive studies of sex differences in the song-control system
of songbirds.’ Trends in Neurosciences 22, 432–436.
Marler P I E B (2004). ‘Bird calls: a cornucopia for commu-
nication.’ In Marler P & Slabbekoorn H (eds.) Nature’s
music: the science of birdsong. San Diego: Elsevier
Academic Press. 132–177.
Naguib M (2005). ‘Singing interactions in song birds: im-
plications for social relations, territoriality and territorial
settlement.’ In McGregor P K (ed.) Communication
networks. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
300–319.
Naguib M & Wiley R H (2001). ‘Estimating the distance to
a source of sound: mechanisms and adaptations for long-
range communication.’ Animal Behaviour 62, 825–837.
Bislama
C Hyslop, La Trobe University, Bundoora,
VIC, Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bislama, an English-lexifier pidgin-creole, is the na-
tional language of Vanuatu, a republic in the south-
west Pacific within the region of Melanesia. Along
with English and French, it is also one of the official
languages of the country. As the national language, it
is spoken by the majority of the population as either
a first or second language. There are as many as 100
distinct languages spoken in Vanuatu (81 actively
spoken languages according to Lynch and Crowley,
2001) for a population of only 186 678 (1999 cen-
sus), and as a result Bislama is vital as a lingua franca
between speakers of different language groups. In
urban areas and even in some rural areas, it is fast
becoming the main language used in daily life.
According to the 1999 census, in urban areas, where
there is a great deal of intermarriage, Bislama is the
Bislama 53
Peake T M (2005). ‘Communication networks.’ In
McGregor P K (ed.) Communication networks. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Riebel K (2003). ‘The ‘‘mute’’ sex revisited: vocal produc-
tion and perception learning in female songbirds.’
Advances in the Study of Behavior 33, 49–86.
Slabbekoorn H (2004). ‘Singing in the wild: the ecology of
birdsong.’ In Marler P & Slabbekoorn H (eds.) Nature’s
music: the science of birdsong. San Diego: Elsevier Aca-
demic Press. 181–208.
Staicer C A, Spector D A & Horn A G (1996). ‘The
dawn chorus and other diel patterns in acoustic signal-
ing.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H (eds.) Ecology and
evolution of acoustic communication in birds. London:
Cornell University Press.
Stoddard P K (1996). ‘Vocal recognition of neighbors by
territorial passerines.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H
(eds.) Ecology and evolution of acoustic communication
in birds. Cornell: University Press. 356–376.
Todt D & Naguib M (2000). ‘Vocal interactions in birds:
the use of song as a model in communication.’ Advances
in the Study of Behaviour 29, 247–296.
Tramontin A D & Brenowitz E A (2000). ‘Seasonal plastic-
ity in the adult brain.’ Trends in Neurosciences 23,
251–258.
Wiley R H & Richards D G (1982). ‘Adaptations for acous-
tic communication in birds: sound transmission and sig-
nal detection.’ In Kroodsma D E & Miller E H (eds.)
Acoustic communication in birds, vol. 2. New York:
Academic Press. 131–181.
main language used at home in 58% of households;
in rural areas, this figure is considerably lower, at
13.3%. However, even in the most remote areas of
the country only a minority of elderly people are not
fluent in Bislama. Currently, English and French are
the principal languages of education in Vanuatu
and Bislama is generally banned in schools. However,
Bislama is used for many other government and com-
munity services. For example, the majority of radio
broadcasts are in Bislama, although only some of
the content of newspapers is published in Bislama.
Parliamentary debates are conducted in the language,
as are local island court cases.
Bislama is a dialect of Melanesian Pidgin, mutually
intelligible with Solomons Pijin (Pijin), spoken in
Solomon Islands, and Tok Pisin, spoken in Papua
New Guinea. Thus, the language is not just an impor-
tant lingua franca of Vanuatu, but also a common
regional language that allows for communication
among most peoples of Melanesia. Only in New
Caledonia is Melanesian Pidgin not spoken.
54 Bislama
The formation and development of Bislama, and of
Melanesian Pidgin generally, took place within
Vanuatu and other regions of Melanesia and also in
Australia and other countries of the Pacific. A pidgin
first started to emerge in Vanuatu (known as the New
Hebrides at the time) in the mid-1800s as a result of
the sandalwood and sea slug trade. Further develop-
ment took place in the second half of the 19th centu-
ry, with increasing numbers of Ni-Vanuatu being
recruited to work on plantations both inside Vanuatu
and in other areas of the Pacific, particularly in
the sugarcane plantations of Queensland and Fiji
(Crowley, 1990a). During the early decades of the
20th century, the language stabilized, such that its
structure today is very close to what it was then.
The status of and need for Bislama as a lingua franca
within the country increased in the period leading
up to independence in 1980, to the extent that today
it has become the unifying language of the nation.
The majority of the Bislama lexicon, approximately
84–90%, is derived from English, reflecting its histo-
ry of development alongside English-speaking traders,
plantation owners, and colonists. Only approximately
3.75% of the vocabulary originates from the vernac-
ular languages and 6–12% derives from French
(Crowley, 2004). Of those words that derive from
local languages, the majority describe cultural arti-
facts and concepts and endemic floral and faunal
species that have no common names in English, such
as nasara ‘ceremonial ground,’ navele ‘Barringtonia
edulis,’ and nambilak ‘buff-banded rail.’ Note that
many of these words start with na-, the form of an
article or noun marker in many Vanuatu languages.
Although the majority of the lexicon is derived
from English, the grammar of Bislama is greatly influ-
enced by the vernacular languages. For example, in
the pronominal system there is an inclusive-exclusive
distinction in the first person, yumi ‘we (inclusive)’ is
distinguished from mifala ‘we (exclusive).’ Dual and
trial number is also distinguished from the plural, as
yutufala ‘you (two),’ yutrifala ‘you (three),’ and
yufala ‘you (pl.).’ Another feature that Bislama inher-
its from the substratum languages is reduplication.
Reduplication is a productive process for both verbs
and adjectives, but it is rarer for nouns. In verbs,
reduplication can mark an action as being continu-
ous, habitual, reciprocal, or random. It can mark
intensity in both verbs and adjectives, and it also
marks plurality in adjectives.
Like English and many Vanuatu languages,
Bislama is characterized by AVO/SV word order,
and this is the only means of recognizing the subject
and object of the clause. Peripheral arguments are
marked by prepositions. The preposition long has
a wide general use; it marks the locative, allative,
ablative, and dative. It can also mark the object of
comparison in a comparative construction, the in-
strumental, and a number of other less easily de-
fined functions. The preposition blong also has a
number of functions, marking the possessor in a
possessive construction, a part-whole relationship,
and a purposive role. Prepositions marking other
semantic roles are wetem ‘with’ (instrumental and
comitative), from ‘for, because of’ (reason), and
olsem ‘like’ (similitive).
As is true of most pidgin languages, there is little
marking of tense, aspect, and mood. The preverbal
markers bin and bae mark the past and future tense,
respectively. However, it is possible for an unmarked
verb, preceded only by its subject, to indicate either
past, present, or future tense, depending on the con-
text. A number of auxiliaries also occur, with as-
pectual or modal functions, such as stap, marking
a continuous or habitual action; mas ‘must’; save
‘be able’; and wantem ‘want.’ Verb serialization is
a productive process in Bislama, encoding various
meanings and functions such as a cause-effect
relationship; a causative; or direction, position, or
manner of action.
See also: Central Solomon Languages; Papua New Guin-
ea: Language Situation; Pidgins and Creoles: Overview;
Solomon Islands: Language Situation; Tok Pisin; Vanuatu:
Language Situation.
Bibliography
Crowley T (1990a). Beach-la-mar to Bislama: the
emergence of a national language in Vanuatu. Oxford
Studies in Language Contact. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Crowley T (1990b). An illustrated Bislama-English and
English-Bislama dictionary. Port Vila: University of the
South Pacific, Pacific Languages Unit.
Crowley T (2004). Bislama reference grammar. Honolulu:
University of Hawai’i Press.
Lynch J & Crowley T (2001). Languages of Vanuatu: a new
survey and bibliography. Canberra, Australia: Pacific
Linguistics.
Tryon D T (1987). Bislama: an introduction to the na-
tional language of Vanuatu. Canberra, Australia: Pacific
Linguistics.
Tryon D T & Charpentier J-M (2004). Pacific pidgins
and creoles: origins, growth and development. Trends in
linguistics studies and monographs 132. Berlin: Mouton
de Gruyter.

Black Islam
R Turner, University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The involvement of black Americans with Islam
reaches back to the earliest days of the African pres-
ence in North America. The history of black Islam
in the United States includes successive and varied
presentations of the religion that document black
Americans’ struggles to define themselves indepen-
dently in the context of global Islam. This article is
a historical sketch of black Islam that focuses on
the following topics: Islam and transatlantic slavery,
early 20th-century mainstream communities, early
20th-century racial separatist communities, and
mainstream Islam in contemporary black America.
Islam and Transatlantic Slavery
Muslim slaves – involuntary immigrants who had
been the urban-ruling elite in West Africa, constituted
at least 15% of the slave population in the United
States in the 18th and 19th centuries. Their religious
and ethnic roots could be traced to ancient black
kingdoms in Ghana, Mali, and Songhay. Some of
these West African Muslim slaves brought the first
mainstream Islamic beliefs and practices to America
by keeping Islamic names, writing in Arabic, fasting
during the month of Ramadan, praying five times
a day, wearing Muslim clothing, and writing and
reciting the Qur’an.
The fascinating portrait of a West African Muslim
slave in the United States who retained mainstream
Islamic practices was that of a Georgia Sea Island
slave, Bilali. He was one of at least 20 black Muslims
who are reported to have lived and practiced their
religion in Sapelo and St. Simon’s Islands during the
antebellum period. This area provided fertile ground
for mainstream Islamic continuities because of its
relative isolation from Euro-American influences.
Bilali was noted for his religious devotion: for wear-
ing Islamic clothing, for his Muslim name, and for
his ability to write and speak Arabic. Islamic tradi-
tions in his family were retained for at least three
generations.
Fascinating portraits of outstanding African Muslim
slaves in the United States, which exist in the his-
torical literature, also include Job Ben Solomon
(1700–1773), a Maryland slave of Fuble Muslim ori-
gins; Georgetown, Virginia, slave Yarrow Mamout,
who was close to 100 years old when his portrait
was painted by Charles Wilson Peale; Abd al-Rahman
Ibrahima (1762–1825), a Muslim prince in Futa Jallon,
Black Islam 55
who was enslaved in Mississippi; Omar Ibn Said
(1770–1864), a Fuble Muslim scholar who was a
slave in North Carolina and pretended a conversion
to Christianity; and numerous others.
By the eve of the Civil War, the black Islam of the
West African Muslim slaves was, for all practical
purposes defunct, because these Muslims were not
able to develop community institutions to perpetuate
their religion. When they died, their presentation of
Islam, which was West African, private, with main-
stream practices, disappeared. But they were impor-
tant nonetheless, because they brought black Islam
to America.
Early 20th-Century Mainstream
Communities
In the late 19th century, the Pan-Africanist ideas of
a Presbyterian minister in Liberia, Edward Wilmot
Blyden (1832–1912), which critiqued Christianity
for its racism and suggested Islam as a viable religious
alternative for black Americans, provided the politi-
cal framework for Islam’s appeal to black Americans
in the early 20th century. Moreover, the internation-
alist perspective of Marcus Garvey’s Universal Negro
Improvement Association and the Great Migration
of more than one million black southerners to north-
ern and midwestern cities during the World War
I era provided the social and political environment
for the rise of black American mainstream commu-
nities from the 1920s to the 1940s. The Ahmadiyya
Movement in Islam, a heterodox missionary commu-
nity from India, laid the groundwork for mainstream
Islam in black America by providing black Americans
with their first Qur’ans, important Islamic literature
and education, and linkages to the world of Islam.
Mufti Muhammad Sadiq, the first Ahmadiyya mis-
sionary to the United States, established the American
headquarters of the community in Chicago in 1920.
He recruited many of his earliest black American
converts from the ranks of Marcus Garvey’s Universal
Negro Improvement Association. By the mid-1920s,
Sadiq and black American converts, such as Brother
Ahmad Din and Sister Noor, had established The
Muslim Sunrise, the first Islamic newspaper in the
United States, and thriving multiracial communities
in Detroit, Michigan; Gary, Indiana; and St. Louis,
Missouri.
There were several dynamic early 20th-century
communities to which black American Sunni Mus-
lims can trace their roots. These communities – the
Islamic Mission to America, Jabul Arabiyya, and the
First Cleveland Mosque – were influenced by Muslim
56 Black Islam
immigrants and their own constructed presentations
of mainstream Islam in black communities.
Four things influenced the Islamic Mission to
America in New York City: the local Muslim immi-
grant community; Muslim sailors from Yemen,
Somalia, and Madagascar; the Ahmadi translation
of the Qur’an; and the black American community.
Shiek Daoud was born in Morocco and came to
the United States from Trinidad. Daoud’s wife,
‘Mother’ Sayeda Kadija, who had Pakistani Muslim
and Barbadian roots, became president of the
Muslim Ladies Cultural Society. The Islamic Mission
to America published its own literature about main-
stream Islam. Sheik Daoud believed that black
American Muslims should change themselves not
only spiritually, but also in ‘‘language, dress, and
customs’’ to connect them to Islamic civilization
and revivalism in Asia and Africa. Daoud immersed
himself in the complex experiences of, and bound-
aries between, Muslim immigrants and black con-
verts to Islam in New York City and Brooklyn from
the 1920s to the 1960s.
Muhammad Ezaldeen, an English teacher and prin-
cipal, was a Moorish Science Temple member in
Newark, New Jersey, in the 1920s. After several
years of Arabic and Islamic studies in Egypt, he
returned to the United States to promote the Islamic
connections between Arab and black American cul-
ture in the Adenu Allahe Universal Arabic Associa-
tion. In 1938, he and his followers established
Jabul Arabiyya, a Sunni Muslim community ruled
by Islamic law in rural West Valley, New York.
Communities of this association were founded in
New Jersey (Ezaldeen Village); Jacksonville, Florida;
Rochester, New York; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania;
and Detroit, Michigan. These communities empha-
sized the hijra – the movement of early Arabian
Muslims from Mecca to Medina in 622 C.E. – as the
centerpiece of their spiritual philosophy.
Tensions between black American and immigrant
leaders in the Ahmadiyya Movement in Islam resulted
in the establishment of the Sunni First Cleveland
Mosque by Imam Wali Akram in 1936 and the First
Muslim Mosque in Pittsburgh by Nasir Ahmad and
Saeed Akmal in the same period. Wali Akram was
one of the first black American Muslim converts to
sever all ties with the immigrant community in order
to establish mainstream Islam in a black American
community. The imam and his wife, Kareema, learned
Arabic and taught the language and the recitation
of the Qur’an to black converts. One of Akram’s
unique contributions to the black American commu-
nity was the Muslim Ten Year Plan, which utilized
the faith and discipline of Sunni Islam to get black
people off welfare and to make black American
Muslim communities economically and socially self-
sufficient.
In 1943, Wali Akram conducted the first session
of the Uniting Islamic Society of America in Phila-
delphia. This national group was established to
unify disparate black American mainstream organi-
zations against the agenda of foreign Muslims. The
Uniting Islamic Society of America met several times
from 1943 to 1947 to develop a united platform on
doctrine, politics, women’s issues, leadership, and
relations with the immigrant community. Ultimately,
this organization failed because of personality con-
flicts and different visions of the black American
mainstream Islamic community.
The grassroots work of these mainstream groups
with their emphasis on study of the Arabic language
and the Qur’an, the transformation of domestic
space and community life, adoption of Islamic dress
and customs, and cosmopolitan travels to Egypt,
Morocco, Trinidad, India, Barbados, Jamaica, and
New York City are key to understanding the Muslim
lifestyles of these early Sunni black American con-
verts as expressions of global Islam. These early black
American Sunni communities were overshadowed
by the successful missionary work of the heterodox
Ahmadiyya movement and later by the ascendancy of
the Nation of Islam in the 1950s. Mainstream Islam
did not become a popular option for black American
Muslims until the 1960s.
Early 20th-Century Racial Separatist
Communities
Noble Drew Ali (1886–1929) was the founder of
the Moorish Science Temple of America in Newark,
New Jersey, in 1913. This was the first mass religious
community in the history of black American Islam
and the black nationalist model for the Nation of
Islam. In the late 1920s, the Moorish American com-
munity in the United States grew to approximately
30 000 members and was the largest Islamic commu-
nity in the United States before the ascendancy of the
Nation of Islam in the 1950s.
The Moorish Americans, who established branches
of their community in several northern cities and
made their headquarters in Chicago in the 1920s,
claimed to be descendants of Moroccan Muslims
and constructed a nationalist identity by changing
their names, nationality, religion, diet, and dress.
Their esoteric spiritual philosophy was constructed
from Islam, Christianity, and black Freemasonry. In
1927, Ali wrote their sacred text, the Holy Koran of
the Moorish Science Temple, also called the Circle
Seven Koran, to teach his followers their preslavery
religion, nationality, and genealogy. To support his

case for a Moorish American identity, he emphasized
two important points: first, black Americans were
really ‘Asiatics’ – the descendants of Jesus, and sec-
ond, the destiny of western civilization was linked
to the rise of the ‘Asiatic’ nation – Asians, Africans,
Native Americans, and black Americans.
In the Holy Koran of the Moorish Science Temple,
Noble Drew Ali also argued that truth, peace, free-
dom, justice, and love were the Islamic ideals that
his followers should emulate. The Moorish Science
Temple survived in factions after Noble Drew Ali’s
mysterious death in 1929 and received official recog-
nition for its Islamic linkages to Morocco from
the Moroccan ambassador to the United States in
1986. Major communities exist today in Baltimore,
Pittsburgh, and Los Angeles.
The Nation of Islam began in Detroit, Michigan, in
1930 as the Allah Temple of Islam – a small black
nationalist Islamic movement founded by W. D. Fard,
an immigrant Muslim missionary, who preached a
philosophy of political self-determination and racial
separatism to the newly arrived black southerners
of the Great Migration. Fard believed that Western
civilization would soon end in a race war, and he
established an institutional framework – the Fruit of
Islam, The Muslim Girls Training Corps, and the
University of Islam to separate black Muslims from
white Christian America. Although his ethnic and
Islamic identity remains undocumented, Fard might
have been a Druze, a sectarian branch of the Ismaili
Shii Muslims, who have a long documented tradition
of human divinity and esoteric interpretations of the
Qur’an.
A victim of police brutality, he disappeared mys-
teriously in 1934, after he assigned leadership of
his community to Elijah Muhammad (1897–1975),
who led the Nation of Islam from 1934 to 1975
from its Chicago headquarters and was an impor-
tant figure in the development of black nationalism
and Islam among black Americans in the 20th cen-
tury. The members of the Nation of Islam believed
that their descendants were the Asiatics, who were
the original Muslims and the first inhabitants of the
earth, and they claimed a divine identity for their
founder, W. D. Fard, and prophetic status for Elijah
Muhammad.
During World War II, the Nation of Islam’s mem-
bership decreased dramatically as Elijah Muhammad
and his son, Herbert, became involved politically with
Satokata Takahashi, a Japanese national organizer
among black Americans, and they were prisoners
in the federal penitentiary in Milan, Michigan, from
1943 to 1946. In the 1950s and 1960s, as black
Americans and Africans cracked the political power
of white supremacy in the United States and abroad,
Black Islam 57
Elijah Muhammad’s institutional quest for economic
power made the Nation of Islam into the wealthiest
black organization in American history. In this era,
the Nation of Islam provided a community model
and political inspiration for the black power move-
ment. Malcolm X’s phenomenal organizing efforts
among young lower-class black men and women in
the northern cities created powerful constituencies
for the Nation of Islam across the United States,
and the Muhammad Speaks newspaper, which was
edited by a leftward-leaning staff, provided exem-
plary coverage of international news and anticolonial
struggles in Asia and Africa. Malcolm X provided a
powerful message of racial separatism, self-discipline,
and black community development in the midst of the
integrationist strategies and nonviolent demonstra-
tions of the civil rights movement. However, as the
political tactics and strategies of the civil rights and
the black power movements became more sophisti-
cated Elijah Muhammad’s economic agenda for his
community resulted in a conservative vision regard-
ing political activism; this was one of the primary
factors that led to Malcolm X’s departure from the
Nation of Islam.
In the wake of President Kennedy’s assassina-
tion in 1963, a public controversy between Elijah
Muhammad and Malcolm X evolved into a perma-
nent separation. Establishing a new spiritual and
political identity, Malcolm abandoned the heterodox,
racial-separatist philosophy of the Nation of Islam
and converted to multiracial Sunni Islam during the
last year of his life.
In March, 1964, he founded the Sunni Muslim
Mosque, Inc. in Harlem as the base for a spiritual
program to eliminate economic and social oppression
against black Americans. Then, Malcolm made the
hajj, the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia,
in April 1964. There, he changed his name from
Malcolm X to El Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, which
signified the adoption of a new identity that was
linked to mainstream Islam. Malcolm’s Sunni Islamic
identity became a significant model for many black
Americans who have converted to mainstream Islam
since the 1960s.
After Mecca, Malcolm traveled extensively
through North and West Africa establishing impor-
tant religious and political linkages with Third World
nations. These profound international experiences
deepened his Pan-African political perspective. When
Malcolm returned to the United States, he founded
the Organization of Afro-American Unity in New
York City on June 29, 1964, to promote his political
perspective, which linked the black American strug-
gle for social justice to global human rights issues
in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Caribbean.
58 Black Islam
During the final weeks of Malcolm’s life in 1965,
he began to talk about the black American freedom
struggle as an aspect of ‘‘a worldwide revolution’’
against racism, corporate racism, classism, and sex-
ism. Because of his potential (if he had lived) to unite
many black Muslims and black Christians in America
and abroad in a global liberation struggle that could
have involved the United Nations, there is no ques-
tion that the American intelligence community had
the incentive to be involved in Malcolm X’s murder.
Since 1978, Louis Farrakhan has led the revived
Nation of Islam and published the Final Call news-
paper. Farrakhan speaks fluent Arabic and travels
frequently to the Middle East and West Africa to
promote the issues of black American Muslims. His
greatest achievement as leader of the Nation of Islam
was the Million Man March in 1995, which brought
the healing spirit of Islam to more than one million
black men who gathered in Washington, D.C. This
was the largest political gathering of black Americans
in American history. On Saviours’ Day in Chicago
in February 2000, Farrakhan announced changes in
the Nation of Islam’s theology and ritual practices
that will bring his community closer to the center of
mainstream Islam in North America.
Major factions of the Nation of Islam are led
by John Muhammad in Highland Park, Michigan;
Silis Muhammad in Atlanta, Georgia; and Emmanuel
Muhammad in Baltimore, Maryland. The Five
Percenters, also called the Nation of Gods and Earths,
are popular among rap musicians and the hip-hop
community; they were founded by Clarence 13X in
New York City in 1964.
Mainstream Islam in Contemporary
Black America
Large numbers of black Americans have turned to
mainstream Islamic practices and communities since
Malcolm X’s conversion to Sunni Islam in 1964. Like
Malcolm X, black American Sunni Muslims see
themselves as part of the mainstream Muslim com-
munity in the world of Islam and study Arabic, fast
during the month of Ramadan, pray five times a day,
make the hajj to Mecca, practice charity and social
justice, and believe in one God and Muhammad as his
last prophet. The dramatic growth of mainstream
Islam in black America is also related to the arrival
of more than three million Muslims in the United
States after the American immigration laws were
reformed in 1965.
Elijah Muhammad’s son, Warith Deen Mohammed,
has played an important role within mainstream
Islam in the United States. He became the Supreme
Minister of the Nation of Islam after his father’s
death in 1975. During the first years of his leadership,
he mandated sweeping changes, which he called
the ‘‘Second Resurrection’’ of black Americans, in or-
der to align his community with mainstream Islam.
He refuted the Nation of Islam’s racial-separatist
teachings and praised his father for achieving the
‘‘First Resurrection’’ of black Americans by introdu-
cing them to Islam. But now the community’s mission
was directed not only at black Americans, but also at
the entire American environment. The new leader
renamed the Nation of Islam the ‘‘World Community
of Al-Islam in the West’’ in 1976; the American
Muslim Mission in 1980; and the ‘‘American Society
of Muslims’’ in the 1990s. Ministers of Islam were
renamed ‘imams’, and temples were renamed ‘mos-
ques’ and ‘masjids’. The community’s lucrative finan-
cial holdings were liquidated, and mainstream rituals
and customs were adopted. Although Warith Deen
Mohammed’s positive relationships with immigrant
Muslims, the world of Islam, and the American gov-
ernment are important developments in the history of
mainstream Islam in the United States, his group has
diminished in members since the 1980s, and he
resigned as the leader of the American Society of
Muslims in 2003. In the wake of Mohammed’s depar-
ture, Mustafa El-Amin, a black American imam in
Newark, New Jersey, has attempted to revive this
black mainstream Islamic community.
Darul Islam, founded in Brooklyn, New York, in
1962 and having branches in many major American
cities, is probably the largest and most influential
community of black American Sunni Muslims. Pres-
tige and leadership are based on knowledge of the
Qur’an, the hadith, and the Arabic language. Darul
Islam is a private decentralized community, which
did not allow immigrants in its midst until the
mid–1970s. The Hanafi Madh-hab Center, founded
by Hammas Abdul Khalis in the 1960s, is a black
American Sunni group that made headlines in the
1970s because of its conversion of the basketball
star Kareem Abdul Jabbar and the assassination
of Khalis’s family in their Washington, D.C., head-
quarters. Siraj Wahhaj leads an important black
Sunni community in Bedford Stuyvesant in Brooklyn,
New York.
Although black American Muslims populate multi-
ethnic Sunni masjids and organizations across the
United States, reportedly there are subtle racial and
ethnic tensions between black American and immi-
grant Muslims. Immigrant Muslims talk about ‘a
color- and race-blind Islam’ and the American
dream, whereas black American Muslims continue
to place Islam at the forefront of the struggles for
social justice, as the United States has entered a new
century of frightening racial profiling and violence

in a post–September 11 world. Certainly, black
American and immigrant Muslims have a lot to
learn from each other and need to present a united
front on social justice issues, as mainstream Islam’s
appeal and ascendancy in the United States in this
century may depend on American Muslims’ ability
to claim a moral and political high ground on social
justice and racial issues that have historically divided
the American Christian population. In the wake of
post–September 11 legislation, such as U.S. Patriot
Act that has enabled the detention of Muslim immi-
grants and Muslim Americans, black American Mus-
lims are probably in the strongest position to refute
arguments that claim there is a clash of civilizations
between Islam and the West because of the ethnic
group’s history of contributions to the American
experience.
Although there are no conclusive statistics, some
observers estimate that there are six to seven
million Muslims in the United States and that black
American Muslims comprise 42% of the total popu-
lation. Finally, the future of American Muslim com-
munities in the 21st century may be determined
significantly by the conversion experiences and so-
cial-political perspectives of young black Americans.
According to A report from the Mosque Study
Project 2000, published by the Council on American–
Islamic Relations, black Americans constitute the
largest percentile of the yearly converts to main-
stream Islam, and many of these converts are young
black men and women who reside in urban locations.
Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics
R Wodak, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria, and
Lancaster University, Lancaster, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definition of Terms
Blaming and denying, frequent and constitutive fea-
tures of conflict talk, are expressed in many different
direct or indirect linguistic modes, depending on the
specific broad and narrow contexts of the conversa-
tions, on the functions of the utterances, and on the
formality of the interactions. Moreover, the usages
and functions of blaming and denying are dealt with
in many disciplines (psychoanalysis, sociopsychology,
political sciences, sociology, anthropology, psychia-
try, linguistics, argumentation studies, history, and
so forth). For example, the specifics of blaming and
Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics 59
See also: Islam in Africa; Islam in East Asia; Islam in
Southeast Asia; Islam in the Near East; New Religious
Movements; Religion: Overview.
Bibliography
Austin A D (1997). African Muslims in antebellum America:
transatlantic stories and spiritual journeys. New York:
Routledge.
Clegg C A III (1997). An original man: the life and times of
Elijah Muhammad. New York: St. Martin’s.
Dannin R (2002). Black pilgrimage to Islam. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Diouf S A (1998). Servants of Allah: African Muslims
enslaved in the Americas. New York: New York Univer-
sity Press.
Essieu-Udom E U (1962). Black nationalism: a search for
identity in America. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Haddad Y Y (ed.) (1991). The Muslims of America. New
York: Oxford University Press.
Haley A (1965). The autobiography of Malcolm X. New
York: Ballantine Books.
Lincoln C E (1994). The black Muslims in America (3rd
edn.). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press.
McCloud A B (1995). African-American Islam. New York:
Routledge.
Nimer M (2002). The North American Muslim resource
guide: life in the United States and Canada. New York:
Routledge.
Turner R B (2003). Islam in the African-American experi-
ence (2nd edn.). Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
denying can be related to psychological and psychiat-
ric syndromes, wherein certain patterns are viewed as
compulsive and out of control, and to political debates
and persuasive discourses, in which blaming and de-
nying, by serving to promote one group and to debase
or attack the opposition, are carefully and strategi-
cally planned and serve positive self-presentation and
negative other-presentation. Thus, the linguistic anal-
ysis of those verbal practices that construct a dynamic
of ‘justification discourses’ requires methodologies
that are adequate for the specific genre and context
(speech act theory, conversation analysis, discourse
analysis, text linguistics, argumentation analysis,
rhetoric, and so forth) (for overviews of some impor-
tant features of conflict talk in specific domains from
varying perspectives, see Austin, 1956/1957; Gruber,
1996; Kopperschmidt, 2000) (see also Discourse Mar-
kers; Psychoanalysis and Language).

in a post–September 11 world. Certainly, black
American and immigrant Muslims have a lot to
learn from each other and need to present a united
front on social justice issues, as mainstream Islam’s
appeal and ascendancy in the United States in this
century may depend on American Muslims’ ability
to claim a moral and political high ground on social
justice and racial issues that have historically divided
the American Christian population. In the wake of
post–September 11 legislation, such as U.S. Patriot
Act that has enabled the detention of Muslim immi-
grants and Muslim Americans, black American Mus-
lims are probably in the strongest position to refute
arguments that claim there is a clash of civilizations
between Islam and the West because of the ethnic
group’s history of contributions to the American
experience.
Although there are no conclusive statistics, some
observers estimate that there are six to seven
million Muslims in the United States and that black
American Muslims comprise 42% of the total popu-
lation. Finally, the future of American Muslim com-
munities in the 21st century may be determined
significantly by the conversion experiences and so-
cial-political perspectives of young black Americans.
According to A report from the Mosque Study
Project 2000, published by the Council on American–
Islamic Relations, black Americans constitute the
largest percentile of the yearly converts to main-
stream Islam, and many of these converts are young
black men and women who reside in urban locations.
Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics
R Wodak, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria, and
Lancaster University, Lancaster, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definition of Terms
Blaming and denying, frequent and constitutive fea-
tures of conflict talk, are expressed in many different
direct or indirect linguistic modes, depending on the
specific broad and narrow contexts of the conversa-
tions, on the functions of the utterances, and on the
formality of the interactions. Moreover, the usages
and functions of blaming and denying are dealt with
in many disciplines (psychoanalysis, sociopsychology,
political sciences, sociology, anthropology, psychia-
try, linguistics, argumentation studies, history, and
so forth). For example, the specifics of blaming and
Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics 59
See also: Islam in Africa; Islam in East Asia; Islam in
Southeast Asia; Islam in the Near East; New Religious
Movements; Religion: Overview.
Bibliography
Austin A D (1997). African Muslims in antebellum America:
transatlantic stories and spiritual journeys. New York:
Routledge.
Clegg C A III (1997). An original man: the life and times of
Elijah Muhammad. New York: St. Martin’s.
Dannin R (2002). Black pilgrimage to Islam. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Diouf S A (1998). Servants of Allah: African Muslims
enslaved in the Americas. New York: New York Univer-
sity Press.
Essieu-Udom E U (1962). Black nationalism: a search for
identity in America. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Haddad Y Y (ed.) (1991). The Muslims of America. New
York: Oxford University Press.
Haley A (1965). The autobiography of Malcolm X. New
York: Ballantine Books.
Lincoln C E (1994). The black Muslims in America (3rd
edn.). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press.
McCloud A B (1995). African-American Islam. New York:
Routledge.
Nimer M (2002). The North American Muslim resource
guide: life in the United States and Canada. New York:
Routledge.
Turner R B (2003). Islam in the African-American experi-
ence (2nd edn.). Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
denying can be related to psychological and psychiat-
ric syndromes, wherein certain patterns are viewed as
compulsive and out of control, and to political debates
and persuasive discourses, in which blaming and de-
nying, by serving to promote one group and to debase
or attack the opposition, are carefully and strategi-
cally planned and serve positive self-presentation and
negative other-presentation. Thus, the linguistic anal-
ysis of those verbal practices that construct a dynamic
of ‘justification discourses’ requires methodologies
that are adequate for the specific genre and context
(speech act theory, conversation analysis, discourse
analysis, text linguistics, argumentation analysis,
rhetoric, and so forth) (for overviews of some impor-
tant features of conflict talk in specific domains from
varying perspectives, see Austin, 1956/1957; Gruber,
1996; Kopperschmidt, 2000) (see also Discourse Mar-
kers; Psychoanalysis and Language).
60 Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics
The Use of Blaming and Denying:
Domains and Genres
Blaming and denying occur both in private, intimate
conversations and in the domains of politics, the law,
and the media. Linguistic manifestations depend on
the choice of genre and on the formality/informality
of the settings. For example, studies on racist or anti-
Semitic discourses show that the more informal the
setting (anonymous conversations, conversations
with friends, or e-mail postings), the more likely the
use of abusive language, derogatory terms, and dis-
criminatory language. If the setting is more formal
(for example, a televised debate or political speech),
the wording of ‘blaming’ is mitigated, more indirect,
and often introduced by disclaimers (S ome of my be s t
frie nds are J e wis h/Turks , but ; I love all pe ople ,
but ; and so forth), after which, the ‘other’ is
attacked, often by a projection of guilt or by a turning
of the tables (van Dijk, 1993; Wodak, 2004) (s e e
Mitigation).
Justification discourses have been analyzed in studies
dealing with court trials (Scott and Lyman, 1976;
Alexy, 1996), relationships between parents and chil-
dren (Wodak and Schulz, 1986), intimate relationships
(Jacobson and Kettelhack, 1995; Dejudicibus and
McCabe, 2001), media debates (Lamb and Keon,
1995; Dickerson, 1998), and the speeches, print
media, slogans, and debates of election campaigns
(Chilton, 2004); they have also been focused on in the
police environment and other bureaucratic settings
(Ehlich and Rehbein, 1986) and during proceedings in
which official bodies have attempted to come to terms
with traumatic past events (Ensink and Sauer, 2003;
Martin and Wodak, 2003). One of the most significant
manifestations of denial is ‘Holocaust denial,’ in which
speakers and writers suggest evidence or arguments for
their claim that the Holocaust never happened, being –
in their opinion – invented by a (supposedly Jewish)
conspiracy (Lipstadt, 1993). There is no doubt that
such a denial serves many functions, probably pri-
marily to reject (individual and/or collective) guilt by
counterattacking an imaginary opponent.
Justification discourses are not restricted to oral,
spontaneous texts; the same types of blaming and
denying are also manifest in many written genres,
reflecting the intentions and aims of the authors of
newspaper articles, letters, party programs, election
materials, or legal documents. The visual genres, es-
pecially caricature, lend themselves to justification
discourses through the presentation of, and debate
about, visual evidence (e.g., photos representing war
crimes; see later).
The Linguistic/Pragmatic Analysis of
Blaming and Denying
Depending on the genre, different linguistic and/or
pragmatic approaches are used in analysis. Most ob-
viously, speech act theory allows for the categoriza-
tion of direct and indirect forms of blaming and
denying in conversations or debates (s e e Speech
Acts). In conversation analytic terms, blaming con-
sists of two parts: on the one hand, a specific action is
presented; on the other hand, there is the negative
evaluation of this action, often an accusation. Gruber
(1996) listed several important forms of these so-
called ‘adjacency pairs’ (s e e Conversation Analysis).
Accusations can either relate to situational factors or
to factors that are outside of the specific setting.
Either way, perceived violations of rules and norms
may trigger the speech act of blaming. Moreover, accu-
sations can be formulated either directly or indirectly,
depending on the knowledge that the participants in
the debate or conflict are supposed to possess.
Reacting to aggressive behavior, a defendant can
either apologize and try to legitimize her/his actions
through accounts, anecdotes, various kinds of evi-
dence, and so forth (Scott and Lyman, 1968/1976),
or the accusation can be rejected. Conversation ana-
lysts propose that rejection is the preferred mode of
reaction (Pomerantz, 1978). Silence can also occur;
this is usually interpreted as the accused acknowled-
ging the legitimacy of the accusation. Sometimes, a
counteraccusation may follow, or the accusation may
be partially or completely denied. These patterns of
speech acting can create a conversational dynamic
that it is very difficult to overcome.
Argumentation analysis focuses on typical modes
of arguments that are used in conflict talk. Certain
topoi characterize blaming as well as denying; both
the topoi and the fallacies are difficult to deconstruct,
such that a rational debate becomes almost impossi-
ble. Many argumentative moves can be made while
blaming an opponent, ranging from attacking the
opponent personally (argume ntum ad homine m) or
threatening the opponent and his/her freedom of ex-
pression (argume ntum ad baculum), to undermining
the credibility of the opponent by showing that he/she
does not adhere to the point of view that he/she
publicly defends (tu quoque, a variant of the ad homi-
ne m argument) (for typical fallacies in conflict talk,
see van Eemeren and Grootendorst, 1992; Reisigl and
Wodak, 2001) (s e e als oArgument Structure).
What holds for argumentation is also true of
denials. Denials can occur as disclaimers (I am not a
racis t, s e xis t, e tc., but ) or as direct rejections of

certain accusations; they can be formulated as coun-
terattacks (identification with the aggressor), or as
‘straw man’ fallacies (when a fictitious standpoint is
attributed to the opponent, or the opponent’s actual
standpoint is being distorted). Some of these fallacies
have already been described in classical rhetoric (as in
Aristotle’s De sophisticis elenchis), wherein fallacies
are defined as incorrect moves adopted in dispute to
refute a thesis (see van Eemeren and Grootendorst,
2004) (see also Rhetoric, Classical).
Discourse analysis focuses on the strategies em-
ployed in blaming and denying. These strategies are
realized linguistically in various, predictable ways,
depending on the context. Moreover, mitigation
and intensification markers are of obvious interest,
because they serve to open or close options for debate
and argument. Discursive strategies such as scape-
goating, blaming the victim, blaming the messenger,
victim–perpetrator reversal, the straw man fallacy,
turning the tables, and so forth have been studied
extensively; they all belong to the category of ‘dis-
courses of justification’ (Wodak et al., 1990; Van
Leeuwen and Wodak, 1999). ‘Strategy’ is defined as
a more or less detailed and directed plan of practices
(including discursive practices), adopted to achieve a
particular social, political, psychological, or linguistic
aim. As far as discursive strategies, i.e., systematic
ways of using language, are concerned, they are lo-
cated at different levels of linguistic organization
and complexity. Strategies, realized as macroconver-
sational patterns or moves, are often used to structure
public debates, such as on AIDS, poverty, econo-
mic problems, the welfare state, racism, xenophobia,
and anti-Semitism; as well as on sexism and the rep-
resentation of rape (Carlson, 1996; Maynard, 1998;
Anderson et al., 2001).
An Example: The War-Crimes Debate
Between 1995 and 2004, the Hamburg Institute for
Social Research created and presented to the public
two itinerant exhibitions, under the common denomi-
nation Crimes of the German Wehrmacht (see Heer
et al. (2003); for an extensive analysis of the debates
surrounding the exhibitions, as well as an analysis of
the historical narratives in Germany and Austria
around the discursively constructed images of the
German Wehrmacht, see also Wodak (2005)). The
first exhibition was shown from March, 1995,
through the end of 1999, at a total of 33 venues in
the Federal Republic of Germany and in Austria. The
second exhibition was shown to the public for the
first time in Berlin in November, 2001; the new exhi-
bition upheld the main statement of the former
exhibition (which had been hotly debated and
Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics 61
often criticized, both in the press and in other fora
of discussion): viz., that during World War II, the
Wehrmacht was extensively involved, as an institu-
tion, in planning and implementing an unprecedented
war of annihilation. However, the second exhibition
had shifted to a focus on texts, whereas the first exhi-
bition had presented mainly photographs. The
exhibitions demonstrated the at times passive, at
times active, role of the Wehrmacht in German war
crimes. From November, 2001, through March,
2004, this second exhibition was displayed in 11
German cities, as well as in Vienna and in Luxemburg,
attracting more than 420000 visitors (the Hamburg
Institute’s first exhibition on the same subject had
attracted about 800000 visitors). Both exhibitions
triggered a discussion throughout the Federal Repub-
lic of Germany and Austria about the crimes com-
mitted during the war waged by the National
Socialist regime and about how postwar German so-
ciety dealt with this part of its past. Never before had
the West German and Austrian publics discussed their
past with such intensity and for such a long period.
In the debates surrounding the two exhibitions
(1995 and 2001) on war crimes committed by the
German Wehrmacht in World War II, typical discur-
sive strategies of blaming and denying become appar-
ent. Interviews with visitors to the exhibition
emphasized, on the one hand, the fact of ‘‘not having
seen, known, or heard anything’’ about the deporta-
tion and extermination of prisoners of war as well of
racial and ethnic groups such as Jews, Roma, and
other civilians. On the other hand, the blame was
projected onto ‘a few soldiers,’ who were labeled as
‘exceptions’; in this way, any explicit involvement of
the Wehrmacht as an institution was denied (Heer
et al., 2003). The same patterns are found in the
reports on hearings of the South African Truth and
Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and in the debates
about the pictures of tortured Iraqi prisoners that first
appeared in 2004, during the Iraq war.
Figure 1 summarizes the most important strategies
of denial (i.e., discursive reactions to blaming). The
main distinction shown in the diagram is between
people orienting themselves toward the context,
i.e., acknowledging the fact that they are watching
an exhibition about the German army’s war crimes,
and taking a stance toward that fact (the left side of the
diagram), and people who do not orient themselves
toward the context (the right side of the diagram).
The first three strategies negate the very context, at
least at the explicit level:
1. People do not position themselves with respect to
their belief in the existence of war crimes. This
may be done by (a) refusing to deal with the issue
62 Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics

Figure 1 Array of discursive strategies (see Benke and Wodak, 2003: 124). Abbreviations: NS, Nazi state; SS, Schutzstaffel (Hitler’s
‘protection guard’ unit; SD, Sicherheitsdienst (security police). From Benke G & Wodak R (2003). ‘The discursive construction of individual
memories: how Austrian ‘‘German Wehrmacht’’ soldiers remember WW II.’ In Wodak R & Martin J R (eds.) Re/reading the past.
Amsterdam: Benjamins. 115–138. With kind permission by John Benjamins Publishing Company, Amsterdam/Philadelphia.

at all, (b) claiming ignorance, combined with a re-
fusal to take a stance (people using this strategy
claim that they do not/did not know anything
about what happened), or (c) claiming victimhood
(people adopting this strategy may offer elabo-
rate stories about all sorts of terrible things that
happened to them during and after the war; in
this way, they are able to avoid having to
deal with the issue of war crimes committed by
the Wehrmacht).
2. People lift the discussion up to a more general
level. Using the strategy of scientific rationaliza-
tion, some people launch into extensive analyses
of the Nazi state, aiming to explain how National
Socialism came to be successful, why people were
in favor of the Nazis, and so on. (This strategy was
found among all of the visitors to the exhibitions,
both in Germany and in Austria.)
3. People engage in ‘positive-self’ presentation: the
interviewee tells stories that portray him/her as
having performed good and praiseworthy deeds.
War crimes are acknowledged, yet the actor claims
to have had no part in them (or fails to mention
any relation to war crimes); the interviewees de-
clare themselves to have acted responsibly, in such
a way that they are morally without blame.
The following strategies acknowledge the fact of
the exhibition at some level, either by acceptance or
refutation:
1. In a strategy of acceptance, some people try to
understand what happened.
2. For the most part, however, people try not to deal
with the past; instead, they use several strategies to
justify, and/or deny, the existence of the war
crimes, either by (a) relativizing the facts (people
using this strategy will start to enumerate crimes
of other nations, or use clichés, such as ‘‘every war
is horrible’’) or by (b) adopting two further strate-
gies seeking to provide a (pseudo-) rational causal
explanation for the war crimes. The first is char-
acterized by the interviewees’ continuing the un-
mitigated and undisguised use of Nazi ideology
and Nazi propaganda of the kind that was
promoted during that time to justify the war: ‘‘If
we hadn’t fought them, the Russians would be at

the Atlantic Ocean today.’’ The second of these
strategies similarly stems from the Nazi period,
but at least it acknowledges, however implicitly,
that the war’s moral status is questionable:
‘‘Others forced us.’’
3. Another strategy acknowledges that crimes indeed
did happen, and that the army should perhaps be
held responsible, yet it attributes the responsibility
to someone higher up, possibly within the army:
‘‘I only did my duty.’’
4. Yet another strategy is the ‘‘Not ‘we,’ but ‘them’ ’’
strategy, which attributes the crimes to units of the
army other than the one in which the interviewee
served. A variant is: ‘‘Not ‘this,’ but ‘that’’’ (e.g.,
‘‘We didn’t bomb Copenhagen, only Rotterdam’’).
5. Finally, there is a strategy that simply denies the
fact that war crimes happened at all. In this strate-
gy, people often turn the focus of their memory on
their particular Wehrmacht unit, in which horrors
of the kind shown in the exhibitions simply were
said to be unthinkable.
These discursive strategies are all strategies of
responding to an interview situation following the in-
terviewees’ presence at an exhibition where thou-
sands of photos of war crimes are shown. Though
people employ a number of strategies throughout an
interview, their answers can usually be grouped into
subsets, each of which serves primarily one of the
strategic functions mentioned herein. Some of the
strategies are mutually exclusive, i.e., people who
completely deny the existence of war crimes would
not try to relativize them. This appears to be a logical
necessity, but as Billig et al. (1988) pointed out, logic
or logical consistency is not necessarily prevalent in
official texts; neither is it in everyday conversation,
and even less so in emotionally charged debates or
conflicts.
See also: Argument Structure; Conversation Analysis; Dis-
course Markers; Mitigation; Psychoanalysis and Lan-
guage; Rhetoric, Classical; Speech Acts.
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Wehrmacht’’ soldiers remember WW II.’ In Wodak R &
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Radley A (1988). Ideological dilemmas. A social psychol-
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Carlson R G (1996). ‘The political-economy of AIDS among
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Dejudicibus M & McCabe M P (2001). ‘Blaming the tar-
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Ensink T & Sauer C (eds.) (2003). The art of commemora-
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Gruber H (1996). Streitgespräche. Zur Pragmatik einer
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Heer H, Manoschek W, Pollak A & Wodak R (eds.) (2003).
Wie Geschichte gemacht wird. Erinnerungen an Wehr-
macht und Zweiten Weltkrieg. Vienna: Czernin.
Jacobson B & Kettelhack G (1995). If only you would
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Kopperschmidt J (2000). Argumentationstheorie zur
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Lamb S & Keon S (1995). ‘Blaming the perpetrator: lan-
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19(2), 209–220.
Lipstadt D E (1993). Denying the Holocaust. The growing
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Maynard D W (1998). ‘Praising versus blaming the messen-
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Pomerantz A M (1978). ‘Attributions of responsibility:
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Reisigl M & Wodak R (2001). Discourse and discri-
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Van Dijk T A (1993). ‘Denying racism: elite discourse and
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Bleek, Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel (1827–1875), and Family
E Hültenschmidt, University of Bielefeld, Bielefeld,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel Bleek was born March 8,
1827, in Berlin, in what was then Prussia; he died in
Cape Town, in the Cape Colony in South Africa,
on August 17, 1875. He was the son of the famous
theologian and specialist in New Testament exegesis
Friedrich Bleek, professor of theology at the University
of Bonn. His mother was Augusta Charlotte Marianne
Henriette, née Sethe, originating from a prominent
family of Prussian civil servants. In 1862 in Cape
Town, Wilhelm H. I. Bleek married Jemima C. Lloyd,
daughter of an archdeacon. They had four children.
Bleek is recognized as the founder of German
African Studies. He attended the Gymnasium in
Bonn and then studied classics and theology at the
University of Bonn from 1845 to 1848 and from 1849
to 1851. He chose as his main subject Old Testament
studies. Like all researchers in the Textwissenschaft of
the Old Testament, he compared several Semitic lan-
guages to clarify some linguistic points; in this way, he
extended his interest to North African (Hamitic) lan-
guages. As a consequence, he studied in Berlin in 1848
and 1849 with the famous specialist in Egyptological
research, Richard Carl Lepsius. Here Bleek had to
transcribe manuscripts of southern African languages,
sent mostly by missionaries, into Lepsius’s phonetic
alphabet. In 1851, Bleek submitted his doctoral thesis
at the University of Bonn. From this time on, he pro-
pagated the hypothesis that the ‘Hottentot’ (Khoekhoe)
language was typologically and genetically linked to the
North African (Hamitic) languages: like the Hamitic
languages, it was a gender language, differing from
the Bantu languages without nominal gender. Later, it
was Bleek who created the classificatory term ‘Bantu-
languages.’
From 1855 on, Bleek worked as an explorer- linguist
in southern Africa, though he had to break off his
first attempt to explore Africa from the Guinea coast
language of displacement. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
179–210.
Wodak R & Schulz M (1986). The language of love and
guilt. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Wodak R, Nowak P, Pelikan J, Gruber H, de Cillia R &
Mitten R (1990). ‘Wir sind alle unschuldige Täter’. Dis-
kurshistorische Studien zum Nachkriegsantisemitismus.
Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
because of fever. In the salon of the Prussian ambassa-
dor in London, C. C. J. von Bunsen, who was an aris-
tocratic historian, a friend of Bleek’s family, a promoter
of Sanskrit and Oriental Studies, and a correspondent
of Alexander von Humboldt, Bleek got to know Sir
George Grey, governor of the Cape province (a British
colony at this time) and J. W. Colenso, bishop of Natal.
Colenso engaged Bleek formally to accompany him to
compile a Zulu grammar, and Bleek arrived in 1855 in
Natal. He had great plans for doing extended field
work and thus becoming a sort of Livingstone of lin-
guistics, but the only concrete result was a stay at
the court of the famous Zulu king Mpanda. All other
plans had to be abandoned due to financial and health
problems.
The only institutions in the world where scientific
research was professionalized and thus constantly
remunerated at this time were the Prussian universi-
ties; but Bleek was never a member of the staff of a
Prussian university. What helped him to survive and
to carry on his work, on a more limited scale, was
the patronage of Sir George. In 1856, Bleek became
the curator and bibliographer of Sir George’s enor-
mous collection of documents concerning the lan-
guages and the ethnology of southern Africa, and
he constantly extended this collection, which was
intended to become the most complete collection of
material on aboriginal languages from all over the
world. So Bleek spent the rest of his life in Cape
Town; but here, at least, he had the opportunity in
1858 to meet Livingstone on his way to Mozambique.
In 1859, when Sir George was appointed governor of
New Zealand, he donated his collection to the South
African Public Library at Cape Town, with Bleek as
its curator (1862). In 1870, through the influence of
Sir George, Bleek’s name was placed on Gladstone’s
Civil List, ensuring him a royal pension like other
persons such as Charles Darwin or Charles Lyell.
Only then, for the first time in his life, did he enjoy
financial independence. As a bibliographer, Bleek’s
main work was The library of H. E. Sir George
Grey, K. C. B. (1857–1867), but his main scientific
64 Blaming and Denying: Pragmatics
Van Eemeren F H & Grootendorst R (2004). A systematic
theory of argumentation. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Van Leeuwen T & Wodak R (1999). ‘Legitimizing immi-
gration control.’ Discourse Studies 1/1, 83–118.
Wodak R (2004). ‘Discourse of silence: anti-semitic
discourse in post-war Austria.’ In Thiesmeyer L (ed.)
Discourse and silencing. Representation and the
Bleek, Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel (1827–1875), and Family
E Hültenschmidt, University of Bielefeld, Bielefeld,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel Bleek was born March 8,
1827, in Berlin, in what was then Prussia; he died in
Cape Town, in the Cape Colony in South Africa,
on August 17, 1875. He was the son of the famous
theologian and specialist in New Testament exegesis
Friedrich Bleek, professor of theology at the University
of Bonn. His mother was Augusta Charlotte Marianne
Henriette, née Sethe, originating from a prominent
family of Prussian civil servants. In 1862 in Cape
Town, Wilhelm H. I. Bleek married Jemima C. Lloyd,
daughter of an archdeacon. They had four children.
Bleek is recognized as the founder of German
African Studies. He attended the Gymnasium in
Bonn and then studied classics and theology at the
University of Bonn from 1845 to 1848 and from 1849
to 1851. He chose as his main subject Old Testament
studies. Like all researchers in the Textwissenschaft of
the Old Testament, he compared several Semitic lan-
guages to clarify some linguistic points; in this way, he
extended his interest to North African (Hamitic) lan-
guages. As a consequence, he studied in Berlin in 1848
and 1849 with the famous specialist in Egyptological
research, Richard Carl Lepsius. Here Bleek had to
transcribe manuscripts of southern African languages,
sent mostly by missionaries, into Lepsius’s phonetic
alphabet. In 1851, Bleek submitted his doctoral thesis
at the University of Bonn. From this time on, he pro-
pagated the hypothesis that the ‘Hottentot’ (Khoekhoe)
language was typologically and genetically linked to the
North African (Hamitic) languages: like the Hamitic
languages, it was a gender language, differing from
the Bantu languages without nominal gender. Later, it
was Bleek who created the classificatory term ‘Bantu-
languages.’
From 1855 on, Bleek worked as an explorer- linguist
in southern Africa, though he had to break off his
first attempt to explore Africa from the Guinea coast
language of displacement. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
179–210.
Wodak R & Schulz M (1986). The language of love and
guilt. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Wodak R, Nowak P, Pelikan J, Gruber H, de Cillia R &
Mitten R (1990). ‘Wir sind alle unschuldige Täter’. Dis-
kurshistorische Studien zum Nachkriegsantisemitismus.
Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
because of fever. In the salon of the Prussian ambassa-
dor in London, C. C. J. von Bunsen, who was an aris-
tocratic historian, a friend of Bleek’s family, a promoter
of Sanskrit and Oriental Studies, and a correspondent
of Alexander von Humboldt, Bleek got to know Sir
George Grey, governor of the Cape province (a British
colony at this time) and J. W. Colenso, bishop of Natal.
Colenso engaged Bleek formally to accompany him to
compile a Zulu grammar, and Bleek arrived in 1855 in
Natal. He had great plans for doing extended field
work and thus becoming a sort of Livingstone of lin-
guistics, but the only concrete result was a stay at
the court of the famous Zulu king Mpanda. All other
plans had to be abandoned due to financial and health
problems.
The only institutions in the world where scientific
research was professionalized and thus constantly
remunerated at this time were the Prussian universi-
ties; but Bleek was never a member of the staff of a
Prussian university. What helped him to survive and
to carry on his work, on a more limited scale, was
the patronage of Sir George. In 1856, Bleek became
the curator and bibliographer of Sir George’s enor-
mous collection of documents concerning the lan-
guages and the ethnology of southern Africa, and
he constantly extended this collection, which was
intended to become the most complete collection of
material on aboriginal languages from all over the
world. So Bleek spent the rest of his life in Cape
Town; but here, at least, he had the opportunity in
1858 to meet Livingstone on his way to Mozambique.
In 1859, when Sir George was appointed governor of
New Zealand, he donated his collection to the South
African Public Library at Cape Town, with Bleek as
its curator (1862). In 1870, through the influence of
Sir George, Bleek’s name was placed on Gladstone’s
Civil List, ensuring him a royal pension like other
persons such as Charles Darwin or Charles Lyell.
Only then, for the first time in his life, did he enjoy
financial independence. As a bibliographer, Bleek’s
main work was The library of H. E. Sir George
Grey, K. C. B. (1857–1867), but his main scientific
 Bleek, Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel (1827–1875), and Family 65
work was A comparative grammar of South African
languages (1862–1869).
In his Comparative grammar, Bleek wanted not
only to prove, by the means of the ‘science of lan-
guage,’ the kinship between the Hottentot and the
north African languages, but also to make a definitive
contribution to a question already posed in Sanskrit
and Oriental linguistics: what are the very first, the
primitive forms of human language (after the full
natural evolution of man and language), and can
they be found in the Hottentot and ‘Kafir’ (Zulu)
languages. An adherent of evolutionism, he was con-
vinced that in southern Africa the most primitive state
of mankind was preserved.
This was the immediate goal of his research, but he
also pursued another, more distant goal: to understand
the causes of the specific cultural difference between
populations adhering to a primitive or natural religion
and those adhering to a transcendental religion. For
this son of a Protestant theologian, culture, mind, and
religion were the same ‘thing.’ In this he refers to Max
Müller, whom he probably met in Bunsen’s house in
London, but without agreeing with him on every point.
Bleek seeks the cause of religious or mental differences
in linguistic differences concerning the ‘forms’ and ‘ele-
ments’ of language, which he compares by analogy to
certain nonmathematical and nonlogical sciences:
to organic chemistry (phonology as the science of the
‘elements’ of language) and to comparative anatomy
(the ‘forms’ as the skeleton of language). So in his main
work as elsewhere, Bleek works not only as a compar-
ative linguist, but as a linguistic researcher who has his
intellectual background in Spinoza’s philosophy, as
transmitted among certain Lutheran theologians and
elsewhere in German intellectual culture.
Bleek’s debt to Spinoza’s philosophy is manifest
mainly in his explicitly speculative work The origin of
language, submitted in 1853 for the Volney Prize
(which he did not win), prefaced for publication
in 1867 by himself and by his uncle, Ernst Haeckel, a
researcher on human evolution and a Darwinist. This
work advanced the thesis that there is no opposition, no
essential difference between sciences and humanities,
between natural sciences and the sciences of the mind
(Geisteswissenschaften). Spinoza’s philosophy implies
epistemological naturalism, a continuity between man
and nature. To this naturalistic conception of history
were opposed the post-Kantian and Hegelian idealistic
German historicism and ‘Geisteswissenschaft.’
Bleek’s last great scientific enterprise was his Bush-
man dictionary, begun in about 1870 and completed by
his daughter Dorothea Frances Bleek in the 1940s,
published in the American Oriental Society series in
1956. His many works on Bushman tales, studied be-
cause they give access to the religion, were published in
1911 by his sister-in-law, Lucy C. Lloyd. Here, as in his
other works, the languages of the ‘negroes’ are legiti-
mate subjects of scientific research, not inferior to the
classical languages: each ‘race’ has a place in the history
of the evolution of man and is equally interesting. The
more primitive ‘races’ may even be more interesting.
The Bushman dictionary constitutes an enormous
compendium of information about languages that
have become in the meantime extinct.
Bleek’s main hypothesis concerning the kinship of
the Hottentot and the North African languages sur-
vived up to the work of the Hamburg Africanist Carl
Meinhof; when he tried to prove this kinship defini-
tively by means of comparative philology, Meinhof
found that it did not exist. Comparative philology, or
the science of language, was and is a modern research
science capable of revising its own hypotheses. Bleek’s
belief in the existence of a causal relation between
language and mind in the sense of the structures
of religious systems is no longer accepted. Compara-
tive research into civilizations understands the differ-
ence between primitive or natural and transcendent
religions in a different way.
Dorothea Frances Bleek, born March 26, 1873,
in Mowbray, Cape Colony, died June 27, 1948, in
Plumstead, South Africa. The youngest daughter of
W. H. I. Bleek, she was an eminent researcher in
the Hottentot (Khoekhoe) and Bushman (Khoisan)
languages. In 1904, she was a student of African
languages in Berlin, Germany; after 1908, she concen-
trated on research in the Bushman languages and
cultures. She was introduced to these studies by her
father’s sister-in-law, Lucy C. Lloyd. Miss Lloyd
continued and edited the work of W. H. I. Bleek,
encountering many difficulties, since she was ‘only’ a
woman in Victorian times.
Dorothea F. Bleek continued and edited the work of
both W. H. I. Bleek and Lucy C. Lloyd. From 1910 to
1930 she did extensive fieldwork among Bushman
populations. The results are documented in a series
of publications, the most important of which is the
Bushman dictionary, begun by her father about 1870,
continued by Lucy C. Lloyd, but mainly established
by Dorothea F. Bleek and published by the American
Oriental Society in 1956. She was also active in other
domains, such as Bushman anthropology, for the
Africa Museum in Cape Town, and the study of Bush-
man rock paintings. While Dorothea Bleek’s father was
the inventor of the term ‘Bantu-languages,’ the daugh-
ter established the distinction of three main regional
groups of the Khoisan languages: southern, northern,
and central Khoisan, with the Hottentot (Khoekhoe)
language being a part of the central Khoisan group. Her
father’s hypothesis of a typological-genetic link be-
tween the Hottentot and the Hamitic languages is no
66 Bleek, Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel (1827–1875), and Family
longer accepted, but the main classificatory result of
the daughter’s work still holds. From 1923 to 1948,
Dorothea Bleek was Honorary Reader in the Bushman
Languages at the University of Cape Town. But she
refused the title of an Honorary Doctor, regarding
herself simply as her father’s humble disciple.
See also: Africa as a Linguistic Area; Bantu Languages;
Lepsius, Carl Richard (1810–1884); Meinhof, Carl Frie-
drich Michael (1857–1944); Müller, Friedrich Max (1823–
1900); South Africa: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bleek D F (1927). ‘The distribution of Bushman languages
in South Africa.’ In Festschrift Meinhof. Hamburg:
Augustin. 55–64.
Bleek D F (1929). Comparative vocabularies of Bushman
languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bleek D F (1953). Cave artists of South Africa. Cape Town:
Balkema.
Blend
O Bat-El, Tel-Aviv University, Tel-Aviv, Israel
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The word Oxbridge is composed of a string of seg-
ments corresponding to segments at the left edge
of Oxford and the right edge of Cambridge. This is a
blend, and so are vodkatini (vodka þ martini), jazz-
ercise (jazz þ exercise), and maridelic (marijuana þ
psychedelic). Blends (also called portmanteau words)
exhibit some sort of structural fusion, in which a
single word is formed from two words (and in a hand-
ful of cases from three). The byproduct of this fusion is
the truncation of segmental material from the inner
edges of the two words or only one of them (i.e., the
material not underlined in the examples above). Note
that blends refer only to cases where the inner edges
are truncated. Forms in which the right edges of
the two (or more) words are truncated, such as
sitcom (situation þ comedy), modem (modulator þ
demodulator), and fortran (formula þ translation),
are called clipped compounds. Blends in which only
the first word undergoes truncation could also be
considered a clipped compound (mocamp from
motor þ camp), especially when each word contri-
butes only one syllable to the surface form, which is
a characteristic of clipped compounds.
Bleek D F (1956). A Bushman dictionary. New Haven, CT:
American Oriental Society.
Bleek W H I (1851). De nominum linguarum Africae Aus-
tralis, Copticae, Semiticarum aliarumque sexualium.
Bonn: A. Marcus.
Bleek W H I (1858–1867). The library of H. E. Sir George
Grey, K. C. B. Philology (8 vols). London: Trübner.
Bleek W H I (1862 and 1869). A comparative grammar of
South African languages (2 vols). London: Trübner.
Bleek W H I (1868). Über den Ursprung der Sprache,
als erstes Kapitel einer Entwicklungsgeschichte der
Menschheit. Weimar: Böhlau.
Engelbrecht J A (1956). ‘Introduction.’ In Bleek D F (ed.)
A Bushman dictionary. New Haven, CT: American
Oriental Society.
Lloyd L C (ed.) (1911). Specimens of Bushman folklore.
London: Allen & Co.
Spohr O H (1962). Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel Bleek: a
bio-bibliographical sketch. Cape Town: University of
Cape Town Libraries.
Velten C (1903). ‘Bleek.’ In Allgemeine Deutsche Biogra-
phie 47. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. 15–17.
A blend is one word that delivers the concept of its
two base words and its meaning is thus contingent on
the semantic relation between the two base words. In
skinoe (ski þ canoe), the word canoe functions as the
semantic head, since skinoe is a type of canoe. In
snazzy, however, neither snappy nor jazzy functions
as a head and the meaning of the blend is thus a
hybrid of the meaning of the two (sometimes near-
synonymous) base words.
The most intriguing question with respect to blends
is whether their phonological structure, i.e., their size,
syllable structure, and segmental makeup, is predict-
able on the basis of the base words (Bauer, 1983).
For example, why do we get beefalo from beef and
buffalo, rather than *beelo or *beebuffalo? And since
the order of the base words affects the phonological
shape of the blend, we may also ask why the order is
not buffalo þ beef, which would result in *buffabeef
or *bubeef?
In most cases, two base words provide only one
possible blend (there is a handful of cases where both
orders are available, e.g., tigon (tiger þ lion) versus
liger (lion þ tiger), absotively (absolutely þ positively)
versus posilutely (positively þ absolutely), and
moorth (moon þ earth) versus earthoon (earth þ
moon)). Therefore, we may suspect that the forma-
tion of blends is not accidental, but rather governed
by some general principles. The principles reflect two
competing tendencies: (i) to truncate segments from
66 Bleek, Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel (1827–1875), and Family
longer accepted, but the main classificatory result of
the daughter’s work still holds. From 1923 to 1948,
Dorothea Bleek was Honorary Reader in the Bushman
Languages at the University of Cape Town. But she
refused the title of an Honorary Doctor, regarding
herself simply as her father’s humble disciple.
See also: Africa as a Linguistic Area; Bantu Languages;
Lepsius, Carl Richard (1810–1884); Meinhof, Carl Frie-
drich Michael (1857–1944); Müller, Friedrich Max (1823–
1900); South Africa: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bleek D F (1927). ‘The distribution of Bushman languages
in South Africa.’ In Festschrift Meinhof. Hamburg:
Augustin. 55–64.
Bleek D F (1929). Comparative vocabularies of Bushman
languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bleek D F (1953). Cave artists of South Africa. Cape Town:
Balkema.
Blend
O Bat-El, Tel-Aviv University, Tel-Aviv, Israel
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The word Oxbridge is composed of a string of seg-
ments corresponding to segments at the left edge
of Oxford and the right edge of Cambridge. This is a
blend, and so are vodkatini (vodka þ martini), jazz-
ercise (jazz þ exercise), and maridelic (marijuana þ
psychedelic). Blends (also called portmanteau words)
exhibit some sort of structural fusion, in which a
single word is formed from two words (and in a hand-
ful of cases from three). The byproduct of this fusion is
the truncation of segmental material from the inner
edges of the two words or only one of them (i.e., the
material not underlined in the examples above). Note
that blends refer only to cases where the inner edges
are truncated. Forms in which the right edges of
the two (or more) words are truncated, such as
sitcom (situation þ comedy), modem (modulator þ
demodulator), and fortran (formula þ translation),
are called clipped compounds. Blends in which only
the first word undergoes truncation could also be
considered a clipped compound (mocamp from
motor þ camp), especially when each word contri-
butes only one syllable to the surface form, which is
a characteristic of clipped compounds.
Bleek D F (1956). A Bushman dictionary. New Haven, CT:
American Oriental Society.
Bleek W H I (1851). De nominum linguarum Africae Aus-
tralis, Copticae, Semiticarum aliarumque sexualium.
Bonn: A. Marcus.
Bleek W H I (1858–1867). The library of H. E. Sir George
Grey, K. C. B. Philology (8 vols). London: Trübner.
Bleek W H I (1862 and 1869). A comparative grammar of
South African languages (2 vols). London: Trübner.
Bleek W H I (1868). Über den Ursprung der Sprache,
als erstes Kapitel einer Entwicklungsgeschichte der
Menschheit. Weimar: Böhlau.
Engelbrecht J A (1956). ‘Introduction.’ In Bleek D F (ed.)
A Bushman dictionary. New Haven, CT: American
Oriental Society.
Lloyd L C (ed.) (1911). Specimens of Bushman folklore.
London: Allen & Co.
Spohr O H (1962). Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel Bleek: a
bio-bibliographical sketch. Cape Town: University of
Cape Town Libraries.
Velten C (1903). ‘Bleek.’ In Allgemeine Deutsche Biogra-
phie 47. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. 15–17.
A blend is one word that delivers the concept of its
two base words and its meaning is thus contingent on
the semantic relation between the two base words. In
skinoe (ski þ canoe), the word canoe functions as the
semantic head, since skinoe is a type of canoe. In
snazzy, however, neither snappy nor jazzy functions
as a head and the meaning of the blend is thus a
hybrid of the meaning of the two (sometimes near-
synonymous) base words.
The most intriguing question with respect to blends
is whether their phonological structure, i.e., their size,
syllable structure, and segmental makeup, is predict-
able on the basis of the base words (Bauer, 1983).
For example, why do we get beefalo from beef and
buffalo, rather than *beelo or *beebuffalo? And since
the order of the base words affects the phonological
shape of the blend, we may also ask why the order is
not buffalo þ beef, which would result in *buffabeef
or *bubeef?
In most cases, two base words provide only one
possible blend (there is a handful of cases where both
orders are available, e.g., tigon (tiger þ lion) versus
liger (lion þ tiger), absotively (absolutely þ positively)
versus posilutely (positively þ absolutely), and
moorth (moon þ earth) versus earthoon (earth þ
moon)). Therefore, we may suspect that the forma-
tion of blends is not accidental, but rather governed
by some general principles. The principles reflect two
competing tendencies: (i) to truncate segments from
 Blend 67

Table 1 Types of semantic relations between the base words Table 2 The number of syllables in a blend equals the number
of syllables in Its longer base word
Base words Blend
Blend Base words
(a) Endocentric relation: one of the words functions as a
semantic head (in bold below) and the other as a alphameric (4) alphabetic (4) þ numeric (3)
modifier econocrat (4) economist (4) þ bureaucrat (3)
klan þ koran kloran pinkermint (3) pink (1) þ peppermint (3)
‘a bible used by plastinaut (3) plastic (2) þ astronaut (3)
the members of portalight (3) portable (3) þ light (1)
KKK’ smothercate (3) smother (2) þ suffocate (3)
education þ entertainment edutainment tangemon (3) tangerine (3) þ lemon (2)
‘educational Texaco (3) Texas (2) þ (New) Mexico (3)
entertainment’ zebrule (2) zebra (2) þ mule (1)
key þ container keytainer
‘a container for
keys’ pollution’ (endocentric). The same is true for brunch
(b) Exocentric relation: both words have the same semantic (breakfast þ lunch), which means either ‘lunch with
status, and thus none of them serves as a head
alphabetic þ numeric alphameric
some characteristics of breakfast’ (endocentric) or ‘a
‘consisting of both mixture of breakfast and lunch’ (exocentric).
letters and These two types of relations also appear in com-
numbers’ pounds (Bauer, 1988; Spencer, 1991), but blends are
escalator þ lift escalift much more permissive in this respect. Blends allow
‘a hybrid device
with the advantage
any possible combination of lexical categories, in-
of both an cluding some that do not appear in compounds
escalator and a lift’ (e.g., verb–verb, as in baffound, from baffle þ con-
tangerine þ lemon tangemon found). In addition, blends do not show preference
‘a hybrid of for endo- or exocentric relation, whereas compounds
tangerine and
lemon’
are mostly endocentric. Finally, in endocentric com-
pounds the order of the head and the modifier is
fixed and this is also true for most endocentric blends
the base in order to allow the blend to have the length in English (Kubozono, 1990), which are right-
a single word, preferably one of the base words, and headed, like compounds. In Hebrew, however, whose
(ii) to preserve as many segments from the base words compounds are left-headed, blends can be either
as possible and thus maximize the semantic transpar- right- or left-headed (Bat-El, 1996).
ency of the blend.
The principles proposed in the following sections
The Size of the Blend
take English blends as the empirical basis (the data
are drawn mostly from Adams (1973) and Bryant The formation of a blend aims toward two competing
(1974)). However, these principles should be appli- goals. On the one hand, it must have the structure of a
cable to blends from other languages, though some single word, unlike compounds, in which the two
parameter settings might be required (see Kubazuno base words are accessible. For this purpose, the
(1990) for English and Japanese; Bat-El (1996) for blend often adopts the number of syllables in one of
Hebrew; Fradin (2000) for French; and Piñeros its base words, thus truncating some segmental mate-
(2004) for Spanish). rial. On the other hand, a blend must preserve as
much of the structure from its base words as possible.
The Semantic Relation between the To accommodate the first goal and maximize the
fulfillment of the second, the number of syllables
Base Words
in a blend is often identical to the number of sylla-
The meaning of a blend is composed of the meaning bles in the longer base word (number of syllables in
of its base words, which exhibit two types of semantic parentheses) (see Table 2).
relation, endocentric and exocentric (Table 1) (see By adopting the number of syllables from the
Adams (1973) and Algeo (1977) for other types of longer rather than the shorter base word, the blend
relation). obtains the structure of one word and maximizes its
In some cases, it is not clear whether the seman- size. Maximization facilitates the semantic recover-
tic relation is endo- or exocentric. The blend smog ability of the base words, since the more segmental
(smoke þ fog), for example, has two meanings, ‘a mix- material from the base words there is, the easier it is
ture of fog and smoke’ (exocentric) and ‘an airborne to identify them.
68 Blend

Table 3 Segmental maximization also determines the order of

the base words in exocentric blends

A þ B – Maximizing order B þ A – Nonmaximizing order

blurt blow þ spurt *spow spurt þ blow Figure 1 Segmental overlap.

glaze glare þ gaze *gare gaze þ glare
smash smack þ mash *mack mash þ smack
snazzy snappy þ jazzy *jappy jazzy þ snappy
swacket sweater þ jacket *jater jacket þ sweater
camcorder camera þ *recmera recorder þ
recorder camera
citrange citrus þ orange *ortrus orange þ citrus
There are, however, some exceptions, for example,
plumcot (2) from plum (1) þ apricot (3); brunch (1)
from breakfast (2) þ lunch (1); goon (1) from gorilla
(3) þ baboon (2); and bionic (3) from biology (4) and
electronic (4). It should be noted that Kubozono
(1990) claims that the number of syllables in a blend
is identical to the number of syllables in the rightmost
word, but some of the exceptions above (bionic,
plumcot, goon) do not obey this generalization either.
When the two base words have an identical number
of syllables, the number of segments often plays a
role. Here again, in order to facilitate recoverability,
blends tend to preserve as many base segments as
possible, given the restriction on the number of sylla-
bles noted above. This tendency affects the order of
the base words in exocentric blends, in which the
order is not determined by a head–modifier relation.
For example, a word with a complex onset will be
first and a word with a complex coda second. That is,
the order of the base words is determined by the
principle requiring the maximization of the number
of segments (see Table 3).
In some cases, segmental maximization is blocked
by the phonotactics of the language. For example,
from bang þ smash we obtain bash, rather than
the segmentally richer form *smang (smash þ bang),
since English does not allow monomorphemic sCVC
words where the two Cs are nasal (Davis, 1988). The
fact that blends are subject to stem phonotactics
supports the claim that blends are monomorphemic
despite their polymorphemic base.
The Switch Point at Segmental Overlap
Contrary to the principle given above, there are blends
consisting of more, and sometimes fewer, syllables
than the longer base word. In many cases, this is due
to the presence of one or more segments (shown in
boldface below) shared by the two base words. In such
cases, the position of the shared segments determines
the ‘switch point’ of the blend, i.e., where the first
base word ends and the second begins (see Table 4).
The selection of the position of the shared seg-
ment(s) as the switch point contributes to segmental
maximization. The shared segments overlap and thus
correspond to segments in both base words, allowing
more segments from each word to be preserved in the
blend. For example, diabesity preserves diabe from
diabetes and besity from obesity. Notice that in Chi-
cagorilla all segments of the base words appear in the
blend. Of course, the more segments of the base
words in the blend there are, the more transparent
the base words are (see Figure 1).
Segmental overlap by the shared segments may also
determine the order of the base words in exocentric
blends (in which the order of the base words is not
determined by the head–modifier relation) (see
Table 5). There are cases where only one order of
the two words allows a segmental overlap of the
shared segments.
The requirement to have the switch point at the
segmental overlap usually overrides the requirement
to maintain the same number of syllables in the blend
as in the longer base word (see Table 4). In a few
cases, such as Bisquick ‘quick biscuit.’ it also over-
rides the order imposed by the head–modifier relation
(Algeo, 1977). However, there are plenty of blends
that meet all the requirements (see Table 6).

Table 4 The switch point at the overlap of the identical segments shared by the base words

Blend Base words Expected number of syllables

Chicagorilla (5) Chicago (3) þ gorilla (3) *Chicalla (3)

cinemagpie (4) cinema (3) þ magpie (2) *cinegpie (3)
croissandwich (3) croissant (2) þ sandwich (2) *croiwich (2)
diabesity (5) diabetes (4) þ obesity (4) *diasity (4)
escalift (3) escalator (4) þ lift (1) *escalalift (4)
lumist (2) luminous (3) þ mist (1) *lumimist (3)
optronic (3) optic (2) þ electronic (4) *optictronic (4)
transistena (4) transistor (3) þ antenna (3) *transisna (3)
 Blend 69

Table 5 The switch point at the shared segments determines Table 7 The switch point in monosyllabic blends
the order of the base words
Base words C!VC CV!C
A þ B – Overlap of shared B þ A – No overlap of shared W1 word onset – W1 onset þ nucleus –
segment(s) segment(s) W2 nucleus þ coda W2 word coda

beef þ buffalo beefalo buffalo þ beef *buffabeef blank þ beep bleep *blap
clam þ tomato clamato tomato þ clam *tomaclam blow þ spurt blurt *blort
window þ wall windowall wall þ window *wallindow smoke þ haze smaze *smoze
polo þ lacrosse polocrosse lacrosse þ polo *lacrolo Swiss þ watch swatch *switch
oval þ elliptic ovalliptic elliptic þ oval *elliptal bump þ conk bonk *bunk
spiced þ ham spam *spim
snazzy þ ritzy snitzy *snatzy
Table 6 Blends that meet all the requirements

Blend Base words

advertainment (4) advertisement (4) þ entertainment (4)

the coda to be more sonorous than the adjacent onset.
dynetic (3) dynamic (3) þ magnetic (4) When this requirement is not met, or when the dis-
narcoma (3) narcotic (3) þ coma (2) tance in sonority between the coda and the onset is
shamateur (3) shame (1) þ amateur (3) insufficient, the switch point is at the onset–nucleus
snoblem (2) snob (1) þ problem (2) boundary of the second word (as in monosyl-
velocitone (4) velocity (4) þ tone (1)
westralia (4) west (1) þ Australia (4)
labic blends). Thus, rocket þ balloon does not yield
*rock!lloon, due to the offending kl contact and
therefore the surface form is rock!oon.

The Switch Point at Syllable

Constituency
When the two base words do not have a shared
segment, the syllable structure plays a role in deter-
mining the switch point. In monosyllabic blends,
derived from two monosyllabic base words, the
switch point (marked with !) must be at the onset–
nucleus boundary (see Table 7). The question is:
which word contributes its nucleus, the first (CV!C)
or the second (C!VC)? It appears that there is a
preference for the latter option; that is, the first
word contributes only its onset and the second
contributes its nucleus and coda, i.e., its entire
rhyme (Kubozono, 1990).
Since the onset and the nucleus are perceptually
more salient than the coda, this division allows the
blend to preserve one perceptually salient element
from each base word, i.e., the onset from the first
word and the nucleus from the second. There
are, however, several exceptions, some of which are
due to lexical blocking, for example, slosh (*slush –
lexical blocking) from slop þ slush; boost (*boist)
from boom þ hoist; and moorth (*mearth – lexical
blocking) from moon þ earth.
In polysyllabic blends, there is a preference for the
switch point to be at the syllable boundary in the
blend, which allows maximization of the segmental
material (see Table 8). That is, camera þ recorder
yields cam!corder rather than *cam!order. However,
there is a restriction on the type of coda–onset contact
at the switch point. This restriction, known as the
Syllable Contact Law (Vennemann, 1988), requires
Conclusion
The discussion above suggests that the formation of
blends is governed by several principles that together
determine the order of the base words, the size of the
blend, and the switch point.
The order of the base words is determined by the
head–modifier relation, requiring the head to follow
its modifier (see Table 1a). In the absence of such a
relation, i.e., in an exocentric relation, the phonology
plays a role. When the two base words have one or
more shared segments, the order of the base words is
such that these segments overlap (Table 6). In the
absence of shared segments, segmental maximization
determines the order (Table 3).
The number of syllables in the blend is also deter-
mined by the overlap of the shared segments, which
demarcate the switch point (Table 4). In the absence
of a shared segment, the number of syllables in the
blend is identical to that in the longer base word
(Table 2). If the two base words have an identical
number of syllables, then segmental maximization
plays a role (Table 3).
The switch point is determined by the shared seg-
ments, which overlap in the blend (Tables 4 and 5). In
the absence of a shared segment, the switch point is
determined by syllabic constituency. In monosyllabic
blends, the switch point is at the onset–nucleus
boundary, such that the blend preserves the onset of
the first word and the nucleus plus the coda of the
second (Table 7). In polysyllabic blends, the switch
point is at the syllable boundary, in cases where the
70 Blend

Table 8 The switch point in polysyllabic blends

Base words Switch point at syllable boundary Switch point at onset–nucleus boundary

camera þ recorder cam"corder *cam"order

color þ asbestos color"bestos *color"estos
proletariat þ cult prolet"cult *prolet"ult
smother þ suffocate smother"cate *smother"ate
sun þ reflector sun"flector *sun"ector
rudder þ elevator rudder"vator *radder"ator
brush þ terrific *brush"riffic brush"erific
cattle þ buffalo *cat"ffalo catt"alo
earth þ moon *earth"moon earth"oon
hurricane þ balloon *hurric"lloon hurric"oon
molecule þ organism *molec"nism molec"ism
pink þ peppermint *pink"permint pink"ermint
rocket þ balloon *rock"lloon rock"oon
slanting þ perpendicular *slant"pendicular slant"endicular
zebra þ mule *zeb"mule zebr"ule

coda–onset contact respects the Syllable Contact
Law; otherwise, it is at the onset–nucleus boundary
(Table 8).
The principles governing the formation of blends
are not always obeyed. The few exceptions found
reflect a natural state of affairs in derivational mor-
phology, where exceptions are often due to some
extragrammatical factors. There is, however, inter-
grammatical (nonexceptional) violation of principles,
in cases of conflict (e.g., switch point at syllable
constituency and the Syllable Contact Law (Table 8).
In such cases, one principle has a (language-specific)
priority over the other, allowing a deterministic
selection of the surface form. A model of conflicting
principles and violation under conflict is provided
by Optimality Theory (Prince and Smolensky, 1993).
See also: Complex Segments; Compound; Head/Depen-
dent Marking; Neoclassical Compounding; Pragmatics:
Optimality Theory; Syllable: Phonology.
Bibliography
Adams V (1973). An introduction to Modern English word-
formation. London: Longman.
Algeo J (1977). ‘Blends, a structural and systemic view.’
American Speech 52, 47–64.
Bat-El O (1996). ‘Selecting the best of the worst: The
grammar of Hebrew blends.’ Phonology 13, 283–328.
Bauer L (1983). English word formation. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Bauer L (1988). Introducing linguistic morphology.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Bryant M M (1974). ‘Blends are increasing.’ American
Speech 49, 163–184.
Fradin B (2000). ‘Combining forms, blends and related
phenomena.’ In Doleschal U & Thornton A M (eds.)
Extragrammatical and marginal morphology. Munich:
Lincom Europa. 11–59.
Kubozono H (1990). ‘Phonological constraints on blending
in English as a case for phonology–morphology inter-
face.’ Yearbook of Morphology 3, 1–20.
Piñeros C E (2004). ‘The creation of portmanteaus in the
extragrammatical morphology of Spanish.’ Probus 16,
201–238.
Prince A & Smolensky P (1993). Optimality theory: Con-
straint interaction in generative grammar. Technical re-
port RuCCSTR-2. Rutgers Center for Cognitive Science.
Spencer A (1991). Morphological theory. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Vennemann T (1988). Preference laws for syllable struc-
ture. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.

Blessings
B G Szuchewycz
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition,
volume 1, pp. 370–371, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Blessings are utterances associated primarily with the
sphere of religious activity, but they also appear with
varying frequency in the politeness formulas and par-
enthetical expressions of everyday conversation. In
both contexts, the dominant linguistic feature is the
use of formal and/or formulaic language. Blessings,
particularly in religious ritual, may also be accompa-
nied by specific nonlinguistic features including ges-
tures (e.g., laying on of hands, the sign of the cross)
and the use of special objects (e.g., a crucifix) or
substances (e.g., water, oil). Concern with such
patterned relationships between linguistic form,
on the one hand, and social context and function,
on the other, is central to the study of the role of
language in social life.
Linguistically, blessings (and their opposite, curses)
are marked by the use of a special language, which
may be either a highly formal or archaic variety of the
dominant language (e.g., Classical Arabic) or a differ-
ent code entirely (e.g., Latin). In addition to their
specific content, linguistic features such as repetition,
special form (e.g., parallel couplets), special prosody
(e.g., chant), and fixity of pattern distinguish bles-
sings from other types of speech and contribute to
their formal and formulaic character.
The concept of blessing in Jewish, Christian, and
Muslim thought, as in many other traditions, is
concerned with the bestowal of divine favor or bene-
diction through the utterance of prescribed words. As
such, blessings represent an example of the belief in the
magical power of words, other manifestations of which
include the use of spells, incantations, and curses.
As an aspect of religious behavior, blessings are
associated with essential components of public and
private ritual activity. They are performed by reli-
gious specialists in situations of communal worship
as, for example, in rituals where a general blessing of
those present marks the end of the event. Blessings are
also used by nonspecialists to solemnize, sacralize,
and/or mark the boundaries of social events. In tradi-
tional Judaism, for example, brokhe ‘blessings’ in-
clude short formulaic expressions used in a wide
variety of situations as well as longer texts associated
with domestic ceremonies (e.g., a grace after a meal)
and specific occasions or rites (e.g., Passover, wed-
dings, funerals). Common to all is a fixity of form and
Blessings 71
the strict association of specific texts to specific
occasions.
In the Bible, the Hebrew root brk ‘blessing’ is asso-
ciated with a number of meanings. A blessing may be an
expression of praise or adoration of God, a divine be-
stowal of spiritual, material, or social prosperity, or an
act of consecration that renders objects holy. The Greek
eulogia of the New Testament stresses the spiritual ben-
efits that are obtainable through Christ, the gospels, and
the institution of the church (e.g., liturgical blessings).
Each instance – praise, benediction, and consecration –
represents a social and religious act accomplished
through the use of a highly conventionalized form of
language.
Blessings often function as ‘performatives.’ A per-
formative is a speech act that, when uttered, alters
some state of affairs in the world. Under the appro-
priate conditions, if a minister states, ‘I pronounce
you man and wife,’ then a marriage has been socially
established. If someone says, ‘I promise,’ then a prom-
ise has been made. Similarly, blessings function as
religious performatives, in that the utterance of the
requisite expression precipitates a change in spiritual
state.
Mastery of the linguistic formulas, however, is not
sufficient for the successful realization of blessings
(and other performatives). The existence of an extra-
linguistic institution (e.g., family, descent group, reli-
gious institution) with differentiated social roles and
statuses for the blessor and blessee(s) is a necessary
precondition to an authentic and valid performance
of the act. Only certain individuals may pronounce a
couple man and wife and create a legally binding
marriage. The same is true of blessings.
Catholicism, for example, distinguishes those bles-
sings exchanged between lay persons, the spiritual
value of which depends on the personal sanctity of
the blessor, from liturgical blessings, which carry the
force of the ecclesiastical institution. As the institu-
tion itself is hierarchically organized, so too is the
right to confer particular blessings. Some may be
performed by the pontiff alone, some only by a bish-
op, others by a parish priest, and yet others by a
member of a religious order. Similarly, and in a very
different ethnographic context, among the Merina of
Madagascar the tsodrano is a ritual blessing in which
seniors act as intermediaries between ancestors and
those being blessed, their juniors. A father bestows
fertility and wealth on his son through a ceremonial
public blessing that transfers to the son the power of
the ancestors in a ritual stressing the continuity and
reproduction of the descent group.
72 Blessings
Like other performatives, blessings operate proper-
ly only within a context of social and cultural norms
and institutions, which are necessary for their realiza-
tion and to legitimate and maintain their force.
Much of human face-to-face interaction is ritualistic
in nature, and it has been argued that the use of for-
malized and prepatterned linguistic and nonlinguistic
behavior in everyday life is evidence of a link between
interpersonal rituals of politeness, on the one hand,
and ritual behavior in the sacred sphere, on the other
(Brown and Levinson, 1987). Blessings are an example
of a specific linguistic routine common to both.
In nonreligious contexts, blessings are evident in the
politeness formulas and parenthetical expressions of
everyday conversation: for example, the English ‘Bless
you!’ as a conventional response to a sneeze. Similarly,
in greetings, thanks, and leave-takings, blessings are
exchanged between interlocutors and, although they
may literally express a wish for supernatural benefits,
their primary communicative function is as highly
conventionalized markers of social and/or interac-
tional status. In both their religious and secular uses,
blessings thus function as expressions of solidarity,
approval, and good will.
Bloch, Bernard (1907–1965)
J G Fought, Diamond Bar, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bernard Bloch studied English and German (A.B.
1928, M.A. 1929) at the University of Kansas,
where his father Albert taught art. Continuing at
Northwestern University, he took a course in linguis-
tics with Werner F. Leopold in 1931. That same year,
he was chosen as a field worker on the Linguistic Atlas
of New England, directed by Hans Kurath. In 1933
he followed Kurath and the Atlas project to Brown
University. Bernard (and his wife Julia) did much
exacting editorial work on the Atlas. He completed
his Ph.D. at Brown in 1935, in English and linguistics,
teaching English and modern languages there until
moving to Yale’s linguistics department in 1943.
His character, his intelligent and disciplined schol-
arship, and his extraordinary writing and editorial
skills soon made Bloch an influential presence within
the Linguistic Society of America. In 1940 he became
the second editor of its journal, Language, and
continued as editor until his death. His insistence on
clarifying each point in a manuscript made it no idle
jest when he later remarked that he had published
When embedded parenthetically within larger sen-
tences or longer texts, blessings may also function as
semantically and interactionally significant units. In
oral narratives, the use of a blessing (or curse) serves
to communicate directly the emotional state or atti-
tude of the speaker toward the topic, providing a
means of internal evaluation and signaling speaker
involvement in the text. Yiddish speakers, for exam-
ple, make extensive use of a large set of fixed expres-
sions, many of which are blessings, for just such a
purpose (Matisoff, 1979).
Bibliography
Brown P & Levinson S C (1987). Politeness: Some
universals in Language usage. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Matisoff J A (1979). Blessings, curses, hopes and fears:
Psychoostensive expressions in Yiddish. Philadelphia,
PA: Institute for the Study of Human Issues.
Ries J (1987). ‘Blessing.’ In Eliade M (ed.) The encyclopedia
of religion. New York: Macmillan.
Westermann C (1978). Blessing: In the Bible and the life of
the church. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press.
many papers each year, most of them under famous
pseudonyms.
Bloch and Leonard Bloomfield shared intensely
demanding applied linguistic work during the war.
Although he was Bloomfield’s junior colleague at
Yale for only a few years, Bloomfield’s influence on
him was profound (Bloch, 1949). The austere mod-
ernist intellectual architecture of their work is very
similar (Bloch, 1948); Bloch’s writing is much friend-
lier to readers. His wartime work on Japanese was
published as a basic course, and later in a series of
descriptive publications capped by the article on
phonemics (Bloch, 1950), all meant to illustrate the
application of the principles of linguistic description.
His ‘English verb inflection’ (Bloch, 1947) is an ex-
emplar of distributionalist structural morphology,
compactly presenting a remarkably complete solution
together with its rationale.
Bloch was an extraordinary teacher, delivering
beautifully composed informal lectures as lightly as
one might carry on a conversation, sustaining an
easy exchange of statements, questions, and answers.
He would sometimes read a few sentences from
some unidentified publication, extracts chosen for
their comic value in illustrating various rhetorical or
72 Blessings
Like other performatives, blessings operate proper-
ly only within a context of social and cultural norms
and institutions, which are necessary for their realiza-
tion and to legitimate and maintain their force.
Much of human face-to-face interaction is ritualistic
in nature, and it has been argued that the use of for-
malized and prepatterned linguistic and nonlinguistic
behavior in everyday life is evidence of a link between
interpersonal rituals of politeness, on the one hand,
and ritual behavior in the sacred sphere, on the other
(Brown and Levinson, 1987). Blessings are an example
of a specific linguistic routine common to both.
In nonreligious contexts, blessings are evident in the
politeness formulas and parenthetical expressions of
everyday conversation: for example, the English ‘Bless
you!’ as a conventional response to a sneeze. Similarly,
in greetings, thanks, and leave-takings, blessings are
exchanged between interlocutors and, although they
may literally express a wish for supernatural benefits,
their primary communicative function is as highly
conventionalized markers of social and/or interac-
tional status. In both their religious and secular uses,
blessings thus function as expressions of solidarity,
approval, and good will.
Bloch, Bernard (1907–1965)
J G Fought, Diamond Bar, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bernard Bloch studied English and German (A.B.
1928, M.A. 1929) at the University of Kansas,
where his father Albert taught art. Continuing at
Northwestern University, he took a course in linguis-
tics with Werner F. Leopold in 1931. That same year,
he was chosen as a field worker on the Linguistic Atlas
of New England, directed by Hans Kurath. In 1933
he followed Kurath and the Atlas project to Brown
University. Bernard (and his wife Julia) did much
exacting editorial work on the Atlas. He completed
his Ph.D. at Brown in 1935, in English and linguistics,
teaching English and modern languages there until
moving to Yale’s linguistics department in 1943.
His character, his intelligent and disciplined schol-
arship, and his extraordinary writing and editorial
skills soon made Bloch an influential presence within
the Linguistic Society of America. In 1940 he became
the second editor of its journal, Language, and
continued as editor until his death. His insistence on
clarifying each point in a manuscript made it no idle
jest when he later remarked that he had published
When embedded parenthetically within larger sen-
tences or longer texts, blessings may also function as
semantically and interactionally significant units. In
oral narratives, the use of a blessing (or curse) serves
to communicate directly the emotional state or atti-
tude of the speaker toward the topic, providing a
means of internal evaluation and signaling speaker
involvement in the text. Yiddish speakers, for exam-
ple, make extensive use of a large set of fixed expres-
sions, many of which are blessings, for just such a
purpose (Matisoff, 1979).
Bibliography
Brown P & Levinson S C (1987). Politeness: Some
universals in Language usage. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Matisoff J A (1979). Blessings, curses, hopes and fears:
Psychoostensive expressions in Yiddish. Philadelphia,
PA: Institute for the Study of Human Issues.
Ries J (1987). ‘Blessing.’ In Eliade M (ed.) The encyclopedia
of religion. New York: Macmillan.
Westermann C (1978). Blessing: In the Bible and the life of
the church. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press.
many papers each year, most of them under famous
pseudonyms.
Bloch and Leonard Bloomfield shared intensely
demanding applied linguistic work during the war.
Although he was Bloomfield’s junior colleague at
Yale for only a few years, Bloomfield’s influence on
him was profound (Bloch, 1949). The austere mod-
ernist intellectual architecture of their work is very
similar (Bloch, 1948); Bloch’s writing is much friend-
lier to readers. His wartime work on Japanese was
published as a basic course, and later in a series of
descriptive publications capped by the article on
phonemics (Bloch, 1950), all meant to illustrate the
application of the principles of linguistic description.
His ‘English verb inflection’ (Bloch, 1947) is an ex-
emplar of distributionalist structural morphology,
compactly presenting a remarkably complete solution
together with its rationale.
Bloch was an extraordinary teacher, delivering
beautifully composed informal lectures as lightly as
one might carry on a conversation, sustaining an
easy exchange of statements, questions, and answers.
He would sometimes read a few sentences from
some unidentified publication, extracts chosen for
their comic value in illustrating various rhetorical or

factual blunders. It transpired that all of these exam-
ples were drawn from his own published work. Stu-
dents in his introductory course wrote a two-page
essay each week on a topic relevant to the readings.
These were returned at the next class, edited with the
same fierce devotion to clarity and professionalism
that he brought to all papers sent to the editor of
Language. They came back folded lengthwise with
his unsparing comments typed in a narrow column on
the back. Many of us kept those papers as treasures.
See also: Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Japanese;
Kurath, Hans (1891–1992); Phoneme; Structuralism.
Bloch, Jules (1880–1953)
M McCaskey, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Jules Bloch was born in Paris on May 1, 1880, and
attended the Lycée Louis-le-Grand as a scholarship
student. He completed his Licence ès Lettres, and
subsequently became a graduate student in Sanskrit
and ancient literature and culture in the École des
Hautes Études at the University of Paris.
In 1905, he undertook his first major academic proj-
ect toward the end of his graduate training. He and two
other researchers were given the task of translating
large portions of the monumental three-volume Kurze
vergleichende Grammatik der indogermanischen
Sprachen (1902–1904) by the Indo-European linguists
Karl Brugmann and Berthold Delbrück. Bloch then
helped edit an abridged version of the translated text,
Abrégé de grammaire comparée des langues indo-
européennes (1905), supervised by Antoine Meillet, a
specialist in Indo-European linguistics at the École des
Hautes Études.
In 1906, Bloch published his own diploma thesis on
Sanskrit, La phrase nominale en sanscrit, and went on
to pursue the study of Hindi and Tamil. He performed
research in the field in India, later moving to Vietnam,
where he served on the faculty of the École Française
d’Extrême Orient in Hanoi.
In 1914, Bloch completed and submitted his doc-
toral thesis, La formation de la langue marathe, a
diachronic study of Marathi; for this he received the
Prix Volney, a prestigious linguistic prize awarded
annually by the Institut de France since 1822. His
research was soon interrupted by infantry service for
four years in World War I, during which he rose from
Bloch, Jules (1880–1953) 73
Bibliography
Bloch B (1947). ‘English verb inflection.’ Language 23,
399–418.
Bloch B (1948). ‘A set of postulates for phonemic analysis.’
Language 24, 3–46.
Bloch B (1949). ‘Leonard Bloomfield.’ Language 25,
87–98.
Bloch B (1950). ‘Studies in colloquial Japanese: IV. Phone-
mics.’ Language 26, 86–125.
Joos M (1967). ‘Bernard Bloch.’ Language 43, 3–19.
sergeant to lieutenant and was awarded the Croix de
Guerre for bravery.
Bloch returned to the École des Hautes Études
in 1919, and was made Director of Studies there in
1920. He also served as Professor of Sanskrit at
the Sorbonne, and in 1937 became a professor at the
Collège de France, where he remained until his retire-
ment in 1951. Bloch also served as the secretary of the
Société Linguistique in France for close to a quarter of
a century (1920–1944), keeping in close touch with
other leading linguists in Europe and India through-
out his career. He also guided and assisted many
Indian students in Paris, and a number of them sub-
sequently distinguished themselves in the field of
Indo-European linguistic studies.
Bloch developed proficiency in and did research on
a number of languages of India, ancient and modern,
including Sanskrit, Pali, Vedic language, Hindi, and
Marathi, an Indo-European language spoken by
over 65 000 000 people. Bloch also did research on
Tamil, a Dravidian language spoken by more than
50 000 000 people in India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia,
and elsewhere in Southeast Asia. His Structure gram-
maticale des langues dravidiennes (1946) was one of
the first modern linguistic studies of the Dravidian
family of languages.
Bloch also began a project to translate the Pali
Buddhist Canon, with his inaugural volume of the
Canon bouddhique Pāli (1949), but this work was
unfortunately not continued by others. In the last year
of his life, Bloch published one of the first modern
scholarly studies of the Romany-speaking people, Les
Tsiganes (1953). Romany, spoken by an estimated
2 000 000 people, is an Indo-European language
with origins in India and grammatical affinities with
Sanskrit. Bloch was one of the first Indo-European

factual blunders. It transpired that all of these exam-
ples were drawn from his own published work. Stu-
dents in his introductory course wrote a two-page
essay each week on a topic relevant to the readings.
These were returned at the next class, edited with the
same fierce devotion to clarity and professionalism
that he brought to all papers sent to the editor of
Language. They came back folded lengthwise with
his unsparing comments typed in a narrow column on
the back. Many of us kept those papers as treasures.
See also: Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Japanese;
Kurath, Hans (1891–1992); Phoneme; Structuralism.
Bloch, Jules (1880–1953)
M McCaskey, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Jules Bloch was born in Paris on May 1, 1880, and
attended the Lycée Louis-le-Grand as a scholarship
student. He completed his Licence ès Lettres, and
subsequently became a graduate student in Sanskrit
and ancient literature and culture in the École des
Hautes Études at the University of Paris.
In 1905, he undertook his first major academic proj-
ect toward the end of his graduate training. He and two
other researchers were given the task of translating
large portions of the monumental three-volume Kurze
vergleichende Grammatik der indogermanischen
Sprachen (1902–1904) by the Indo-European linguists
Karl Brugmann and Berthold Delbrück. Bloch then
helped edit an abridged version of the translated text,
Abrégé de grammaire comparée des langues indo-
européennes (1905), supervised by Antoine Meillet, a
specialist in Indo-European linguistics at the École des
Hautes Études.
In 1906, Bloch published his own diploma thesis on
Sanskrit, La phrase nominale en sanscrit, and went on
to pursue the study of Hindi and Tamil. He performed
research in the field in India, later moving to Vietnam,
where he served on the faculty of the École Française
d’Extrême Orient in Hanoi.
In 1914, Bloch completed and submitted his doc-
toral thesis, La formation de la langue marathe, a
diachronic study of Marathi; for this he received the
Prix Volney, a prestigious linguistic prize awarded
annually by the Institut de France since 1822. His
research was soon interrupted by infantry service for
four years in World War I, during which he rose from
Bloch, Jules (1880–1953) 73
Bibliography
Bloch B (1947). ‘English verb inflection.’ Language 23,
399–418.
Bloch B (1948). ‘A set of postulates for phonemic analysis.’
Language 24, 3–46.
Bloch B (1949). ‘Leonard Bloomfield.’ Language 25,
87–98.
Bloch B (1950). ‘Studies in colloquial Japanese: IV. Phone-
mics.’ Language 26, 86–125.
Joos M (1967). ‘Bernard Bloch.’ Language 43, 3–19.
sergeant to lieutenant and was awarded the Croix de
Guerre for bravery.
Bloch returned to the École des Hautes Études
in 1919, and was made Director of Studies there in
1920. He also served as Professor of Sanskrit at
the Sorbonne, and in 1937 became a professor at the
Collège de France, where he remained until his retire-
ment in 1951. Bloch also served as the secretary of the
Société Linguistique in France for close to a quarter of
a century (1920–1944), keeping in close touch with
other leading linguists in Europe and India through-
out his career. He also guided and assisted many
Indian students in Paris, and a number of them sub-
sequently distinguished themselves in the field of
Indo-European linguistic studies.
Bloch developed proficiency in and did research on
a number of languages of India, ancient and modern,
including Sanskrit, Pali, Vedic language, Hindi, and
Marathi, an Indo-European language spoken by
over 65 000 000 people. Bloch also did research on
Tamil, a Dravidian language spoken by more than
50 000 000 people in India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia,
and elsewhere in Southeast Asia. His Structure gram-
maticale des langues dravidiennes (1946) was one of
the first modern linguistic studies of the Dravidian
family of languages.
Bloch also began a project to translate the Pali
Buddhist Canon, with his inaugural volume of the
Canon bouddhique Pāli (1949), but this work was
unfortunately not continued by others. In the last year
of his life, Bloch published one of the first modern
scholarly studies of the Romany-speaking people, Les
Tsiganes (1953). Romany, spoken by an estimated
2 000 000 people, is an Indo-European language
with origins in India and grammatical affinities with
Sanskrit. Bloch was one of the first Indo-European
74 Bloch, Jules (1880–1953)
linguists to undertake the systematic study of Romany
language and culture.
See also: Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919); Delbrück, Berthold
(1842–1922); Dravidian Languages; Indo–Aryan Lan-
guages; Indo–European Languages; Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936).
Bibliography
Bloch J (1905). Abrégé de grammaire comparée des langues
indo-européennes, d’après le Précis de grammaire com-
parée de K. Brugmann et B. Delbrück. Tr. par J. Bloch,
A. Cuny et A. Ernout, sous la direction de A. Meillet et
R. Gauthiot. Paris: C. Klincksieck.
Bloch J (1906). ‘La phrase nominale en sanscrit.’ Mémoires
de la Société de Linguistique de Paris, vol. XIV, 27–96.
Bloch J (1920). La formation de la langue marathe. Paris: É.
Champion.
Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949)
J G Fought, Diamond Bar, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Leonard Bloomfield was born in Chicago; his family
moved to rural Wisconsin when he was nine. He
graduated from Harvard in 1906. When he sought
an assistantship in German at the University of
Wisconsin that summer, he met the Germanist
Eduard Prokosch (1876–1938), who introduced him
to linguistics. Bloomfield took his doctorate in Ger-
manic philology at the University of Chicago in 1909.
He taught German (German, Standard) for one year
at the University of Cincinnati as an instructor, later
moving to the University of Illinois. In 1913–1914 he
studied with the Neogrammarians Karl Brugmann,
August Leskien, and Hermann Oldenberg at the Uni-
versities of Leipzig and Göttingen and then returned
to Illinois, only then becoming an assistant professor,
his rank until 1921. During his stay at Illinois he also
published his first work on a non-Indo-European lan-
guage, Tagalog texts with grammatical analysis
(1917), whose conception and organization were
very probably influenced by his friend Franz Boas
(1858–1942). In 1919, he began his work on the
Algonquian languages (1928, 1930, 1934, 1946),
some of which was edited and published posthumously
(1957, 1962, 1975).
In 1921, he moved to Ohio State University as a full
professor. While there, he and the behavioral psychol-
ogist Albert Paul Weiss (1879–1931) became friends,
and Bloomfield adopted some of the idiom of that
Bloch J (1934). L’indo-aryen du Veda aux temps modernes.
Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1946). Structure grammaticale des langues dravi-
diennes. Publications du Musée Guimet. Bibliothèque
d’études, t. 56. Paris: A. Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1949). Canon bouddhique Pāli (Tripitaka) Texte et
traduction par Jules Bloch, Jean Filliozat, Louis Renou.
Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1950). Les inscriptions d’Asoka; traduites et com-
mentées par Jules Bloch. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.
Bloch J (1953). Les Tsiganes. Paris: Presses universitaires de
France.
Bloch J (1970). The formation of the Marāthı̄ language,
translated by Dev Raj Chanana. Delhi: Motilal Banarsi-
dass.
Bloch J (1985). Recueil d’articles de Jules Bloch, 1906–
1955: textes rassemblés par Colette Caillat. Paris: Col-
lege de France, Institut de Civilisation Indienne.
approach, though its role in his work has been greatly
exaggerated. There Bloomfield also took part, with
George Melville Bolling (1871–1963), in founding
the Linguistic Society of America in 1925. Esper
(1968) was an invaluable eyewitness report on this
period in Bloomfield’s career. In 1927, Bloomfield
returned to the University of Chicago, where he and
Edward Sapir (1884–1939) were briefly colleagues.
His years at the University of Chicago seem to have
been the most pleasant and productive of his working
life. In 1940 he went to Yale, as Sterling Professor, the
successor of Prokosch and to some degree also of
Sapir. Bloomfield led the linguistics program and
took an active role in war-related work on practical
language-learning materials, writing and editing a
number of manuals. A stroke ended his working life
in 1946; he died in 1949.
His family life was darkened by tragedies. Bernard
Bloch, who knew and admired him, described his
personality as ‘‘not strongly magnetic’’ (1949: 91).
Anecdotes show his readiness to use highly refined
sarcasm in dealing with critics, colleagues, and stu-
dents alike. For an extended example, see Bloomfield,
1944; in a more typical instance, he claimed that his
introductory textbook Language (1933) could be un-
derstood by any bright high-school student. This re-
mark has often been cited as evidence of Bloomfield’s
innocence by scholars who have struggled with this
formidable book. It is not.
He supervised only a handful of dissertations, and
he sometimes tried to discourage students from spe-
cializing in linguistics. It was through his publications,
74 Bloch, Jules (1880–1953)
linguists to undertake the systematic study of Romany
language and culture.
See also: Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919); Delbrück, Berthold
(1842–1922); Dravidian Languages; Indo–Aryan Lan-
guages; Indo–European Languages; Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936).
Bibliography
Bloch J (1905). Abrégé de grammaire comparée des langues
indo-européennes, d’après le Précis de grammaire com-
parée de K. Brugmann et B. Delbrück. Tr. par J. Bloch,
A. Cuny et A. Ernout, sous la direction de A. Meillet et
R. Gauthiot. Paris: C. Klincksieck.
Bloch J (1906). ‘La phrase nominale en sanscrit.’ Mémoires
de la Société de Linguistique de Paris, vol. XIV, 27–96.
Bloch J (1920). La formation de la langue marathe. Paris: É.
Champion.
Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949)
J G Fought, Diamond Bar, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Leonard Bloomfield was born in Chicago; his family
moved to rural Wisconsin when he was nine. He
graduated from Harvard in 1906. When he sought
an assistantship in German at the University of
Wisconsin that summer, he met the Germanist
Eduard Prokosch (1876–1938), who introduced him
to linguistics. Bloomfield took his doctorate in Ger-
manic philology at the University of Chicago in 1909.
He taught German (German, Standard) for one year
at the University of Cincinnati as an instructor, later
moving to the University of Illinois. In 1913–1914 he
studied with the Neogrammarians Karl Brugmann,
August Leskien, and Hermann Oldenberg at the Uni-
versities of Leipzig and Göttingen and then returned
to Illinois, only then becoming an assistant professor,
his rank until 1921. During his stay at Illinois he also
published his first work on a non-Indo-European lan-
guage, Tagalog texts with grammatical analysis
(1917), whose conception and organization were
very probably influenced by his friend Franz Boas
(1858–1942). In 1919, he began his work on the
Algonquian languages (1928, 1930, 1934, 1946),
some of which was edited and published posthumously
(1957, 1962, 1975).
In 1921, he moved to Ohio State University as a full
professor. While there, he and the behavioral psychol-
ogist Albert Paul Weiss (1879–1931) became friends,
and Bloomfield adopted some of the idiom of that
Bloch J (1934). L’indo-aryen du Veda aux temps modernes.
Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1946). Structure grammaticale des langues dravi-
diennes. Publications du Musée Guimet. Bibliothèque
d’études, t. 56. Paris: A. Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1949). Canon bouddhique Pāli (Tripitaka) Texte et
traduction par Jules Bloch, Jean Filliozat, Louis Renou.
Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve.
Bloch J (1950). Les inscriptions d’Asoka; traduites et com-
mentées par Jules Bloch. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.
Bloch J (1953). Les Tsiganes. Paris: Presses universitaires de
France.
Bloch J (1970). The formation of the Marāthı̄ language,
translated by Dev Raj Chanana. Delhi: Motilal Banarsi-
dass.
Bloch J (1985). Recueil d’articles de Jules Bloch, 1906–
1955: textes rassemblés par Colette Caillat. Paris: Col-
lege de France, Institut de Civilisation Indienne.
approach, though its role in his work has been greatly
exaggerated. There Bloomfield also took part, with
George Melville Bolling (1871–1963), in founding
the Linguistic Society of America in 1925. Esper
(1968) was an invaluable eyewitness report on this
period in Bloomfield’s career. In 1927, Bloomfield
returned to the University of Chicago, where he and
Edward Sapir (1884–1939) were briefly colleagues.
His years at the University of Chicago seem to have
been the most pleasant and productive of his working
life. In 1940 he went to Yale, as Sterling Professor, the
successor of Prokosch and to some degree also of
Sapir. Bloomfield led the linguistics program and
took an active role in war-related work on practical
language-learning materials, writing and editing a
number of manuals. A stroke ended his working life
in 1946; he died in 1949.
His family life was darkened by tragedies. Bernard
Bloch, who knew and admired him, described his
personality as ‘‘not strongly magnetic’’ (1949: 91).
Anecdotes show his readiness to use highly refined
sarcasm in dealing with critics, colleagues, and stu-
dents alike. For an extended example, see Bloomfield,
1944; in a more typical instance, he claimed that his
introductory textbook Language (1933) could be un-
derstood by any bright high-school student. This re-
mark has often been cited as evidence of Bloomfield’s
innocence by scholars who have struggled with this
formidable book. It is not.
He supervised only a handful of dissertations, and
he sometimes tried to discourage students from spe-
cializing in linguistics. It was through his publications,

especially Language, that he shaped American de-
scriptive linguistics as a discipline during its structur-
alist period. Bloomfield began as a Germanist and
Indo-Europeanist in the Neogrammarian tradition.
These disciplines, and his rigorous cast of mind,
provided the foundation for his austere approach to
language description. The contrastive comparison of
linguistic forms through the construction of textual
concordances, the logic of textual variants, and many
other analytical techniques and concepts of the classi-
cal comparative method, all became basic tools of
descriptive and pedagogical applications of linguis-
tics. Bloomfield’s Outline guide for the practical
study of foreign languages (1942) described this
toolkit and explained its use. His method was based
on the notion of the linguistic sign; it called for com-
paring linguistic forms that are partly alike and partly
different, and then looking for other examples of each
part so as to understand how they are alike and how
they are different in form and function. In a letter to
Truman Michelson written in 1919, Bloomfield, then
32, had already condensed his method of analysis into
one sentence: ‘‘No preconceptions; find out which
sound variations are distinctive (as to meaning) and
then analyze morphology and syntax by putting to-
gether everything that is alike’’ (Hockett, 1987: 41).
When compiling a descriptive grammar, however,
Bloomfield selected among variants in his data to
build and then describe a community norm of usage.
Such a norm was implicit in his account of usage
differences among Menomini speakers (1927); the
details of its construction were brilliantly illuminated
by Goddard (1987).
See also: Algonquian and Ritwan Languages; Bloch, Ber-
nard (1907–1965); Boas, Franz (1858–1942); Brugmann,
Karl (1849–1919); Germanic Languages; Hockett, Charles
Francis (1916–2000); Leskien, August (1840–1916); Lin-
guistics as a Science; Sapir, Edward (1884–1939); Struc-
turalism; Tagalog.
Bibliography
Bloch B (1949). ‘Leonard Bloomfield.’ Language 25, 87–
94.
Bloomfield L (1917). Tagalog texts with grammatical
analysis. University of Illinois Studies in Language and
Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949) 75
Literature (vol. 3, Nos. 2–4). Urbana: University of
Illinois Press.
Bloomfield L (1926). ‘A set of postulates for the science of
language.’ Language 2, 152–164.
Bloomfield L (1927). ‘Literate and illiterate speech.’
American Speech 2, 432–439.
Bloomfield L (1928). Menomini texts (Publications of
the American Ethnological Society, vol. 12). New York:
G. E. Stechert, agents.
Bloomfield L (1930). Sacred stories of the Sweet Grass Cree
(National Museum of Canada, Bulletin No. 6). Ottawa:
F. A. Acland.
Bloomfield L (1933). Language. New York: Holt.
Bloomfield L (1934). Plains Cree texts (Publications of
the American Ethnological Society, vol. 16). New York:
G. E. Stechert, agents.
Bloomfield L (1942). Outline guide for the practical study
of foreign languages. Baltimore: Linguistic Society of
America.
Bloomfield L (1944). ‘Secondary and tertiary responses to
language.’ Language 20, 45–55.
Bloomfield L (1946). ‘Algonquian.’ In Hoijer H et al. (eds.)
Linguistic structures of native America (Viking Fund
publications in anthropology, 6, 85–129). New York:
Wenner-Gren Foundation.
Bloomfield L (1957). Eastern Ojibwa: Grammatical sketch,
texts, and word list. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan
Press.
Bloomfield L (1962). The Menomini language. New Haven
& London: Yale University Press.
Bloomfield L ed. by Charles F Hockett (1975). Menomini
lexicon. Milwaukee, WI: Milwaukee Public Museum
Press.
Hockett C F (1987). Letters from Bloomfield to Michelson
and Spair. In Hall R A (ed.) Leonard Bloomfield: Essays
on his life and work. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
39–60.
Esper E A (1968). Mentalism and objectivism in linguistics:
the sources of Leonard Bloomfield’s psychology of lan-
guage. New York: American Elsevier.
Goddard I (1987). ‘Leonard Bloomfield’s descriptive and
comparative studies of Algonquian.’ In Hall R A (ed.)
Leonard Bloomfield: essays on his life and work.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 179–217.
Hockett C F (ed.) (1970). A Leonard Bloomfield anthology.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Hockett C F (1987). Letters from Bloomfield to Michelson
and Spair. In Hall R A (ed.) Leonard Bloomfield: Essays
on his life and work. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
39–60.
76 Blumer, Herbert (1900–1987)
Blumer, Herbert (1900–1987)
N Denzin, University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign,
Urbana, IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Herbert Blumer is the founding father of the unique
social psychological perspective called ‘symbolic
interactionism.’ The foremost student of George
Herbert Mead (see Mead, George Herbert (1863–
1931)), he translated Mead’s philosophy into a theory
of self, society, and interaction that has come to be
known as the ‘symbolic interactionist perspective’ in
contemporary U.S. sociology.
Blumer received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees
from the University of Missouri in 1921 and 1922,
respectively. He taught there until 1925, when he left
to enter the doctoral program of the department of
sociology at the University of Chicago, where he
received his Ph.D. in 1928. He became an instructor
in sociology at Chicago in 1925, was an associate
professor from 1931 to 1947, and was a professor
from 1947 to 1952. When Mead died in 1931,
Blumer took over his social psychology course.
From 1930 to 1935, Blumer was secretary–treasurer
of the American Sociological Association and was
elected president in 1955. In 1954, he was elected
president of the Society for the Study of Social
Problems. He also served as president of the Pacific
Sociological Association and as vice president of the
International Sociological Association. From 1941 to
1952, he was editor of the American Journal of Soci-
ology. During World War II, he served as liaison
officer between the Office of War Information and
the Bureau of Economic Warfare and as a public
panel chairman of the War Labor Board. He taught
at the University of Chicago from 1925 to 1952. In
1952, he went as chair to the Department of Sociol-
ogy at the University of California at Berkeley, where
he remained as a faculty member until his death in
1987.
Blumer was the author of approximately 60 arti-
cles, dozens of book reviews (in the American Journal
of Sociology), two monographs [The rationale of
labor–management relations (1958), and The world
of youthful drug use (1967)], at least three review
essays, three obituaries (Louis Wirth, Ernest Burgess,
and Joseph Lohman), and four books [Movies and
conduct (1933), Movies, delinquency, and crime
(with D. M. Hauser, 1933), Critiques of research in
the social sciences, I. An appraisal of Thomas and
Znaniecki’s The Polish Peasant in Europe and Amer-
ica (1939), and Symbolic interactionism (1969)].
Posthumous publications include a collection of his
papers on Industrialization as an agent of social
change: a critical analysis, as well as The collected
papers of Herbert Blumer: George Herbert Mead
and human conduct and Selected works of Herbert
Blumer: a public philosophy for mass society.
Blumer is remembered for his athletic prowess, his
warmth as a person, his capacity as a sympathetic and
understanding listener, and his acute memory and
critical mind. He was a powerful and effective teacher
of several generations of students who ‘‘found them-
selves and their careers while sitting in his classes’’
(Shibutani, 1970: viii).
Blumer’s impact on U.S. sociology has been sub-
stantial. A loyal opponent of functionalism, positiv-
ism in sociology, and behavioral and cognitive
psychology, he long championed the interpretive,
naturalistic approach to human experience, social
theory, and social research. Many of the ideas he put
forth early in his career have since, as Shibutani
noted, become generally accepted. His studies of
the movies, fashion, collective behavior, racism and
prejudice, the industrialization process, and social
problems have become sociological classics and
models of research for other scholars. As the chief
systematizer of the sociological implications of
Mead’s thought, his writings on symbolic inter-
action have served to define this perspective within
the international sociological community.
Blumer’s sociology involved the following assump-
tions. Human beings act toward things on the basis of
the meanings things have for them. Meanings arise
out of, and are modified in, the process of social
interaction. Society consists of the joint interactions
of individuals. These joint actions describe recurrent
patterns of collective activity, complex networks of
institutional relations, and historical processes and
forces. The proper study of society is at the inter-
group, interactional level. Society is a framework for
the operation of social, symbolic, economic, political,
religious, kinship, and legal interactions. The notion
of structure as process is central to Blumer’s argu-
ment. Social structures are composed of interacting
units ‘‘caught up in the interplay of opposing process-
es of persistence and change’’ (Morrione, 2004: xvi).
Social reality is situated in these sites of interaction.
Blumer put in motion a methodological project
that assumed an obdurate natural social world that
could be studied scientifically – that is, mapped,
reproduced, and made sense of through the careful
work of the naturalistic researcher who gets close
to the phenomenon under investigation. He sought a
processual, interpretive social science that would
utilize sensitizing concepts grounded in subjective

human experience. The empirical materials of this
science would be valid, reliable, and permit the test-
ing of hypotheses and the formulation of theoretical
generalizations. Interpretive theory would confront
the obdurate features of human group life and be
shaped around the previously mentioned kinds of
materials.
When the Society for the Study of Symbolic Inter-
action formed in 1974, Blumer was an immediate
supporter. His impact on symbolic interactionism
has been permanently recognized by the society
with its annual Herbert Blumer Award, which is
given to the outstanding graduate student paper best
representing the tradition associated with Blumer’s
scholarship.
See also: Mead, George Herbert (1863–1931).
Bibliography
Blumer H (1969). Symbolic interactionism: perspective and
method. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Boas, Franz (1858–1942)
J G Fought, Pomona College, Claremont,
CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Franz Boas was born in Minden, Germany to a family
of merchants. He graduated from the University of
Kiel (Ph.D., 1881), specializing in psychophysics and
geography. His first field work was conducted in
Baffin Land in 1883; apparently this is when the
focus of his interests began to shift from geography
to anthropology. He came to the United States in
1886, working for a time at assorted jobs, including
teaching, and managing anthropology exhibits at
the Chicago World’s Fair (1892–1895). In these
years he also began his long examination of Kwakiutl,
Tsimshian, and other Northwest Coast languages and
cultures.
In 1899 he secured an appointment at Columbia
University, an affiliation he retained for the rest of his
life. He was a master of administration and fund
raising. From his secure academic position, he soon
made Columbia the source from which the profes-
sionalization of American anthropology would
spread, shifting its focus from museums of artifacts
to academic and field research, with linguistics as a
core discipline. He strove always to reorient the field
away from racism, whether overt or tacit.
Boas, Franz (1858–1942) 77
Blumer H (1990). Industrialization as an agent of social
change: a critical analysis. In Maines D R & Morrone
T J (eds.). New York: DeGruyter.
Blumer H (2004). Herbert Blumer: George Herbert Mead
and human conduct. In Morrone T J (ed.). Walnut Creek,
CA: AltaMira.
Lyman S M & Vidich A J (1988). Social order and the
public philosophy: an analysis and interpretation of the
work of Herbert Blumer. Fayetteville: University of
Arkansas Press.
Lyman S M & Vidich A J (eds.) (2000). Selected works of
Herbert Blumer: a public philosophy for mass society.
Urbana: University of Illinois Press.
Morrione T J (2004). ‘Preface.’ In Morrone T J (ed.)
Herbert Blumer: George Herbert Mead and human
conduct. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. ix–xviii.
Shibutani S (ed.) (1970). Human nature and collective be-
havior: papers in honor of Herbert Blumer. Englewood
Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Symbolic Interaction 11(1) (1988, Spring). Entire issue on
Herbert Blumer’s legacy.
Wiseman J P (1987). In memoriam: Herbert Blumer
(1900–87). Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 16,
243–249.
As the developer and impresario of modern Ameri-
can anthropology and the mentor of many of its lead-
ing figures, he made an immensely significant
contribution to American linguistics. Further, as a
linguist in his own right, his contribution was highly
respectable. Boas was self-taught in linguistics. He
was more successful in establishing standards for lin-
guistic field work than in re-inventing historical and
comparative linguistics as a tool of culture history. His
background in perceptual psychology led him to pub-
lish (1889) an insight into naı̈ve impressions of foreign
language sounds that is a very early and independent
expression of what became the phonemic principle.
The magnitude of his overall contribution to the de-
velopment of field linguistics and the study of Native
American languages, even after making allowances
for the personal contributions of Edward Sapir, his
brilliant student, and Leonard Bloomfield, his friend,
is only slightly exaggerated in Bloomfield’s memorial
statement (1943: 198): ‘‘Boas amassed a tremendous
body of observation, including much carefully
recorded text, and forged, almost single-handed, the
tools of phonetic and structural description.’’
See also: Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Canada: Lan-
guage Situation; Cultural Evolution of Language; Linguis-
tic Anthropology; Primitive Languages; Relativism; Sapir,

human experience. The empirical materials of this
science would be valid, reliable, and permit the test-
ing of hypotheses and the formulation of theoretical
generalizations. Interpretive theory would confront
the obdurate features of human group life and be
shaped around the previously mentioned kinds of
materials.
When the Society for the Study of Symbolic Inter-
action formed in 1974, Blumer was an immediate
supporter. His impact on symbolic interactionism
has been permanently recognized by the society
with its annual Herbert Blumer Award, which is
given to the outstanding graduate student paper best
representing the tradition associated with Blumer’s
scholarship.
See also: Mead, George Herbert (1863–1931).
Bibliography
Blumer H (1969). Symbolic interactionism: perspective and
method. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Boas, Franz (1858–1942)
J G Fought, Pomona College, Claremont,
CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Franz Boas was born in Minden, Germany to a family
of merchants. He graduated from the University of
Kiel (Ph.D., 1881), specializing in psychophysics and
geography. His first field work was conducted in
Baffin Land in 1883; apparently this is when the
focus of his interests began to shift from geography
to anthropology. He came to the United States in
1886, working for a time at assorted jobs, including
teaching, and managing anthropology exhibits at
the Chicago World’s Fair (1892–1895). In these
years he also began his long examination of Kwakiutl,
Tsimshian, and other Northwest Coast languages and
cultures.
In 1899 he secured an appointment at Columbia
University, an affiliation he retained for the rest of his
life. He was a master of administration and fund
raising. From his secure academic position, he soon
made Columbia the source from which the profes-
sionalization of American anthropology would
spread, shifting its focus from museums of artifacts
to academic and field research, with linguistics as a
core discipline. He strove always to reorient the field
away from racism, whether overt or tacit.
Boas, Franz (1858–1942) 77
Blumer H (1990). Industrialization as an agent of social
change: a critical analysis. In Maines D R & Morrone
T J (eds.). New York: DeGruyter.
Blumer H (2004). Herbert Blumer: George Herbert Mead
and human conduct. In Morrone T J (ed.). Walnut Creek,
CA: AltaMira.
Lyman S M & Vidich A J (1988). Social order and the
public philosophy: an analysis and interpretation of the
work of Herbert Blumer. Fayetteville: University of
Arkansas Press.
Lyman S M & Vidich A J (eds.) (2000). Selected works of
Herbert Blumer: a public philosophy for mass society.
Urbana: University of Illinois Press.
Morrione T J (2004). ‘Preface.’ In Morrone T J (ed.)
Herbert Blumer: George Herbert Mead and human
conduct. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. ix–xviii.
Shibutani S (ed.) (1970). Human nature and collective be-
havior: papers in honor of Herbert Blumer. Englewood
Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Symbolic Interaction 11(1) (1988, Spring). Entire issue on
Herbert Blumer’s legacy.
Wiseman J P (1987). In memoriam: Herbert Blumer
(1900–87). Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 16,
243–249.
As the developer and impresario of modern Ameri-
can anthropology and the mentor of many of its lead-
ing figures, he made an immensely significant
contribution to American linguistics. Further, as a
linguist in his own right, his contribution was highly
respectable. Boas was self-taught in linguistics. He
was more successful in establishing standards for lin-
guistic field work than in re-inventing historical and
comparative linguistics as a tool of culture history. His
background in perceptual psychology led him to pub-
lish (1889) an insight into naı̈ve impressions of foreign
language sounds that is a very early and independent
expression of what became the phonemic principle.
The magnitude of his overall contribution to the de-
velopment of field linguistics and the study of Native
American languages, even after making allowances
for the personal contributions of Edward Sapir, his
brilliant student, and Leonard Bloomfield, his friend,
is only slightly exaggerated in Bloomfield’s memorial
statement (1943: 198): ‘‘Boas amassed a tremendous
body of observation, including much carefully
recorded text, and forged, almost single-handed, the
tools of phonetic and structural description.’’
See also: Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Canada: Lan-
guage Situation; Cultural Evolution of Language; Linguis-
tic Anthropology; Primitive Languages; Relativism; Sapir,
78 Boas, Franz (1858–1942)
Edward (1884–1939); Structuralism; United States of Amer-
ica: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bloomfield L (1943). ‘Franz Boas.’ Language 19, 198.
Boas F (1889). ‘On alternating sounds.’ American Anthro-
pologist 2, 47–53.
Boas F (ed.) (1911). Handbook of American Indian lan-
guages. Bulletin 40. Washington, DC: Bureau of Ameri-
can Ethnology.
Body Language
A Ponzio, Università di Bari, Bari, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Body Language as Human Semiosis
Body language belongs to the sphere of anthropo-
semiosis, the object of anthroposemiotics (see Anthro-
posemiotics). In fact, the term ‘language’ in today’s
semiotics is specific to human semiosis (i.e., human
sign behavior).
Following Charles Morris’s and Thomas Sebeok’s
terminological specifications, semiotics describes sign
behavior with general reference to the organism (i.e.,
it identifies semiosis and life), and distinguishes be-
tween ‘signs in human animals’ and ‘signs in nonhu-
man animals,’ reserving the term language as a special
term for the former. In others words, language is spe-
cific to man as a semiotic animal – that is, as a living
being not only able to use signs (capable of semiosis)
but also able to reflect on signs through signs (capable
of semiotics). In this acceptation, language is not ver-
bal language alone: Language refers to both verbal
and nonverbal human signs. In this view – that is,
from a semiotic and not a linguistic perspective (per-
taining to linguistics) – language is not reduced to
speech but speech is a specification of language. Lan-
guage is acoustic language as much as the gestural or
the tactile, etc., depending on the kind of sign vehicle
that intervenes, which is not necessarily limited
to the verbal in a strict sense. Following Morris
(1946/1971a: 112–114), there are five criteria for
the definition of language:
1. Language is composed of a plurality of signs.
2. In a language each sign has a signification com-
mon to a number of interpretants: this is linguistic
signification, common to members of the inter-
preter-family, whereas there may, of course, be
Boas F (1940). Race, language, and culture. New York:
Macmillan (reprinted 1966, New York: Free Press).
Boas F (1860–1942). Papers. Philadelphia: American
Philosophical Society.
Cole D (1999). Franz Boas: The early years, 1858–1906.
Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.
Mackert M (1993). ‘The roots of Franz Boas’ view of
linguistic categories as a window to the human mind.’
Historiographia Linguistica 20, 331–351.
Stocking G W (1974). The shaping of American anthropol-
ogy, 1883–1911: A Franz Boas reader. New York: Basic
Books.
differences of signification for individual inter-
preters, but such differences are not then regarded
as linguistic.
3. The signs constituting a language must be ‘com-
signs’ – that is, producible by the members of the
interpreter-family. Comsigns are either activities
of the organisms (e.g., gestures) or the products
of such activities (e.g., sounds, traces left on a
material medium, or constructed objects).
4. The signs that constitute a language are plurisitua-
tional signs – that is, signs with a relative constan-
cy of signification in every situation in which a
sign of the sign-family in question appears.
5. The signs in a language must constitute a system of
interconnected signs combinable in some ways
and not in others in order to form a variety of
complex sign-processes.
If language is considered as synonymous with
‘communication,’ animals no doubt also possess lan-
guage. If, on the contrary, language is distinguished
from communication and determined by the five cri-
teria mentioned previously, then animals certainly do
not have language, although they do communicate.
Even if some of the conditions that enable us to speak
of language would seem to occur in animals, they do
not occur together.
On this subject, the following statement by Morris
(1946/1971a: 130) seems important:
But even if these conditions were met [i.e., if all the other
requirements were met in nonhuman animal communica-
tion], the fifth requirement is a harder hurdle. For though
animal signs may be interconnected, and interconnected
in such a way that animals may be said to infer, there is
no evidence that these signs are combined by animals
which produce them according to limitations of combi-
nations necessary for the signs to form a language system.
Such considerations strongly favor the hypothesis that
language – as here defined – is unique to man.
78 Boas, Franz (1858–1942)
Edward (1884–1939); Structuralism; United States of Amer-
ica: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bloomfield L (1943). ‘Franz Boas.’ Language 19, 198.
Boas F (1889). ‘On alternating sounds.’ American Anthro-
pologist 2, 47–53.
Boas F (ed.) (1911). Handbook of American Indian lan-
guages. Bulletin 40. Washington, DC: Bureau of Ameri-
can Ethnology.
Body Language
A Ponzio, Università di Bari, Bari, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Body Language as Human Semiosis
Body language belongs to the sphere of anthropo-
semiosis, the object of anthroposemiotics (see Anthro-
posemiotics). In fact, the term ‘language’ in today’s
semiotics is specific to human semiosis (i.e., human
sign behavior).
Following Charles Morris’s and Thomas Sebeok’s
terminological specifications, semiotics describes sign
behavior with general reference to the organism (i.e.,
it identifies semiosis and life), and distinguishes be-
tween ‘signs in human animals’ and ‘signs in nonhu-
man animals,’ reserving the term language as a special
term for the former. In others words, language is spe-
cific to man as a semiotic animal – that is, as a living
being not only able to use signs (capable of semiosis)
but also able to reflect on signs through signs (capable
of semiotics). In this acceptation, language is not ver-
bal language alone: Language refers to both verbal
and nonverbal human signs. In this view – that is,
from a semiotic and not a linguistic perspective (per-
taining to linguistics) – language is not reduced to
speech but speech is a specification of language. Lan-
guage is acoustic language as much as the gestural or
the tactile, etc., depending on the kind of sign vehicle
that intervenes, which is not necessarily limited
to the verbal in a strict sense. Following Morris
(1946/1971a: 112–114), there are five criteria for
the definition of language:
1. Language is composed of a plurality of signs.
2. In a language each sign has a signification com-
mon to a number of interpretants: this is linguistic
signification, common to members of the inter-
preter-family, whereas there may, of course, be
Boas F (1940). Race, language, and culture. New York:
Macmillan (reprinted 1966, New York: Free Press).
Boas F (1860–1942). Papers. Philadelphia: American
Philosophical Society.
Cole D (1999). Franz Boas: The early years, 1858–1906.
Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.
Mackert M (1993). ‘The roots of Franz Boas’ view of
linguistic categories as a window to the human mind.’
Historiographia Linguistica 20, 331–351.
Stocking G W (1974). The shaping of American anthropol-
ogy, 1883–1911: A Franz Boas reader. New York: Basic
Books.
differences of signification for individual inter-
preters, but such differences are not then regarded
as linguistic.
3. The signs constituting a language must be ‘com-
signs’ – that is, producible by the members of the
interpreter-family. Comsigns are either activities
of the organisms (e.g., gestures) or the products
of such activities (e.g., sounds, traces left on a
material medium, or constructed objects).
4. The signs that constitute a language are plurisitua-
tional signs – that is, signs with a relative constan-
cy of signification in every situation in which a
sign of the sign-family in question appears.
5. The signs in a language must constitute a system of
interconnected signs combinable in some ways
and not in others in order to form a variety of
complex sign-processes.
If language is considered as synonymous with
‘communication,’ animals no doubt also possess lan-
guage. If, on the contrary, language is distinguished
from communication and determined by the five cri-
teria mentioned previously, then animals certainly do
not have language, although they do communicate.
Even if some of the conditions that enable us to speak
of language would seem to occur in animals, they do
not occur together.
On this subject, the following statement by Morris
(1946/1971a: 130) seems important:
But even if these conditions were met [i.e., if all the other
requirements were met in nonhuman animal communica-
tion], the fifth requirement is a harder hurdle. For though
animal signs may be interconnected, and interconnected
in such a way that animals may be said to infer, there is
no evidence that these signs are combined by animals
which produce them according to limitations of combi-
nations necessary for the signs to form a language system.
Such considerations strongly favor the hypothesis that
language – as here defined – is unique to man.

This means that by comparison with animal signs,
human language is characterized by the fact that its
signs can be combined to form compound signs. It
would seem, therefore, that in the last analysis, this
‘capacity for combination’ is the most distinctive ele-
ment. This conception is very close to Sebeok’s
when he states that language (he too distinguishing
it from the communicative function) is characterized
by ‘syntax’ – that is, the possibility of using a finite
number of signs to produce an infinite number of
combinations through recourse to given rules.
Body language includes different sign systems.
Common to these sign systems is their foundation in
language intended as a specific human modeling
device (Sebeok, 1991, 2001b).
All animal species have models to construct their
world, and language is the model belonging to human
beings. However, the distinctive feature of language
with respect to other zoosemiotic systems (although
this feature is present in endosemiotic systems, such
as the genetic code, the immune code, the metabolic
code, and the neural code) is syntax, through which
the same construction pieces may be assembled in an
infinite number of ways. Consequently, the human
primary modeling system can produce an indefinite
number of models and worlds.
All species communicate in a world peculiar to
that species alone ensuing from the type of modeling
characteristic of that species. In the early stages of its
development, the hominid was endowed with a mod-
eling device able to produce an infinite number of
worlds. This explains the evolution of hominids into
Homo sapiens sapiens. The reason why it is possible
for such animals to produce a limitless number of
worlds is that the human modeling device, or lan-
guage, functions in terms of syntax – that is, in terms
of construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction
with a finite number of elements that may be com-
posed and recomposed in an infinitely great variety of
different forms. We are referring to the human ability
to reflect on sign materials, means, and models (i.e.,
on that which has already been modeled), to the end
of using such materials in new modeling processes.
This is what is intended by specific human semiosis –
that is, ‘semiotics.’ Body languages are semiotical.
Body Language and the Sign–Body
General Connection
The previous discussion demonstrated the connection
with body language and human semiosis. However,
body language belongs to the general connection be-
tween signs and bodies that is found in all the universe
of life (i.e., in all planetary semiosis). This implies
continuity from nonhuman animal signs to human
Body Language 79
signs. As Morris (1946/1971b: 13) concludes his dis-
cussion of the distinction between nonhuman animal
signs and human signs, human language (and the
postlanguage symbols it makes possible) goes far be-
yond the sign-behavior of animals. On this sub-
ject, the following observation is similar to Sebeok’s
conception of human signs:
But language-behavior is still sign-behavior, and lan-
guage signs rest upon, and never completely take the
place of [italics added], the simpler signs which they
presuppose. The continuity is as real as the discontinuity,
and the similarity of human and animal sign-behavior as
genuine as the difference.
All sign processes include the body in some sense
because the entire sign process takes place in a
biological, social, or technical medium; it must have
a channel of access to the object interpreted. Chan-
nels and media are different and consequently have
different ways to connect sign and body. The source
may be (1) an inorganic body, such as a natural
inorganic object or manufactured inorganic object,
and in this case, the interpreted may be a sign only
because it receives an interpretation from the inter-
preter (‘semiosis of information’), or (2) an organic
substance or a living being (organism or components)
belonging to H. sapiens or speechless creatures (‘se-
miosis of symptomatization,’ in which the sign is
unintentional, and ‘semiosis of communication,’ in
which the sign is intentional). In body signs of symp-
tomatization semiosis (symptoms, clues, and traces)
the interpreted sign is already an interpretant re-
sponse before being interpreted as a sign by an inter-
pretant. However, this response is not oriented to
being interpreted as a sign; that is, it does not
come to life for the purpose of being interpreted. On
the contrary, in semiosis of communication where
too the interpreted is already an interpretant re-
sponse before being interpreted as a sign by the inter-
pretant, this interpretant response is intended to be
interpreted as a sign.
When an organism or a machine takes an object as
a sign of another object, it must have a ‘channel,’ a
passageway to access it. Possible channels are gases,
liquids, and solids with regard to matter; they are
chemical and physical with regard to energy. Concern-
ing the latter, channels may be acoustic (air, water,
and solids) or optical (reflected daylight or biolu-
minescence; Sebeok, 1991: 27–28), tactile, chemical,
electric, magnetic, or thermal. Semiosis may engage
several channels and also a simultaneous use of more
than one channel, as is frequently the case in human
communication.
‘Medium’ can be used as a synonym of channel
(Sebeok, 1991: 27), but medium is also the world in
80 Body Language
which semiosis takes place. It may be a biological,
social, or technical medium. In this double sense that
connects medium to model and modeling, we may
refer to semiosis in the world of technical instruments
and social institutions. In any type of semiosis there is
a connection between signs and bodies, signata and
signantia, media/channels and significata, semiosis
and materiality. Materiality of the signans (Petrilli,
1990: 365–401; Rossi-Landi, 1992: 271–299) is not
limited to extrasign materiality, physical materiality
(the body of the signans and its channel), and instru-
mental materiality (nonsign bodily residues of non-
verbal signs, i.e., their nonsign uses and functions;
Rossi-Landi, 1985: 65–82). More than this, material-
ity of the signans is ‘semiosic materiality,’ and in
the sphere of anthroposemiosis it is also ‘semiotic
materiality.’ Semiotic materiality is historicosocial
materiality at more or less high levels of complexity,
elaboration, and/or articulation (elaboration materi-
ality). It is ideological materiality, extraintentional
materiality (i.e., objectivity independent from con-
sciousness and volition), as well as signifying other-
ness materiality (i.e., the possibility of engendering
other signata than the signatum of any specific inter-
pretive route) (Ponzio, 1990: 15–61, 1994: 42–45).
Signs are bodies. However, the physical object may
be transformed into a sign while still belonging to the
world of physical matter due to ‘sign work,’ to use
Rossi-Landi’s terminology. As a sign, the physical
body acquires meaning engendered in the relation to
something else, it defers to something external to
itself, and it reflects and refracts another reality
from itself (Voloshinov, 1929/1973: 10):
Signs also are particular, material things; and . . . any
item of nature, technology, or consumption can become
a sign acquiring in the process a meaning that goes
beyond its given particularity. A sign does not simply
exist as a part of reality – it reflects and refracts another
reality.
The following distinction is proposed: The expres-
sion ‘semiosic corporeality’ is used for bodies that
have become signs in a world modeled by living
beings where sign processes are languageless, and
semiotic corporeality is used where bodies that are
signs presuppose a world modeled by language (i.e., a
human world).
As Marx (Marx and Engels, 1845/1968: 42), sug-
gested, ‘‘From the start the ‘spirit’ is afflicted with the
course of being ‘burdened’ with matter, which here
makes its appearance in the form of agitated layers of
air, sounds, in short, of language.’’ Here, language
is ‘‘agitated layers of air, sounds’’: This is about
its physical materiality. However, language is also
human consciousness and the organization of human
life: This is about the semiotic materiality of language
as human primary modeling. ‘‘Language is as old as
consciousness, language is practical consciousness
that exists also for other men, and for that reason
alone it exists for me personally as well’’ (Marx and
Engels, 1845/1968: 42). Language is ‘‘the immediate
actuality of thought. . . . Neither the thought, nor the
language exist in an independent realm from life’’
(Marx and Engels, 1845/1968: 503–504).
As a body, the sign is material in a physical sense;
as sign, it is material in a semiosic sense; and as
human historicosocial matter, it is material in a semi-
otic sense. In human worlds modeled by language, a
body is a sign because of its historicosocial materiali-
ty. It is this kind of materiality that interests us when
a body is taken into consideration and studied as a
human sign (i.e., in a semiotic framework).
The Body in the Sign
In contemporary general semiotics, of which the most
holistic expression is Sebeok’s ‘global semiotics,’ the
criterion of life (i.e., of living body) is semiosis. Using
the formula employed by Marcel Danesi to sum up
Sebeok’s conception of the semiosic character of liv-
ing beings, we may say that the body is in the sign
(i.e., life is defined by semiosis). In the human animal,
or ‘semiotic animal,’ this means that semiosis is the
bond that links together body, mind, and culture
(Danesi, 1998: 16). Studies on the manifestation pat-
terns of semiosis in nature and culture show persua-
sively that in anthroposemiosis there exists an
inextricable nexus among sign, body, and culture.
The type of sign (according to Charles S. Peirce’s
typology of signs), in which the body lives and orga-
nizes its world on the basis of its species-specific
modeling device, is first and foremost the ‘icon.’ In
other words, iconicity is a basic signifying strategy in
various life-forms. The iconic mode of representation
is the relation of the sign with its referent through
replication, simulation, imitation, or resemblance.
Iconicity is the default form of semiosis, as Sebeok
demonstrated by documenting that in vastly different
species the manifestation of the capacity to produce
signs stands in some direct simulative relation to their
referents. In his works, Sebeok showed the variety of
manifestations of iconicity in different species. Iconic
signs can thus be vocal, visual, olfactory, gustatory, or
tactile in their form. It may be that in humans too all
signs start out as a simulative relation to their refer-
ential domains. Like Peirce, Sebeok viewed iconicity
as the primordial representational strategy in the
human species. Danesi (1998: 10) considers iconicity
as an aspect of utmost relevance in the study of signs.

He emphasizes the important role of iconicity –
documented by Sebeok especially in the final three
chapters of his 1986 book – in the bond that links
semiosis, body, mind, and culture. This inextricable
nexus manifests itself in the form of iconical rep-
resentational behavior. ‘‘Iconicity is, in effect,
evidence of this nexus’’ (Danesi, 1998: 37).
Danesi (1998: 18–20) refers to the conception that
the iconic mode of representation is the primary
means of bodily semiosis as the ‘iconicity hypothesis.’
Consequently, another principle of global semiotics
or semiotics of life is the ‘sense-implication hypoth-
esis’ (Danesi, 1998: 17), which suggests that semiosis
is grounded in the experiential realm of sense. This
principle has a philosophical antecedent in John
Locke – according to which all ideas came from sen-
sation first and reflection later – but it is connected
with modeling theory: what is acquired through the
body is modeled differently through the innate mod-
eling system possessed by different species. In fact, a
species perceives according to its own particular ana-
tomical structure and to its own particular kind of
modeling system. Due to its species-specific modeling
system, called language by Sebeok, Homo, the semi-
otic animal, not only is a sophisticated modeler of the
world but also has a remarkable ability to re-create
his world in an infinite number of forms.
The living body is initially an iconic sign – that is, in
a world iconically modeled. This is valid too in the
case of the human species on the ontogenetic and
phylogenetic levels. Natural learning flow (i.e., the
semiosic process in which children acquire knowl-
edge) takes place through the body and human pri-
mary modeling system and proceeds from iconicity to
the forms of modeling that children learn in the cul-
tural context. To recognize that the body is, lives, in
the sign with reference to human ontogenetic devel-
opment in the body–sign–culture relation implies, as
Danesi (1998: 61) states, that the semiosic capacities
of the learner and the determination of his or her
semiosic stage – rather than the subject matter to be
learned – should therefore be the focus of education.
The main implication of the formula ‘the body in the
sign’ and modeling theory for education is of a method-
ological nature. If the teacher is familiar with the forms
of the semiosic process in human learning, he or she
would be in a better position to help the learner acquire
knowledge and skill more effectively and efficiently.
In fact, the key to successful learning, states Danesi,
lies, arguably, in determining at what point the learning
phase is ready to be overtaken by the following – that
is, what the Russian psychologist Vygotsky (1934/
1962) called the ‘proximal zone’ of learning. The semi-
otic approach to education, as the psychologist and
semiotician Vygotsky claimed, is indispensable for an
Body Language 81
appropriate foresight of the ‘zones of proximal develop-
ment’ of each particular learner.
The Body in the Languages of
Globalization and ‘Grotesque Realism’
Here, another argument is added to those proposed
by Danesi in order to consider the implications of
the formula ‘the body in the sign’ for education.
Included as goals in education are the capacity for
criticism, social conscience, and responsible behav-
ior. On this subject, the previously mentioned formu-
la has implications for an adequate consciousness
and comprehensive interpretation of communica-
tion under present-day semiosis conditions (i.e., in
the phase named ‘globalization’).
In the current age, characterized by the auto-
mated industrial revolution, the global market, con-
sumerism, and the pervasiveness of communication
through the whole production cycle (communication
– production, communicative exchange, and con-
sumption of goods that are messages), ‘the body in
the sign’ highlights that globalization and therefore
languages of globalized communication incorporate
human life in all its manifestations. ‘Life in all its
manifestations’ refers to life in the form of develop-
ment (well-being and consumerism) as well as in the
form of underdevelopment (poverty and impossibility
of survival); in the form of health and of disease; in
the form of normality and deviation; in the form
integration and emargination; in the form employ-
ment and unemployment; in the form functional
transfer of the workforce, characteristic of emigration
and migration, which expresses the denied request of
hospitality; and in the form of exposition to war
disseminated at a worldwide level, and planned as
infinite. Again, incorporation of the body in the lan-
guages of globalized communication is not limited to
human life alone. Life over the whole planet is now
involved (even compromised and put at risk).
The planetary perspective of global semiotics
allows for the necessary distance and indeclinable
responsibility (a responsibility without alibis) for an
approach to contemporaneousness that does not re-
main imprisoned within the confines of contempora-
neity itself.
The controlled insertion of bodies into languages of
the production apparatus of global communication
goes hand in hand with the spread of the concept
of the individual as a separate and self-sufficient enti-
ty. The body is understood and experienced as an
isolated biological entity, as belonging to the indi-
vidual, as an autonomous sphere of private interests.
Such an attitude has led to the almost total extinction
of cultural practices and worldviews based on
82 Body Language
intercorporeality (i.e., reciprocal interdependency),
exposition and opening of the living body. Think of
the ways the body is perceived in popular culture,
discussed by Bakhtin (1965) in the forms of carnival
and grotesque realism, where the body and corporeal
life generally are conceived neither individualistically
nor separately from the rest of terrestrial life and,
indeed, from the world.
We refer to verbal and nonverbal languages of the
grotesque body that we may find in all cultures on the
planet and in the literary carnivalized genres of all
national literatures. Grotesque realism presents the
body as something that is not defined once and for
all, that is not confined to itself, but as flourishing in
symbiosis with other bodies, in relations of transfor-
mation and renewal that far exceed the limits of
individual life.
Globalization, in which communication is exploited
for profit, does not weaken the individualistic, pri-
vate, and static conception of the body, connected
with the rise of the bourgeoisie, but, on the contrary
reinforces it. Division and separatism among the
sciences are functional to the ideological–social neces-
sities of the ‘recent new cannon of the individualized
body’ (Bakhtin, 1965). This in turn is functional to the
controlled insertion of bodies into the languages of
the reproduction cycle of today’s production system.
The interdisciplinary focus of global semiotics and
attention on the signs of the interconnection between
living bodies, human and nonhuman, are the presup-
positions of an education that is free from stereotyped,
limited, and distorted ideas and practices of commu-
nication under present-day conditions. This is another
implication of the semiotic global approach for edu-
cation and another possible meaning of the proposi-
tion chosen by Danesi to sum up what Sebeok said:
‘The body is in the sign’ – that is, semiosis is the bond
that links the body, the mind, and culture.
Body Language and Speech in Human
Phylogenesis
It appears virtually certain that early hominid forms
that evolved to Homo erectus had language as an
interior modeling device, although not speech. As
previously mentioned, a modeling system is a tool
with which an organism analyzes its surroundings.
Language as a modeling system seems to have
always been an exclusive property of the species
Homo. It is an original lingua mutola (a mute, speech-
less language) described by Giambattista Vico in La
scienza nuova, and which consists in the inventive,
‘poetic’ capacity to model different possible worlds at
the basis of communication among members of the
early hominid species.
According to Sebeok’s (2001a: 17–30) reconstruc-
tion, hominids to H. erectus (included) communicated
with each other by nonverbal means, in the manner
of all other primates. However, differently from the
latter, its body signs were already body languages
because they were founded on a specific human pri-
mary modeling device. Homo habilis (‘handy man,’
2.4–2.0 million years ago) and H. erectus (‘upright
man,’ more than 1.5 million years ago) with a brain
volume of 800–1200 cm3 and a far more elaborate
tool kit (including fire), had language, but not speech,
and communicated with mute body languages (i.e., in
an articulate and organized world on the basis of
syntax inherent to human primary modeling). Speech
did not appear until our own immediate archaic
sapiens (‘wise man’) ancestors appeared (approxi-
mately 300 000 years ago), who, as indicated by
evidence from rule-governed behavior, not only
had language but also manifested it in the form of
speech.
Thus, although language as a specific human pri-
mary modeling system emerged on the scene perhaps
2.5 or 3.0 million years ago, verbal language or
speech appeared solely in H. sapiens as a communi-
cation system and developed slowly in H. sapiens
sapiens also as a cognitive system, namely as a
secondary modeling system. However, the human
nonverbal system had body languages as communica-
tive devices implicating, similarly to future speech,
language not reducible to a communicative device:
The specific function of language in the evolution of
anthroposemiosis was not to transmit messages and
give information but to model species-specific human
worlds. Following Sebeok, we may say that language
is essentially ‘mind work,’ whereas speech is ‘ear and
mouth work.’
The relatively simple, nonverbal models that non-
human animals live by, that hominids used to com-
municate, and that normal human infants (in-fans)
likewise employ are indeed kinds of primary model-
ing. Consequently, the sign systems of nonhuman
animals are merely body sign systems, whereas sign
systems of the human animal (semiotic animal) in-
cluding hominids and today’s normal infants are body
languages. However, as a type of primary modeling,
all these models are more or less pliable representa-
tions that must fit ‘reality’ sufficiently to tend to
secure survival in one’s Umwelt.
Such ‘top-down’ modeling (to use a current jargon
borrowed from the cognitive sciences) can persist and
become very sophisticated indeed in the adult life of
exceptionally gifted individuals, as borne out by
Einstein’s testimonial or by what we know about
Mozart’s and Picasso’s abilities to model intricate
auditory or visual compositions in their heads in

anticipation of transcribing this onto paper or canvas.
This kind of nonverbal modeling is indeed primary, in
both a phylogenetic and an ontogenetic sense. Syntax
makes it possible for hominids not only to represent
immediate ‘reality’ (in the sense discussed previously)
but also, uniquely among animals, to frame an indef-
inite number of possible worlds in the sense of Leibniz
(Sebeok, 1991: 57–58).
Dialogism of Body Language
In Bakhtin’s view, dialogue consists of the fact that
one’s own word alludes always and in spite of itself,
whether it knows it or not, to the word of the
other. Dialogue is not an initiative taken by self. As
clearly emerges from Bakhtin’s analysis of novels by
Dostoevsky, the human person does not enter into
dialogue with the other out of respect for the other
but, rather, in spite of oneself. Both word and self are
dialogic in the sense that they are passively involved
with the word and self of the other. Internal and
external verbal discourse is implied dialogically in
otherness, just as the ‘grotesque body’ (Bakhtin,
1965) is implied in the body of the other. In
fact, dialogue and body are closely interconnected.
Bakhtin’s dialogism cannot be understood separately
from his biosemiotic conception of sign. On this
basis, he criticized both subjective individualism and
objective abstraction. According to Bakhtin, there
cannot be dialogism among disembodied minds. Un-
like platonic dialogue, and similarly to Dostoevsky,
for Bakhtin, dialogue is not only cognitive and func-
tional to abstract truth, but it is also a life need
grounded in the inevitable interconnection of the
self’s body with the body of other.
For Bakhtin, dialogue is the embodied, intercorpor-
eal expression of the involvement of one’s body with
the body of the other. The concept of the body as an
individual, separate, and autonomous body is only an
illusion. The image that most adequately expresses
the condition of intercorporeity is the grotesque
body (Bakhtin, 1965) in popular culture, in vulgar
language of the public place, and in the masks of
carnival. This is the body in its vital and indissoluble
relation to the world and to the body of others.
In 1926, Bakhtin published an article on the
biological and philosophical subject titled ‘Contem-
porary vitalism’ (signed by the biologist I. I. Kanaev,
who subsequently declared that Bakhtin was the au-
thor). In his description of the interaction between
living body and environment and opposing the dual-
ism of life force and physical–chemical processes,
Bakhtin maintained that the organism forms a mon-
istic unit with the surrounding world. In his works of
the 1920s, Bakhtin criticized both the vitalists and
Body Language 83
the reflexologists, as well as both Freudianism and
mechanistic materialism (e.g., the mechanistic view of
the relation between base and superstructure). In
Bakhtin’s view, each of these different trends is
vitiated by false scientific claims that underestimate
the dialogic relation between body and world. Such
approaches either dematerialize the living body or
physicalize it in terms of mechanistic relations.
Bakhtin formulated the category of ‘carnivalesque’
in his study on Rabelais, which he extended to culture
at a world level insofar as it is human and not just
Western culture. The carnivalesque participates in
‘great experience,’ understood as offering a global
view of the complex and intricate life of bodies,
signs, and languages. As Bakhtin shows in the 1963
edition of his book on Dostoevsky, dialogue in the
polyphonic novel has its roots in the carnivalesque
language of the grotesque body. Plurivocality, ductili-
ty, and ambiguity of sense in verbal language (the
expression of centrifugal forces in linguistic life) are
also connected with the grotesque body. This is espe-
cially evident in the double character of verbal and
gestural ‘language of the public place,’ of vulgar ex-
pression that is simultaneously laudatory and offen-
sive. Most interesting on this subject is Bakhtin’s
reference (in Voloshinov, 1929/1973) to Dostoevsky’s
notes on an animated conversation formed of a single
vulgar bodily word used with different meanings.
Foremost Expressions of Body Language
On the basis of the discussion of an issue that is
essentially methodological and that also concerns
body language (which coincides with the human
semiosphere; i.e., the special semioses characteristic
of the semiotic animal, the sole animal gifted with the
primary modeling device called language by Sebeok),
we may now consider some exemplars of body
language.
As the expression of body language, we have al-
ready discussed such human signs as gesture, face
expression, vocal songs, and bodily movements used
to communicate in phases antecedent to verbal lan-
guage (i.e., speech) on both the phylogenetic and the
ontogenetic level. These are nonverbal signs used by
infants and hominids before the advent of H. sapiens.
Body language includes signs studied by physiog-
nomics – the discipline that studies the relations
between bodily characteristics, especially facial fea-
tures, and psychic characters of the human individu-
al. In semiotics, an important work on the bond
between body and temperament is The open self
by Charles Morris (1948), who used the typology
(‘endomorphy,’ ‘mesomorphy,’ and ‘ectomorphy’)
proposed by psychologist William H. Sheldon in
84 Body Language
The varieties of human physique and Varieties of
temperament from a semiotic perspective.
Body language involves modifications of the cultur-
al body, which belong to some complex sign system
or merely to the binary presence/absence system, in
a wide range of cultural alterations operated on
the body from brands, tattoos, the stripping of the
flesh, and piercing to maquillage, including the use
of belladonna to dilate the pupils. Body language
also includes dance, especially ritual dances, in
which any small body movement can have a precise
meaning.
We have also mentioned cultural modifications in
the distinctive pheromonal function of the human
chemical signature now studied by semiochemistry
(Sebeok, 2001b: 96). On this subject, Sebeok cited
both the novel Das perfume by Patrick Süskind, based
entirely on the indexical facets of human semiochem-
istry, and a passage from Peirce concerning the study
of odors as signs, with special reference to women’s
favorite perfumes. Human odors are classified by
Sebeok as indexical signs, but this body language
also has an iconic aspect (i.e., it also signifies on the
basis of similarity): In the passage cited by Sebeok,
Peirce’s comment is the following: ‘‘Surely there must
be some subtle resemblance between the odor and the
impression I get of this or that woman’s nature’’
(Sebeok, 2001b: 313).
Signs of body language are also signs that relate to
phrenology, anthropometry, palmistry, and grapholo-
gy or practices such as handwriting authentication
and identification by fingerprinting or by individual
unique sequences of DNA molecules. Moreover, body
language is studied by the branch of semiotics called
proxemics – that is, the semiotics of interpersonal
space, originally developed by Edward T. Hall in the
context of cultural anthropology.
Finally, body language includes such human sign
systems as the ‘sign language’ of the American Indians
(Sebeok, 1979), monastic signs (Sebeok and Umiker-
Sebeok, 1987), and the language of deaf-mutes. The
latter is further proof of the fact that man as a semi-
otic animal is not the speaking animal but the animal
that is endowed with language, the primary modeling
device. It is not true that dogs only lack speech. Dogs
and other nonhuman animals lack language. Instead,
the deaf-mute only lacks speech, as a pathology.
This means that other nonverbal systems, such as
the gestural, can be grafted onto the human primary
modeling device. Also, due to these sign systems the
deaf-mute is able to accomplish the same inventive
and creative mental functions as any other human
animal.
It must be emphasized that the connection be-
tween verbal language and body language largely
depends on their common participation in language
understood as human primary modeling.
Concerning verbal intonation, and specifically the
important phenomenon of language creativity called
‘intonational metaphor,’ Bakhtin (1926/1983) ob-
served that an intimate kinship binds the intonational
metaphor in real-life speech with the ‘metaphor of
gesticulation.’ In fact, the word itself was originally
a ‘linguistic gesture,’ a ‘component of a complex body
gesture,’ understanding gesture broadly to include
facial expression, gesticulation of the face. Intonation
and gesture belong to body language, and they ex-
press a living, dynamic relationship with the outside
world and social environment.
By using intonation and gesticulation, stated
Bakhtin (1926/1983), an individual takes up an
active social position with regard to certain values.
Of course, this position is conditioned by social
instances. Verbal intonation and gesture participate
in the creative modeling of human language. In this
sense, they belong to the anthroposemiotic bond re-
lating sign–mind–culture. In this bond also reside the
aesthetic–creative forces of body language that create
and organize artistic forms.
See also: Anthroposemiotics; Biosemiotics; Gesture:
Sociocultural Analysis; Gestures: Pragmatic Aspects;
Indexicality: Theory; Kinesics; Performance in Culture;
Semiotic Anthropology; Sign Language: Overview; Signif-
ics: Theory; Silence: Cultural Aspects; Social Semiotics;
Structuralism.
Bibliography
Bakhtin M M (1965). Rabelais and his world. Cambridge:
MIT Press.
Bakhtin M M (1983). ‘Discourse in life and discourse
in poetry.’ In Shukman A (ed.) Bakthin school papers,
Russian Poetics in Translation No. 10. Oxford: RPT.
(Original work published 1926.)
Danesi M (1998). The body in the sign: Thomas A. Sebeok
and semiotics. Toronto: Legas.
Fano G (1992). Origins and nature of language. Petrilli S
(trans.). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. (Original
work published 1972.)
Kanaev I I (1926). ‘Sovremennyj vitalizm.’ Chelovek i prir-
oda 1, 33–42; 9–23. (New edn. (1993) in Dialog, Karna-
val, Chronotop 4, 99–115.)
Marx K & Engels F (1968). Selected works in one volume.
London: Lawrence & Wishart. (Original work published
1845.)
Marx K & Rayzankaya S (eds.) (1968). The German ideol-
ogy. Moscow: Progress Publishers. (Original work
published 1845–1846.)
Morris C (1948). The open self. New York: Prentice Hall.
Morris C (1971a). ‘Signs language and behavior.’ In Morris
C (ed.). 73–398. (Original work published 1946.)

Morris C (1971b). Writings on the general theory of signs.
Sebeok T A (ed.). The Hague, The Netherlands: Mouton.
(Original work published 1946.)
Peirce C S (1931–1958). Collected papers (8 vols).
Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University
Press.
Petrilli S (1990). ‘On the materiality of signs.’ In Ponzio A.
365–401.
Petrilli S (1998). Teoria dei segni e del linguaggio. Bari,
Italy: Graphis.
Petrilli S (ed.) (2003). Linguaggi. Bari, Italy: Laterza.
Petrilli S (2005a). Percorsi della semiotica. Bari, Italy:
Graphis.
Petrilli S (ed.) (2005b). Communication and its semiotic bases:
studies in global communication. Madison, WI: Atwood.
Petrilli S (2005c). ‘Bodies, signs and values in global com-
munication.’ In Petrilli S (ed.).
Petrilli S & Calefato P (2003). Logica, dialogica, ideologi-
cal. I segni fra funzionalità ed eccedenza. Milan: Mimesis.
Ponzio A (1990). Man as a sign. Essays on the philosophy of
language. Petrilli S (trans. & ed.). Berlin: de Gruyter.
Ponzio A, Calefato P & Petrilli S (1994). Fondamenti di
filosofia del linguaggio. Rome: Laterza.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2000). Il sentire nella comunicazione
globale. Rome: Meltemi.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2001). Sebeok and the signs of life.
London: Icon Books.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2005). Semiotics unbounded. Inter-
pretive routes through the open network of signs.
Toronto: Toronto University Press.
Posner R, Robering K & Sebeok T A (eds.) (1997–2004).
Semiotik/Semiotics. A handbook on the sign-theoretic
Boeckh, August (1785–1867)
S Fornaro, University of Sassari, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
August Boeckh (Figure 1) was born in Karlsruhe on
November 24, 1785, as the son of court secretary and
notary Georg Matthäus Boeckh (1735–1790). Fol-
lowing the advice of his mother, he attended the
well-known ‘Gymnasium illustre’ in Karlsruhe,
where he received a special education under the su-
pervision of mathematician and physicist Johannes
Lorenz Böckmann (1741–1802), graduating as Can-
didatus theologicus. The influence of Schleiermacher
and Friedrich August Wolf (1759–1824) led Boeckh
to break off his theological studies in 1805 and devote
himself to the study of Greek antiquity. Completing
his studies in 1806, Boeckh went to Berlin to attend
the ‘Seminar für gelehrte Schulen,’ directed by J. J.
Bellermann, then headmaster of the Gymnasium
Boeckh, August (1785–1867) 85
foundations of nature and culture (3 vols). Berlin: de
Gruyter.
Rossi-Landi F (1985). Metodica filosofica e scienza dei
segni. Milan: Bompiani.
Rossi-Landi F (1992). Between signs and non-signs. Petrilli
S (ed.). Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Sebeok T A (1976). Contributions to the doctrine of signs.
Lisse: Peter de Ridder Press. (2nd edn. Lanham: Univer-
sity Press of America.)
Sebeok T A (1979). The sign & its masters. Austin: Univer-
sity of Texas Press.
Sebeok T A (1981). The play of musement. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (1986). I think I am a verb. More contributions
to the doctrine of signs. New York: Plenum.
Sebeok T A (1991). A sign is just a sign. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (2001a). Global semiotics. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (2001b). Signs. An introduction to semiotics.
Toronto: Toronto University Press.
Sebeok T A & Danesi M (2000). The forms of meanings.
Modelling systems theory and semiotic analysis. Berlin:
de Gruyter.
Sebeok T A & Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) (1987). Monastic sign
languages. Berlin: de Gruyter.
Voloshinov V N (1973). Marxism and the philosophy of
language. Matejka L & Titunik I R (trans.). Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press. (Original work published
1929.)
Vygotsky L S (1962). Thought and language. Cambridge:
MIT Press. (Original work published 1934.)
‘Zum Grauen Kloster.’ As a member of the seminar,
Boeckh taught Latin, French, and history. He soon
developed a friendship with Professors Buttmann and
Heindorf, with whom he founded the Berliner Grie-
chische Gesellschaft, also known as Graeca. After
finishing his dissertation at Halle University, he
moved to Heidelberg. He immediately passed his Ha-
bilitation, thereby obtaining an Extraordinariat,
which was raised to an Ordinariat für Klassische
Philologie in 1809, in the seminar founded by
Friedrich Creuzer (1771–1858). Through cordial
relations with Clemens Brentano (1778–1842) and
Achim von Arnim (1781–1831), Boeckh introduced
in detail Schleiermacher’s Plato translations in the
Heidelbergische Jahrbücher. Two years later, W. von
Humboldt offered him a professorship in Berlin,
where he earned high praise in the organization of
teaching and research at the newly founded univer-
sity. In 1812, the philological seminar, developed

Morris C (1971b). Writings on the general theory of signs.
Sebeok T A (ed.). The Hague, The Netherlands: Mouton.
(Original work published 1946.)
Peirce C S (1931–1958). Collected papers (8 vols).
Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University
Press.
Petrilli S (1990). ‘On the materiality of signs.’ In Ponzio A.
365–401.
Petrilli S (1998). Teoria dei segni e del linguaggio. Bari,
Italy: Graphis.
Petrilli S (ed.) (2003). Linguaggi. Bari, Italy: Laterza.
Petrilli S (2005a). Percorsi della semiotica. Bari, Italy:
Graphis.
Petrilli S (ed.) (2005b). Communication and its semiotic bases:
studies in global communication. Madison, WI: Atwood.
Petrilli S (2005c). ‘Bodies, signs and values in global com-
munication.’ In Petrilli S (ed.).
Petrilli S & Calefato P (2003). Logica, dialogica, ideologi-
cal. I segni fra funzionalità ed eccedenza. Milan: Mimesis.
Ponzio A (1990). Man as a sign. Essays on the philosophy of
language. Petrilli S (trans. & ed.). Berlin: de Gruyter.
Ponzio A, Calefato P & Petrilli S (1994). Fondamenti di
filosofia del linguaggio. Rome: Laterza.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2000). Il sentire nella comunicazione
globale. Rome: Meltemi.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2001). Sebeok and the signs of life.
London: Icon Books.
Ponzio A & Petrilli S (2005). Semiotics unbounded. Inter-
pretive routes through the open network of signs.
Toronto: Toronto University Press.
Posner R, Robering K & Sebeok T A (eds.) (1997–2004).
Semiotik/Semiotics. A handbook on the sign-theoretic
Boeckh, August (1785–1867)
S Fornaro, University of Sassari, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
August Boeckh (Figure 1) was born in Karlsruhe on
November 24, 1785, as the son of court secretary and
notary Georg Matthäus Boeckh (1735–1790). Fol-
lowing the advice of his mother, he attended the
well-known ‘Gymnasium illustre’ in Karlsruhe,
where he received a special education under the su-
pervision of mathematician and physicist Johannes
Lorenz Böckmann (1741–1802), graduating as Can-
didatus theologicus. The influence of Schleiermacher
and Friedrich August Wolf (1759–1824) led Boeckh
to break off his theological studies in 1805 and devote
himself to the study of Greek antiquity. Completing
his studies in 1806, Boeckh went to Berlin to attend
the ‘Seminar für gelehrte Schulen,’ directed by J. J.
Bellermann, then headmaster of the Gymnasium
Boeckh, August (1785–1867) 85
foundations of nature and culture (3 vols). Berlin: de
Gruyter.
Rossi-Landi F (1985). Metodica filosofica e scienza dei
segni. Milan: Bompiani.
Rossi-Landi F (1992). Between signs and non-signs. Petrilli
S (ed.). Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Sebeok T A (1976). Contributions to the doctrine of signs.
Lisse: Peter de Ridder Press. (2nd edn. Lanham: Univer-
sity Press of America.)
Sebeok T A (1979). The sign & its masters. Austin: Univer-
sity of Texas Press.
Sebeok T A (1981). The play of musement. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (1986). I think I am a verb. More contributions
to the doctrine of signs. New York: Plenum.
Sebeok T A (1991). A sign is just a sign. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (2001a). Global semiotics. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Sebeok T A (2001b). Signs. An introduction to semiotics.
Toronto: Toronto University Press.
Sebeok T A & Danesi M (2000). The forms of meanings.
Modelling systems theory and semiotic analysis. Berlin:
de Gruyter.
Sebeok T A & Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) (1987). Monastic sign
languages. Berlin: de Gruyter.
Voloshinov V N (1973). Marxism and the philosophy of
language. Matejka L & Titunik I R (trans.). Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press. (Original work published
1929.)
Vygotsky L S (1962). Thought and language. Cambridge:
MIT Press. (Original work published 1934.)
‘Zum Grauen Kloster.’ As a member of the seminar,
Boeckh taught Latin, French, and history. He soon
developed a friendship with Professors Buttmann and
Heindorf, with whom he founded the Berliner Grie-
chische Gesellschaft, also known as Graeca. After
finishing his dissertation at Halle University, he
moved to Heidelberg. He immediately passed his Ha-
bilitation, thereby obtaining an Extraordinariat,
which was raised to an Ordinariat für Klassische
Philologie in 1809, in the seminar founded by
Friedrich Creuzer (1771–1858). Through cordial
relations with Clemens Brentano (1778–1842) and
Achim von Arnim (1781–1831), Boeckh introduced
in detail Schleiermacher’s Plato translations in the
Heidelbergische Jahrbücher. Two years later, W. von
Humboldt offered him a professorship in Berlin,
where he earned high praise in the organization of
teaching and research at the newly founded univer-
sity. In 1812, the philological seminar, developed
86 Boeckh, August (1785–1867)
Figure 1 August Boeckh 1857 (Berlin, Stadtmuseum Berlin.
Fotografie: Christel Lehmann).
and directed by Boeckh, was raised to university level.
Along with Schleiermacher, Savigny, and the anato-
mist Carl Asmund Rudolphi (1771–1832), Boeckh
joined a commission charged with evaluating the uni-
versity statutes that were introduced at the Alma
mater Berolinensis in 1817.
A large part of Boeckh’s scientific lifework emerged
within the context of the Prussian Academy of Sciences,
to which he was admitted in 1814. As successor of
his friend Schleiermacher, Boeckh was secretary of
the humanities section for 27 years (1834–1861).
In 1815, he initiated on behalf of the Academy the
four-volume Corpus Inscriptionum Graecum (CIG),
published between 1825 and 1859. The ambitious
enterprise of collecting all antique inscriptions led to
Boeckh’s reputation as the father of epigraphy and
initiated the monumental academy projects suc-
cessfully implemented by his successors Mommsen,
Harnack, Wilamowitz, and Diels.
Boeckh was no armchair philologist. Besides lectur-
ing and his academy work, he took on increasingly
administrative tasks within the framework of build-
ing and extending the university. He was dean for the
first time in 1814/1815, and was elected Rektor first
in 1825. He held this office five times consecutively,
last in 1860 at the age of nearly 75, when Berlin
University celebrated its 50th birthday.
Boeckh’s commitment reached far beyond the uni-
versity. Not only did he remain interested throughout
his life in political issues, he also participated actively
on a regular basis. This is illustrated, e.g., by his
commitment to the reform of the Prussian teacher
education program and becomes even clearer by
his dedication to German unification and academic
freedom.
Boeckh’s high offices at the university and the
Academy, combined with his indisputable intellectual
authority as a scholar, made him an important con-
tact person for both court and state. He was careful,
however, to preserve his independence, merely
accepting the title of Geheimer Regierungsrat. In
1832, he ostentatiously declined working for the cen-
sorship agency, followed by his refusal to become
Kultusminister in 1848.
Even without a political office, Boeckh exerted
considerable influence over the intellectual life of his
time, transcending the university and the academy. By
accepting the philology chair, Boeckh had become
Professor eloquentiae et poeseos. This position in-
cluded not only formulating a foreword for the lec-
ture timetable each semester and composing all Latin
university documents, it also involved being the uni-
versity’s main speaker on festive occasions, a task he
conscientiously fulfilled until shortly before his death.
Boeckh’s personal correspondence provides evidence
that limitations on freedom of speech made this by no
means easy for him. Yet Boeckh, who called himself a
‘Protestant’ in the actual sense of the word, never
deviated from his personal opinion. His numerous
speeches, which focused on the concept of academic
freedom, profess a liberal point of view and a pugna-
cious humanism. Academic freedom found in him
one of its most eloquent and persistent defenders.
Boeckh was married twice. In 1809 he married
Dorothea Wagermann, the daughter of superinten-
dent general Gottfried Wagermann. After her early
death, Boeckh married Anna Taube in 1830. On
August 3, 1867, August Boeckh died at the age of
82 as a result of lung disease.
Boeckh began with studies on Plato (especially
‘Timaios’) and the Pythagorean Philolaos, using his
thorough mathematical education. Through Greek mu-
sical studies he discovered the field of Greek metrics.
In Berlin, Boeckh developed a special interest in rhe-
torical-antiquarian matters, due to B. G. Niebuhr’s
influence. In 1817, he published Die Staatshaushal-
tung der Athener, the first Attic economic history. In
the foreword, he articulates his wish that science
should expand from a one-sided linguistic approach
to an all-comprehensive exploration of Greek life.
Boeckh did theoretically design and practically imple-
ment an extensive science of classical antiquity, com-
prising as equal components of a complex whole
all areas of life and all of its cultural expressions.
The over-enthusiastic plan of his youth to create a
cultural-historical oeuvre entitled ‘Hellen,’ – intended
to present an overall picture of Greek life in all of

its political, economic, religious, and intellectual
facets – remained beyond his reach, mainly due to
the existence of only insufficient preparatory work,
or none at all, for too many sections of his envisioned
composition. He never discarded his central idea of
an interdisciplinary, cultural-study-based approach
to classical antiquity. Instead, he advanced to
heading the realistic philological school in opposition
to the linguistic-text-critical school or so-called
‘Wortphilologie,’ of Gottfried Hermann (1772–
1848). Hermann and his supporters argued that
only through language could ‘‘everything else
that characterizes a people be comprehended and
understood.’’ The dispute, begun with a review by
Hermann of the first issue of CIG journal, continued
for several years. Besides his interdisciplinary empha-
sis, it is especially Boeckh’s insistence on a solid
methodological basis for every research that casts
him in such a modern light. His famous lecture on
Encyklopädie und Methodologie der Wissenschaften,
given regularly between 1809 and 1865, should be
required reading for every philologist even today.
See also: Greek, Ancient; Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–
1835); Paleography, Greek and Latin; Wolf, Friedrich
August (1759–1824).
Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275)
E Bell Canon, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Boethius of Dacia, also known as Boethius the Dane
and Boethius of Sweden, was born in the early 13th
century. He was associated with the University of
Paris as a teacher of philosophy and grammar, and
his theory of language and grammar was based in the
Averroist tradition of Aristotelian philosophy. Also
called a ‘radical Aristotelian,’ Boethius found many
of his philosophical writings condemned in 1270 and
again in 1277 by the Bishop of Paris. It is possible that
later in life, Boethius joined the Dominican Order and
probably served in Dacia, Romania.
As a grammarian, Boethius was part of a group
of like-minded thinkers called the ‘Modistae.’ The
Modistae produced written works on the nature of
language based on the then-recently rediscovered phi-
losophies of the ancient Greeks, particularly Aristotle.
They developed the notion of ‘speculative grammar,’
or the function of language as a mirror of what is real
in the world. Boethius wrote on the nature and origin
Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275) 87
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Boeckh, August. Gesammelte Kleine Schriften, Bd. 1–7.
Leipzig: Teubner, 1858–1874.
Boeckh, August. Encyclopädie und Methodologie
der Philologischen Wissenschaften. Bratuscheck E &
Klussmann R (eds.), 2nd edn. Leipzig: Teubner. (Repr.
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Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum, Auctoritate et impen-
sis Academiae Litterarum Regiae Borussicae. vol. 2.
Boeckhius, Augustus (ed.) Berolini ex Oficina Acade-
mica, 1828–1843.
Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener. Berlin: Realschulbuch-
handlung, 1817; Berlin: Reimer, 1886.
Metrologische Untersuchungen über Gewichte, Münzfüße
und Maße des Altertums. Berlin: Veit, 1838. (Repr.
Karlsruhe: Badenia Verlag, 1978.)
Pindari carmina quae supersunt cum deperditorum frag-
mentis selectis. Rec. Augustus Boeckhius. Editio secunda
correctior. Lipsiae: Weisel, 1825.
Schneider B. August Boeckh, Altertumsforscher, Universi-
tätslehrer und Wissenschaftsorganisator im Berlin des 19.
Jahrhunderts: Ausstellung zum 200. Geburtstag, 22. No-
vember 1985–18. Januar 1986, Berlin, Staatsbibliothek
Preussischer Kulturbesitz. (Ausstellung und Katalog,
Bernd Schneider.)
of grammar, including parts of speech in Modi Signi-
ficandi sive Quaestiones Super Priscianum Maiorem
(1980). In this work, he broke with the linguistic
philosophy of Priscian by establishing grammar as a
science:
Quia ergo ea, de quibus est grammatica, sunt compre-
hensibilia ab intellectu et habent causas per se, ideo
grammatica est scientia. (‘Because, therefore, those
things with which grammar is concerned are comprehen-
sible by the intellect and have causes per se, it follows
that grammar is a science.’) (Quote and translation from
McDermott, 1980.)
Boethius believed that philosophy and grammar were
intertwined:
One ought to be grammarian, in order that he might
consider modes of signifying; a philosopher, so as to
consider the properties of objects, and a philosopher-
grammarian so as to derive the modes of signifying
from the properties of objects. (Translation from
McDermott, 1980.)
His belief that the human soul was not immortal,
that the world was eternal, as well as his association

its political, economic, religious, and intellectual
facets – remained beyond his reach, mainly due to
the existence of only insufficient preparatory work,
or none at all, for too many sections of his envisioned
composition. He never discarded his central idea of
an interdisciplinary, cultural-study-based approach
to classical antiquity. Instead, he advanced to
heading the realistic philological school in opposition
to the linguistic-text-critical school or so-called
‘Wortphilologie,’ of Gottfried Hermann (1772–
1848). Hermann and his supporters argued that
only through language could ‘‘everything else
that characterizes a people be comprehended and
understood.’’ The dispute, begun with a review by
Hermann of the first issue of CIG journal, continued
for several years. Besides his interdisciplinary empha-
sis, it is especially Boeckh’s insistence on a solid
methodological basis for every research that casts
him in such a modern light. His famous lecture on
Encyklopädie und Methodologie der Wissenschaften,
given regularly between 1809 and 1865, should be
required reading for every philologist even today.
See also: Greek, Ancient; Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–
1835); Paleography, Greek and Latin; Wolf, Friedrich
August (1759–1824).
Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275)
E Bell Canon, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Boethius of Dacia, also known as Boethius the Dane
and Boethius of Sweden, was born in the early 13th
century. He was associated with the University of
Paris as a teacher of philosophy and grammar, and
his theory of language and grammar was based in the
Averroist tradition of Aristotelian philosophy. Also
called a ‘radical Aristotelian,’ Boethius found many
of his philosophical writings condemned in 1270 and
again in 1277 by the Bishop of Paris. It is possible that
later in life, Boethius joined the Dominican Order and
probably served in Dacia, Romania.
As a grammarian, Boethius was part of a group
of like-minded thinkers called the ‘Modistae.’ The
Modistae produced written works on the nature of
language based on the then-recently rediscovered phi-
losophies of the ancient Greeks, particularly Aristotle.
They developed the notion of ‘speculative grammar,’
or the function of language as a mirror of what is real
in the world. Boethius wrote on the nature and origin
Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275) 87
Bibliography
Augustii Borckhii Commentatio Academica de Platonica
corporis mundani fabrica conflati ex elementis geome-
trica ratione concinnatis. Heidelbergae, 1810.
Boeckh, August. Gesammelte Kleine Schriften, Bd. 1–7.
Leipzig: Teubner, 1858–1874.
Boeckh, August. Encyclopädie und Methodologie
der Philologischen Wissenschaften. Bratuscheck E &
Klussmann R (eds.), 2nd edn. Leipzig: Teubner. (Repr.
Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1966.)
Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum, Auctoritate et impen-
sis Academiae Litterarum Regiae Borussicae. vol. 2.
Boeckhius, Augustus (ed.) Berolini ex Oficina Acade-
mica, 1828–1843.
Die Staatshaushaltung der Athener. Berlin: Realschulbuch-
handlung, 1817; Berlin: Reimer, 1886.
Metrologische Untersuchungen über Gewichte, Münzfüße
und Maße des Altertums. Berlin: Veit, 1838. (Repr.
Karlsruhe: Badenia Verlag, 1978.)
Pindari carmina quae supersunt cum deperditorum frag-
mentis selectis. Rec. Augustus Boeckhius. Editio secunda
correctior. Lipsiae: Weisel, 1825.
Schneider B. August Boeckh, Altertumsforscher, Universi-
tätslehrer und Wissenschaftsorganisator im Berlin des 19.
Jahrhunderts: Ausstellung zum 200. Geburtstag, 22. No-
vember 1985–18. Januar 1986, Berlin, Staatsbibliothek
Preussischer Kulturbesitz. (Ausstellung und Katalog,
Bernd Schneider.)
of grammar, including parts of speech in Modi Signi-
ficandi sive Quaestiones Super Priscianum Maiorem
(1980). In this work, he broke with the linguistic
philosophy of Priscian by establishing grammar as a
science:
Quia ergo ea, de quibus est grammatica, sunt compre-
hensibilia ab intellectu et habent causas per se, ideo
grammatica est scientia. (‘Because, therefore, those
things with which grammar is concerned are comprehen-
sible by the intellect and have causes per se, it follows
that grammar is a science.’) (Quote and translation from
McDermott, 1980.)
Boethius believed that philosophy and grammar were
intertwined:
One ought to be grammarian, in order that he might
consider modes of signifying; a philosopher, so as to
consider the properties of objects, and a philosopher-
grammarian so as to derive the modes of signifying
from the properties of objects. (Translation from
McDermott, 1980.)
His belief that the human soul was not immortal,
that the world was eternal, as well as his association
88 Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275)
with other Averroists such as Siger of Brabant, ulti-
mately resulted in the condemnation of his writings by
Etienne Tempier, bishop of Paris, in 1270 and again in
1277. Many of his writings are either lost or remain
unedited. His three best-known works are De summo
bono (‘On the supreme good’), De aeternitate mundi
(‘On the eternity of the world’), and De somniis (‘On
dreams’). Although he professed his faith in Christ as
a Christian and may have joined the Dominican
Order, his philosophical theories kept him at odds
with the church for the remainder of his life. The
exact date and place of his death are unknown.
See also: Aristotle and Linguistics; Aristotle and the Stoics
on Language; Priscianus Caesariensis (d. ca. 530).
Böhtlingk, Otto Nikolaus (1815–1904)
S A Romashko, Moscow, Russia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born into a family of a German merchant in
St Petersburg, Russia, Otto von Boehtlingk studied
Oriental Languages at the university of his native city,
but in 1835 he moved to Germany, where he felt that
his interest in Sanskrit could be satisfied. After a short
time in Berlin, he finished his studies in Bonn as
a pupil of August Wilhelm von Schlegel and Chr.
Lassen. In Bonn he published his first work, the San-
skrit grammar of Pānini with Indian scholia and his
own commentary (Boehtlingk, 1839–1840).
In 1842 Boehtlingk returned to Russia to enter the
Imperial Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg as a
research fellow (he became a full member of the
Academy in 1852). He published a series of articles
on Sanskrit grammar, but the announced plan of
an integral Sanskrit grammar never came into being.
Instead, for a time he interrupted his work on San-
skrit and approached a new, pioneering task; the
Academy commissioned him to systematize the
Yakut data that had been collected by A. Th. von
Middendorff’s Siberian expedition. At that time, this
unwritten peripheral Turkic language from Eastern
Siberia was hardly known. Analyzing the received
data and working with an informant he found in
St Petersburg, Boehtlingk provided a descriptive
work (Boehtlingk, 1851), which is still considered a
classic in the field of Altaic studies. Boehtlingk
adapted the ideas of early European typological theo-
ry (from W. von Humboldt, A. F. Pott, and
H. Steinthal) for the practical analysis of an aggluti-
nating language and used the methods of comparative
Bibliography
Bursill-Hall G L (1971). Speculative grammars of the mid-
dle ages, the doctrine of Partes Orationis of the Modistae
(Approaches to Semiotics 11). The Hague: Mouton.
Maurer A (1967). ‘Boethius of Dacia.’ In The Catholic
University of America (ed.) New Catholic Encyclopedia,
19 vols. New York: McGraw-Hill.
McDermott A & Senape C (eds.) (1980). Godfrey of
Fontaine’s Abridgement of Boethius of Dacia’s Modi
Significandi Sive Quaestiones Super Priscianum
Maiorem. (Amsterdam Studies in the Theory and History
of Linguistic Science 3) (Vol. 22). Amsterdam: John
Benjamins B. V.
and historical philology to distinguish the inherited
Turkic vocabulary of Yakut from Mongolian and
other borrowings.
The main work of Boehtlingk was the Sanskrit
dictionary (Boehtlingk and Roth, 1855–1875), also
known as the St Petersburg dictionary, which was
compiled with assistance of Rudolf von Roth and
other sanskritologists. It was the first European San-
skrit dictionary based not on Indian lexicographic
works, but on the thorough study of primary texts.
It was also a historical dictionary, representing the
development of Sanskrit from the Vedic hymns
through the late stages of the language. To complete
his dictionary, Boehtlingk moved to Germany in
1868, with the permission of Russian authorities,
where copious Sanskrit resources were available. He
stayed in Germany until the end of his life, first in Jena
and later in Leipzig. The so-called ‘shorter version’ of
his Sanskrit dictionary (Boehtlingk, 1879–1889, also
prepared with assistance of many sanskritologists)
in fact includes an enlarged number of entries versus
his earlier work; however, most of the examples were
omitted from this version. An offspring of Boehtlingk’s
lexicographical work was a collection of Indian sayings
(Boehtlingk, 1863–1865). During his life Boehtlingk
published a number of Indian texts; his second edition
of Pānini’s grammar (Boehtlingk, 1887) contains not
only the text and a German translation, but almost
the half of the book consists of indices, word and
root lists, grammatical commentaries, and other useful
supplements.
See also: Panini; Sanskrit; Schlegel, August Wilhelm von
(1767–1845); Turkic Languages; Yakut.
88 Boethius of Dacia (fl. 1275)
with other Averroists such as Siger of Brabant, ulti-
mately resulted in the condemnation of his writings by
Etienne Tempier, bishop of Paris, in 1270 and again in
1277. Many of his writings are either lost or remain
unedited. His three best-known works are De summo
bono (‘On the supreme good’), De aeternitate mundi
(‘On the eternity of the world’), and De somniis (‘On
dreams’). Although he professed his faith in Christ as
a Christian and may have joined the Dominican
Order, his philosophical theories kept him at odds
with the church for the remainder of his life. The
exact date and place of his death are unknown.
See also: Aristotle and Linguistics; Aristotle and the Stoics
on Language; Priscianus Caesariensis (d. ca. 530).
Böhtlingk, Otto Nikolaus (1815–1904)
S A Romashko, Moscow, Russia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born into a family of a German merchant in
St Petersburg, Russia, Otto von Boehtlingk studied
Oriental Languages at the university of his native city,
but in 1835 he moved to Germany, where he felt that
his interest in Sanskrit could be satisfied. After a short
time in Berlin, he finished his studies in Bonn as
a pupil of August Wilhelm von Schlegel and Chr.
Lassen. In Bonn he published his first work, the San-
skrit grammar of Pānini with Indian scholia and his
own commentary (Boehtlingk, 1839–1840).
In 1842 Boehtlingk returned to Russia to enter the
Imperial Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg as a
research fellow (he became a full member of the
Academy in 1852). He published a series of articles
on Sanskrit grammar, but the announced plan of
an integral Sanskrit grammar never came into being.
Instead, for a time he interrupted his work on San-
skrit and approached a new, pioneering task; the
Academy commissioned him to systematize the
Yakut data that had been collected by A. Th. von
Middendorff’s Siberian expedition. At that time, this
unwritten peripheral Turkic language from Eastern
Siberia was hardly known. Analyzing the received
data and working with an informant he found in
St Petersburg, Boehtlingk provided a descriptive
work (Boehtlingk, 1851), which is still considered a
classic in the field of Altaic studies. Boehtlingk
adapted the ideas of early European typological theo-
ry (from W. von Humboldt, A. F. Pott, and
H. Steinthal) for the practical analysis of an aggluti-
nating language and used the methods of comparative
Bibliography
Bursill-Hall G L (1971). Speculative grammars of the mid-
dle ages, the doctrine of Partes Orationis of the Modistae
(Approaches to Semiotics 11). The Hague: Mouton.
Maurer A (1967). ‘Boethius of Dacia.’ In The Catholic
University of America (ed.) New Catholic Encyclopedia,
19 vols. New York: McGraw-Hill.
McDermott A & Senape C (eds.) (1980). Godfrey of
Fontaine’s Abridgement of Boethius of Dacia’s Modi
Significandi Sive Quaestiones Super Priscianum
Maiorem. (Amsterdam Studies in the Theory and History
of Linguistic Science 3) (Vol. 22). Amsterdam: John
Benjamins B. V.
and historical philology to distinguish the inherited
Turkic vocabulary of Yakut from Mongolian and
other borrowings.
The main work of Boehtlingk was the Sanskrit
dictionary (Boehtlingk and Roth, 1855–1875), also
known as the St Petersburg dictionary, which was
compiled with assistance of Rudolf von Roth and
other sanskritologists. It was the first European San-
skrit dictionary based not on Indian lexicographic
works, but on the thorough study of primary texts.
It was also a historical dictionary, representing the
development of Sanskrit from the Vedic hymns
through the late stages of the language. To complete
his dictionary, Boehtlingk moved to Germany in
1868, with the permission of Russian authorities,
where copious Sanskrit resources were available. He
stayed in Germany until the end of his life, first in Jena
and later in Leipzig. The so-called ‘shorter version’ of
his Sanskrit dictionary (Boehtlingk, 1879–1889, also
prepared with assistance of many sanskritologists)
in fact includes an enlarged number of entries versus
his earlier work; however, most of the examples were
omitted from this version. An offspring of Boehtlingk’s
lexicographical work was a collection of Indian sayings
(Boehtlingk, 1863–1865). During his life Boehtlingk
published a number of Indian texts; his second edition
of Pānini’s grammar (Boehtlingk, 1887) contains not
only the text and a German translation, but almost
the half of the book consists of indices, word and
root lists, grammatical commentaries, and other useful
supplements.
See also: Panini; Sanskrit; Schlegel, August Wilhelm von
(1767–1845); Turkic Languages; Yakut.

Bibliography
Boehtlingk O N (1839–1840). Pânini’s acht Bücher
grammatischer Regeln (2 vols). Bonn: König.
Boehtlingk O N (1845). Sanskrit-Chrestomatie. St Peters-
burg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften. [2nd
edn. 1877.]
Boehtlingk O N (1851). Über die Sprache der Jakuten.
St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften.
[Reprinted: The Hague: Mouton, 1964.]
Boehtlingk O N & Roth R (1855–1875). Sanskrit-Wörter-
buch (7 vols). St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der
Wissenschaften. [Reprint: Osnabrück: Zeller/Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Boehtlingk O N (1863–1865). Indische Sprüche (3 vols).
St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften.
[2nd edn., 1870–1873; reprint of the 2nd edn.:
Osnabrück: Zeller/Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Bolivia: Language Situation
M Crowhurst, University of Texas, Austin, TX, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bolivia is home to approximately 40 indigenous
languages representing four distinct Amerindian
stocks, an impressive degree of linguistic diversity
(see Figure 1). Two European languages are also
spoken: in addition to Spanish, Plautdietsch (Low
German) is spoken in eastern Bolivia by Mennonites
who emigrated from Canada (possibly via Mexico) to
avoid conscription during World War I.
The best represented of the Amerindian stocks,
in terms of number of living speakers, is Andean:
Aymara and Quechua are spoken natively by millions
of Bolivians. These languages are spoken primarily in
the mountainous southwestern third of Bolivia. In
recent years, the presence of Quechua and Aymara
in urban centers further to the east has increased
dramatically as speakers have migrated in search
Figure 1 Macro-linguistic affiliation of Bolivian languages (References: Ruhlen, 1991; Ethnologue).
Bolivia: Language Situation 89
Boehtlingk O N (1879–1889). Sanskrit-Wörterbuch in kür-
zerer Fassung (7 vols). St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akade-
mie der Wissenschaften. [Reprint: Osnabrück: Zeller/
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Boehtlingk O N (1887). Pânini’s Grammatik. Leipzig:
Haessel. [Reprints: Hildesheim: Olms, 1964/Delhi:
Motilal Banarsidass, 1998.]
Bulich S K (1904). ‘Pamjati O. N. f. Betlinga.’ Izvestija
Otdelenija russkogo jazyka i slovesnosti Imperatorskoj
Akademii nauk 9, 187–200.
Kirfel W (1955). ‘Boehtlingk, Otto Nikolaus von.’ In
Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 2. Berlin: Duncker &
Humblot. 396–397.
Salemann K & Oldenburg S von (1892). ‘Boehtlingk’s
Druckschriften.’ Mélange Asiatique 10, 247–256.
Windisch E (1920). Geschichte der Sanskrit-Philologie
und indischen Altertumskunde (vol. 2). Strassburg:
Trübner.
of better economic opportunities. A third Andean
language, Leco, is nearly extinct, according to data
from Bolivia’s Rural Indigenous Census of 1994 (the
source for all numerical figures in this article). Finally,
Callahuaya (Callawalla), which blends Quechua
morphosyntax with roots from Puquina, an extinct
language of Peru, was a specialized (nonnative) lan-
guage used by Incan herb doctors, and is still used by
a few herb doctors today.
The great majority of Bolivia’s languages spring from
the Equatorial-Tucanoan and Macro-Panoan stocks (see
Figures 2 and 3). A final group of three varieties – Besiro,
as well as the now extinct Moncoca and Churapa –
belong to the Chiquitano family, a linguistic isolate.
(Note: the Ethnologue classifies Chiquitano as
Macro-Ge. This is probably an oversimplification:
Dı́ez Astete and Murillo (1998: 75–76) indicated
that Chiquitano is an artificial family constituted of
more than 40 languages spoken by ethnolinguistic
groups who were forcibly relocated in Jesuit missions

Bibliography
Boehtlingk O N (1839–1840). Pânini’s acht Bücher
grammatischer Regeln (2 vols). Bonn: König.
Boehtlingk O N (1845). Sanskrit-Chrestomatie. St Peters-
burg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften. [2nd
edn. 1877.]
Boehtlingk O N (1851). Über die Sprache der Jakuten.
St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften.
[Reprinted: The Hague: Mouton, 1964.]
Boehtlingk O N & Roth R (1855–1875). Sanskrit-Wörter-
buch (7 vols). St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der
Wissenschaften. [Reprint: Osnabrück: Zeller/Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Boehtlingk O N (1863–1865). Indische Sprüche (3 vols).
St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften.
[2nd edn., 1870–1873; reprint of the 2nd edn.:
Osnabrück: Zeller/Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Bolivia: Language Situation
M Crowhurst, University of Texas, Austin, TX, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bolivia is home to approximately 40 indigenous
languages representing four distinct Amerindian
stocks, an impressive degree of linguistic diversity
(see Figure 1). Two European languages are also
spoken: in addition to Spanish, Plautdietsch (Low
German) is spoken in eastern Bolivia by Mennonites
who emigrated from Canada (possibly via Mexico) to
avoid conscription during World War I.
The best represented of the Amerindian stocks,
in terms of number of living speakers, is Andean:
Aymara and Quechua are spoken natively by millions
of Bolivians. These languages are spoken primarily in
the mountainous southwestern third of Bolivia. In
recent years, the presence of Quechua and Aymara
in urban centers further to the east has increased
dramatically as speakers have migrated in search
Figure 1 Macro-linguistic affiliation of Bolivian languages (References: Ruhlen, 1991; Ethnologue).
Bolivia: Language Situation 89
Boehtlingk O N (1879–1889). Sanskrit-Wörterbuch in kür-
zerer Fassung (7 vols). St Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akade-
mie der Wissenschaften. [Reprint: Osnabrück: Zeller/
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1966.]
Boehtlingk O N (1887). Pânini’s Grammatik. Leipzig:
Haessel. [Reprints: Hildesheim: Olms, 1964/Delhi:
Motilal Banarsidass, 1998.]
Bulich S K (1904). ‘Pamjati O. N. f. Betlinga.’ Izvestija
Otdelenija russkogo jazyka i slovesnosti Imperatorskoj
Akademii nauk 9, 187–200.
Kirfel W (1955). ‘Boehtlingk, Otto Nikolaus von.’ In
Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 2. Berlin: Duncker &
Humblot. 396–397.
Salemann K & Oldenburg S von (1892). ‘Boehtlingk’s
Druckschriften.’ Mélange Asiatique 10, 247–256.
Windisch E (1920). Geschichte der Sanskrit-Philologie
und indischen Altertumskunde (vol. 2). Strassburg:
Trübner.
of better economic opportunities. A third Andean
language, Leco, is nearly extinct, according to data
from Bolivia’s Rural Indigenous Census of 1994 (the
source for all numerical figures in this article). Finally,
Callahuaya (Callawalla), which blends Quechua
morphosyntax with roots from Puquina, an extinct
language of Peru, was a specialized (nonnative) lan-
guage used by Incan herb doctors, and is still used by
a few herb doctors today.
The great majority of Bolivia’s languages spring from
the Equatorial-Tucanoan and Macro-Panoan stocks (see
Figures 2 and 3). A final group of three varieties – Besiro,
as well as the now extinct Moncoca and Churapa –
belong to the Chiquitano family, a linguistic isolate.
(Note: the Ethnologue classifies Chiquitano as
Macro-Ge. This is probably an oversimplification:
Dı́ez Astete and Murillo (1998: 75–76) indicated
that Chiquitano is an artificial family constituted of
more than 40 languages spoken by ethnolinguistic
groups who were forcibly relocated in Jesuit missions
90 Bolivia: Language Situation

Figure 2 Equatorial-Tucanoan languages spoken in Bolivia (More detailed information concerning classification can be found in
Ruhlen, 1991; Jensen, 1999; and the Ethnologue).

Figure 3 Macro-Panoan Languages Spoken in Bolivia (References: Ruhlen, 1991; Ethnologue).

in the Chiquitos region beginning in 1550. The rela-
tionships among these languages is not known. Besiro
is thought to have resulted from contact among sev-
eral languages in this group.)
Bolivia’s Equatorial-Tucanoan, Macro-Panoan, and
Chiquitano languages, along with Itonama (Paezan),
are (or were) spoken in the Tierras Bajas, or Lowlands,
in the zones known as Amazonı́a (in the north),
Oriente, and the Chaco (south, adjacent to Paraguay
and Argentina). All of the lowland languages are
endangered to a greater or lesser extent. Many, includ-
ing Canichana, Cayubaba, and Reyesano, will become
extinct once the few remaining, elderly speakers have
passed away. Some lowland languages, for example,
Guaranı́ and the Moxo varieties, are relatively stable.
Still other languages, at greater risk of extinction,
represent two general situations. Some are robust
within their heritage communities, but the futures of
the groups themselves are uncertain because their
members are too few to guarantee sustainability (for
 Bolivia: Language Situation 91

Table 1 Population and language statistics for the indigenous groups of Bolivia’s Lowland Region

Linguistic Heritage Total population of Population % pop. aged 6þ yrs. % pop. aged 6þ yrs. % 6–14-year-
family languagea ethnolinguistic group aged 6þ monolingual in heritage bilingual in heritage lang. & olds who are
(all ages) yrs language and Spanish bilingual

Arawak Baure 631 504 0.4 2.4 0

Moxo 20 805 15 793 1.8 37.0 22.51
Machinere 155 105 0.0 0.0 100
Chiquitano Besiro 47 086 36 255 0.7 32.4 23.22
Tupı́an Sirionó 419 311 1.9 92.9 95.8
Yuqui (Bı̈ä-Yë) 138 109 7.3 91.1 100
Guarayu 7235 5509 6.6 77.8 81.86
Guaranı́ 36 917 28 823 4.9 88.3 89.23
Tapieté 74 55 2 (abs)b 41 (abs) 84.21
Zamucoan Ayoreo 856 629 9.7 80.9 85.0
Mataco Chorote 2081 1637 7.8 85.2 89.16
(Weenhayek)
Tacanan Araona 90 71 41 (abs) 23 (abs) 95.0
Tacana 5058 3863 0.3 36.3 13.58
Reyesano 4118 3169 0.3 7.3 1.08
Cavineño 1736 1339 1.2 66.7 58.78
Ese Ejja 584 444 4.5 79.7 83.45
Panoan Yaminawa 161 117 0.9 0.0 95.5
Pacahuara 18 17 0.0 1 (abs) 0
Chacobo 767 568 17.1 55.6 74.86
Chapacura More (Itenez) 108 93 1.1 31.2 10.53
Moseten Chimané 5907 4221 42.4 46.5 86.0
Moseten 1177 869 2.2 82.6 78.28
Paezan Itonama 5090 3911 0.2 2.5 0.79
Quechuan Leco 9 7 0.0 1 (abs) 0
Tucanoan Movima 6528 4934 0.5 22.6 4.08
Canichana 583 480 0.0 3.5 0
Equatorial Cayubaba 794 609 0.5 7.6 0.44
Yuracare 3333 2457 1.8 76.8 64.0
a
Churapa, Moncoca, Jorá, Paunaca, Saraveca, Toromona, and Pauserna are not included in Table 1 because no data is available for
these languages (which are extinct or nearly extinct). Callahuaya is not included because it is not spoken as a first language.
b
Figures accompanies by the abbreviation ‘‘abs’’ represent absolute numbers, not percentage.
(Source: the Rural Indigenous Census of 1994, reported in Dı́ez Astete & Murillo 1998.)

example, Araona, Ayoreo, and Sirionó). In other cases,
the ethnolinguistic group itself faces no risk of immi-
nent collapse but is undergoing a process of language
shift in which the heritage language is gradually
replaced by a regionally dominant language in all
spheres of life. Examples are Guarayu, and especially
Besiro, which is being passed on at a rate of only one
child learner per eight adult speakers. The displacing
language in Bolivia has generally been Spanish, but this
has not always been the case: Chané (Arawakan), a
language of the Chaco, was displaced by northwardly
migrating Guaranı́ who conquered and enslaved the
Chané people before the arrival of the Spaniards in the
16th century (Pifarré, 1989; Dı́ez Astete and Murillo,
1998). Contact between Guaranı́ and Chané produced
the antecedent of what is now Izoceño, one of three
main dialects of Bolivian Guaranı́ (see Figure 2). De-
tailed demographic information concerning the lin-
guistic status of Bolivia’s lowland languages is
provided in Table 1.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 50.
Bibliography
Albo X (1976). Lengua y sociedad en Bolivia. La Paz:
Republica de Bolivia, Ministerio de Planeamiento y
Coordinacion, Instituto Nacional de Estadistica.
Albo X (1995). Bolivia plurilingüe: guı́a para planificadores
y educadores, vols 1 and 2. Cuadernos de Investigación
44. La Paz: Imprenta Publicidad Papiro.
Dı́ez Astete A & Murrillo D (1998). Pueblos indı́genas de
Tierras Bajas: caracterı́sticas principales. La Paz: Talleres
Gráficos.
Dietrich W (1986). El idioma Chiriguano: gramatica, tex-
tos, vocabulario. Madrid: Ediciones Cultural Hispanica,
Instituto de Cooperación Iberoamericana.
Hardman M, Vásquez J & Yapita J D (1988). Aymara:
compendio de estructura fonológica y gramatical. La
Paz: Gramma Impresión.
Hoeller A P (1932a). Grammatik der Guarayo Sprache. Hall
im Tirol: Verlag der Missionsprokura der Franziskaner.
92 Bolivia: Language Situation
Hoeller A P (1932b). Guarayo-Deutsches Wörterbuch. Hall
im Tirol: Verlag der Missionsprokura der Franziskaner.
Ibarra Grasso D E (1982). Las lenguas indigenas en Bolivia.
La Paz: Libreria Editorial Juventud.
Instituto Nacional de Estudios Lingüı́sticos (1984). Atlas
etnolingüı́stico de Bolivia. La Paz: Instituto Nacional de
Antropologı́a.
Jensen C (1999). ‘Tupi-Guarani.’ In Dixon R M W &
Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) The Amazonian languages.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 125–164.
Lema A M (1998). Pueblos indı́genas de la Amazonı́a
Boliviana. La Paz: AIP FIDA-CAF.
Melià B (1989). Los Guaranı́-Chiriguano 1: Ñande Reko:
nuestro modo de ser. La Paz: Librerı́a Editorial Popular.
Boole and Algebraic Semantics
E L Keenan, University of California, Los Angeles, CA,
USA
A Szabolcsi, New York University, New York, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In 1854 George Boole, a largely self-educated British
mathematician, published a remarkable book, The
laws of thought, in which he presented an algebraic
formulation of ‘‘those operations of the mind by
which reasoning is performed’’ (Bell, 1965: 1). Since
then, boolean algebra has become a rich subbranch of
mathematics (Koppelberg, 1989), with extensive
applications in computer science and, to a lesser ex-
tent, linguistics (Keenan and Faltz, 1985). Here we
illustrate the core boolean notions currently used in
the study of natural language semantics. Most such
applications postdate Boole’s work by more than a
century, though Boole (1952: 59) anticipated some of
the linguistic observations, pointing out, for example,
that Animals are either rational or irrational does not
mean the same as Either animals are rational or ani-
mals are irrational; similarly, Men are, if wise, then
temperate does not mean If all men are wise then all
men are temperate. Generative grammarians redis-
covered such truths in the latter third of the 20th
century.
We begin with the basic notion of a partially
ordered set (poset) and characterize richer structures
with linguistic applications as posets satisfying
additional conditions (Szabolcsi, 1997; Landman,
1991).
A poset consists of a domain D of objects on which
is defined a binary relation R, called a partial order
relation, which is reflexive (for all x in D, xRx), tran-
sitive (xRy and yRz implies xRz), and antisymmetric
Métraux A (1927). Migrations historiques des Tupı́-Guaranı́.
Paris: Maisonneuve frères.
Métraux A (1942). ‘The native tribes of eastern Bolivia and
western Matto Grosso.’ Bureau of American Ethnology,
bulletin no. 134. Smithsonian Institution.
Montaño Aragon M (1987). Guia etnografica linguistica de
Bolivia: tribus de la selva. La Paz: Editorial Don Bosco.
Pifarré F (1989). Los Guaranı́-Chiriguano 2: historia de un
pueblo. La Paz: Librerı́a Editorial Popular.
Ruhlen M (1991). A guide to the world’s languages, vol. 1:
Classification. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Summer Institute of Linguistics (1965). Gramaticas estruc-
turales de lenguas bolivianas. Riberalta, Bolivia: Summer
Institute of Linguistics.
(xRy and yRx implies x ¼ y). For example, the ordi-
nary arithmetical " relation is a partial order: n " n,
any natural number n; if n " m and m " p, then
n " p; and if n " m and m " n, then n ¼ m. Similarly,
the subset relation # is reflexive: any set A is a subset
of itself. And if A # B and B # C, then A # C, so # is
transitive. And finally, if A # B and B # A, then A ¼ B,
that is, A and B are the same set, since they have the
same members. So partial order relations are quite
familiar from elementary mathematics.
A case of interest to us is the arithmetical " restricted
to {0, 1}. Here 0 " 1, 0 " 0 and 1 " 1, but 1 is not " 0.
Representing the truth value ‘False’ as 0 and ‘True’ as
1, we can say that a conditional sentence ‘if P then Q’
is True if and only if TV(P) " TV(Q), where TV(P) is
the truth value of P, etc. Thus we think of sentences
of the True/False sort as denoting in a set {0, 1} on
which is defined a partial order, ". The denotations
of expressions in other categories defined in terms of
{0, 1} inherit this order. For example, one-place pre-
dicates (P1s), such as is even or lives in Brooklyn, can
be presented as properties of the elements of the set
E of objects under discussion. Such a property p looks
at each entity x in E and says ‘True’ or ‘False’ depend-
ing on whether x has p or not. So we represent proper-
ties p, q as functions from E into {0, 1}, and we define
p " q if and only if (iff) for all x in E, p(x) " q(x),
which just means if p is True of x, then so is q.
The " relation just defined on functions (from E into
{0, 1}) is provably a partial order.
Other expressions similarly find their denotations
in a set with a natural partial order (often denoted
with a symbol like ‘"’). A crucial example for lin-
guists concerns the denotations of count NPs
(Noun Phrases), such as some poets, most poets,
etc., as they occur in sentences (Ss) like Some poets
92 Bolivia: Language Situation
Hoeller A P (1932b). Guarayo-Deutsches Wörterbuch. Hall
im Tirol: Verlag der Missionsprokura der Franziskaner.
Ibarra Grasso D E (1982). Las lenguas indigenas en Bolivia.
La Paz: Libreria Editorial Juventud.
Instituto Nacional de Estudios Lingüı́sticos (1984). Atlas
etnolingüı́stico de Bolivia. La Paz: Instituto Nacional de
Antropologı́a.
Jensen C (1999). ‘Tupi-Guarani.’ In Dixon R M W &
Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) The Amazonian languages.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 125–164.
Lema A M (1998). Pueblos indı́genas de la Amazonı́a
Boliviana. La Paz: AIP FIDA-CAF.
Melià B (1989). Los Guaranı́-Chiriguano 1: Ñande Reko:
nuestro modo de ser. La Paz: Librerı́a Editorial Popular.
Boole and Algebraic Semantics
E L Keenan, University of California, Los Angeles, CA,
USA
A Szabolcsi, New York University, New York, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In 1854 George Boole, a largely self-educated British
mathematician, published a remarkable book, The
laws of thought, in which he presented an algebraic
formulation of ‘‘those operations of the mind by
which reasoning is performed’’ (Bell, 1965: 1). Since
then, boolean algebra has become a rich subbranch of
mathematics (Koppelberg, 1989), with extensive
applications in computer science and, to a lesser ex-
tent, linguistics (Keenan and Faltz, 1985). Here we
illustrate the core boolean notions currently used in
the study of natural language semantics. Most such
applications postdate Boole’s work by more than a
century, though Boole (1952: 59) anticipated some of
the linguistic observations, pointing out, for example,
that Animals are either rational or irrational does not
mean the same as Either animals are rational or ani-
mals are irrational; similarly, Men are, if wise, then
temperate does not mean If all men are wise then all
men are temperate. Generative grammarians redis-
covered such truths in the latter third of the 20th
century.
We begin with the basic notion of a partially
ordered set (poset) and characterize richer structures
with linguistic applications as posets satisfying
additional conditions (Szabolcsi, 1997; Landman,
1991).
A poset consists of a domain D of objects on which
is defined a binary relation R, called a partial order
relation, which is reflexive (for all x in D, xRx), tran-
sitive (xRy and yRz implies xRz), and antisymmetric
Métraux A (1927). Migrations historiques des Tupı́-Guaranı́.
Paris: Maisonneuve frères.
Métraux A (1942). ‘The native tribes of eastern Bolivia and
western Matto Grosso.’ Bureau of American Ethnology,
bulletin no. 134. Smithsonian Institution.
Montaño Aragon M (1987). Guia etnografica linguistica de
Bolivia: tribus de la selva. La Paz: Editorial Don Bosco.
Pifarré F (1989). Los Guaranı́-Chiriguano 2: historia de un
pueblo. La Paz: Librerı́a Editorial Popular.
Ruhlen M (1991). A guide to the world’s languages, vol. 1:
Classification. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Summer Institute of Linguistics (1965). Gramaticas estruc-
turales de lenguas bolivianas. Riberalta, Bolivia: Summer
Institute of Linguistics.
(xRy and yRx implies x ¼ y). For example, the ordi-
nary arithmetical " relation is a partial order: n " n,
any natural number n; if n " m and m " p, then
n " p; and if n " m and m " n, then n ¼ m. Similarly,
the subset relation # is reflexive: any set A is a subset
of itself. And if A # B and B # C, then A # C, so # is
transitive. And finally, if A # B and B # A, then A ¼ B,
that is, A and B are the same set, since they have the
same members. So partial order relations are quite
familiar from elementary mathematics.
A case of interest to us is the arithmetical " restricted
to {0, 1}. Here 0 " 1, 0 " 0 and 1 " 1, but 1 is not " 0.
Representing the truth value ‘False’ as 0 and ‘True’ as
1, we can say that a conditional sentence ‘if P then Q’
is True if and only if TV(P) " TV(Q), where TV(P) is
the truth value of P, etc. Thus we think of sentences
of the True/False sort as denoting in a set {0, 1} on
which is defined a partial order, ". The denotations
of expressions in other categories defined in terms of
{0, 1} inherit this order. For example, one-place pre-
dicates (P1s), such as is even or lives in Brooklyn, can
be presented as properties of the elements of the set
E of objects under discussion. Such a property p looks
at each entity x in E and says ‘True’ or ‘False’ depend-
ing on whether x has p or not. So we represent proper-
ties p, q as functions from E into {0, 1}, and we define
p " q if and only if (iff) for all x in E, p(x) " q(x),
which just means if p is True of x, then so is q.
The " relation just defined on functions (from E into
{0, 1}) is provably a partial order.
Other expressions similarly find their denotations
in a set with a natural partial order (often denoted
with a symbol like ‘"’). A crucial example for lin-
guists concerns the denotations of count NPs
(Noun Phrases), such as some poets, most poets,
etc., as they occur in sentences (Ss) like Some poets

daydream. We interpret this S as True iff there is an
entity x that both the ‘poet’ property p and the
‘daydreams’ property d map to 1. Similarly, No
poets daydream is True iff there is no such x. And
Most poets daydream is True iff the set of x such that
p(x) and d(x) ¼ 1 outnumbers the set such that
p(x) ¼ 1 and d(x) ¼ 0. That is, the set of poets that
daydream is larger than the set that don’t. And for
F,G possible NP denotations (called generalized
quantifiers), we define F " G iff for all properties p,
F(p) " G(p). This relation is again a partial order.
As NP denotations map one poset (properties) to
another (truth values), it makes sense to ask whether
a given function F preserves the order (if p " q, then
F(p) " F(q)), reverses it (if p " q, then F(q) " F(p)), or
does neither. Some/all/most poets preserve the order,
since, for example, is laughing loudly " is laughing
and Some poet is laughing loudly " Some poet is
laughing, which just means, recall, that if the first
sentence is True, then the second is. In contrast, no
poet reverses the order, since, in the same conditions,
No poet is laughing implies No poet is laughing loud-
ly. The reader can verify that fewer than five poets,
neither poet, at most six poets, and neither John nor
Bill are all order reversing. And here is an unexpected
linguistic correlation: reversing order correlates well
with those subject NPs that license negative-polarity
items, such as ever:
(1a) No student here has ever been to Pinsk.
(1b) *Some student here has ever been to Pinsk.
Observe that as a second linguistic application,
modifying adjectives combine with property-denoting
expressions (nouns) to form property-denoting
expressions and can be represented semantically
by functions f from properties to properties. For
example, tall combines with student to form tall
student, and semantically it maps the property of
being a student to that of being a tall student. And
overwhelmingly when f is an adjective function and
p a property, f(p) " p. All tall students are students, etc.
In fact, the denotation sets for the expressions we
have discussed possess a structure much richer than a
mere partial order: they are (boolean) lattices.
A lattice is a poset in which for all elements x, y of
the domain, the set {x, y} has a least upper bound
(lub) noted (x _ y) and read as ‘x join y,’ and a greatest
lower bound (glb), noted (x ^ y) and read as ‘x meet
y.’ An upper bound (ub) for a subset K of a poset is an
element z that every element of K is " to. An ub z for
K is a lub for K iff z " every ub for K. Dually a lower
bound (lb) for K is an element w " every element of K;
such a w is a glb for K iff every lb for K is " w. For
example, in the truth value lattice {0,1}, lubs are
given by the standard truth table for disjunction:
Boole and Algebraic Semantics 93
1 _ 1 ¼ 1, 1 _ 0 ¼ 1, 0 _ 1 ¼ 1, and 0 _ 0 ¼ 0. That is,
a disjunction of two false Ss is False, but True other-
wise. Similarly, glbs are given by the truth table for
conjunction: a conjunction of Ss is True iff each con-
junct is, and False otherwise. So here the denotation
of or is given by _, and that for and by ^. And this is
quite generally the case. In our lattices of functions,
for example, f _g, the lub of {f, g}, is that function
mapping each argument x to f(x) _ g(x). Similarly,
f ^ g maps each x to f(x) ^ g(x). So, for example, in
the lattice of properties, the glb of {POET, DOCTOR}
is that property which an entity x has iff POET (x) ¼ 1
and DOCTOR (x) ¼ 1, that is, x is both a poet and a
doctor. So, in general, we see that the lattice structure
provides denotations for the operations of conjunc-
tion and a disjunction, regardless of the category of
expression we are combining. We might emphasize
that the kinds of objects denoted by Ss, P1s, Adject-
ives, NPs, etc., are quite different, but in each cate-
gory conjunctions and disjunctions are generally
interpreted by glbs and lubs of the conjuncts and
disjuncts. So Boole’s original intuition that these
operations represent properties of mind – how we
look at things – rather than properties specific to
any one of these categories, is supported.
And we are not done: boolean lattices present an
additional operation, complement, which provides a
denotation for negation. Note that negation does
combine with expressions in a variety of categories:
with Adjectives in a bright but not very diligent student,
with P1s in Most of the students drink but don’t smoke,
etc. Formally, a lattice is said to be bounded if its
domain has a glb (noted 0) and a lub (noted 1). Such
a lattice is complemented if for every x there is a y such
that x ^ y ¼ 0 and x _ y ¼ 1. If for each x there is exactly
one such y, it is noted :x and called the complement
of x. In {0, 1}, for example, :0 ¼ 1 and :1 ¼ 0.
In our function lattices, :f is that function mapping
each x to :(f(x)). In distributive lattices (ones satisfying
x ^ (y _ z) ¼ (x ^ y) _ (x ^ z) and x _ (y ^ z) ¼ (x _ y)^
(x _ z)), each x has a unique complement. A lattice
is called boolean if it is a complemented distribu-
tive lattice. And, again, a linguistic generalization: the
negation of an expression d in general denotes the
complement of the denotation of d.
Given uniqueness of complements, : is a function
from the lattice to itself, one that reverses the order: if
x " y, then :y " :x. We expect, correctly then, that
negation licenses negative-polarity items in the predi-
cate, and it does: He hasn’t ever been to Pinsk is
natural, *He has ever been to Pinsk is not. Reversing
the order on denotations, then, is what ordinary ne-
gation has in common with NPs such as no poet,
neither John nor Bill, etc., which as we saw earlier
also license negative-polarity items.
94 Boole and Algebraic Semantics
The boolean lattices we have so far invoked have
further common properties. They are, for example,
complete, meaning that each subset, not just ones of
the form {x, y}, has a glb and a lub. They are also atomic
(Keenan and Faltz, 1985: 56). In addition, different
categories have some distinctive properties – which,
with one exception, space limitations prevent us from
reviewing (see also Keenan, 1983). The exception is the
lattice of count NP denotations, needed for expressions
such as most poets and five of John’s students. This
lattice has the property of having a set of complete,
independent (free) generators, called individuals (deno-
table by definite singular NPs, such as John, Mary, this
poet). This means that any function from properties to
truth values is in fact a boolean function (meet, join,
complement) of individuals (Keenan and Faltz, 1985:
92). And this implies that the truth value of an S of the
form [[Det N] þ P1], for P1 noncollective, is booleanly
computable if we know which individuals have the
N and the P1 properties. The truth of Ss like Most of
the students laughed, No students laughed, etc., is de-
termined once that information is given. This semantic
reduction to individuals is a major simplification, in
that the number of individuals is the number of ele-
ments in E, whereas the number of possible NP denota-
tions is that of the power set of the power set of E. So
speaking of an E with just four elements, we find there
are just four individuals but 65 536 NP denotations.
These freely generated algebras show up in another,
unexpected syntactic way. Szabolcsi and Zwarts
(1993) observed that negation determines a context
that limits the class of questions (relative clauses, etc.)
we can grammatically form. Thus, the questions
in (2) are natural, but those in (3), in which the
predicates are negated, are not:
(2) How tall is John? How much did the car
cost?
(3) *How tall isn’t *How much didn’t the car
John? cost?
It is tempting to say simply that we cannot question
out of negative contexts, but that is not correct. Both
questions in (4) are acceptable:
(4) How many of the books on the list did/didn’t
you read?
A more accurate statement is that negation blocks
questioning from domains that lack individuals (free
generators), such as amounts and degrees. So, as with
the distribution of negative-polarity items, we find
an unexpected grammatical sensitivity to boolean
structure.
Much ongoing work in algebraic semantics focuses
on NPs (and their predicates) that are not boolean
compounds of individuals. The predicates in the Ss in
(5) force us to interpret their subjects as groups.
(5a) John and Mary respect each other/are a nice
couple.
(5b) Russell and Whitehead wrote Principia
mathematica together.
(5c) The students gathered in the courtyard/
surrounded the building.
(5d) Six teaching assistants graded 120 papers
between them.
Respecting each other (being a nice couple, etc.) holds
of a group of individuals if certain conditions among
them obtain. But it does not make sense to say *John
respects each other (*He is a nice couple, etc.), so we
must interpret and somewhat differently from the glb
operator discussed earlier. We note that the other
boolean connectives – such as either . . . or . . . and
neither . . . nor . . . – do not admit of a reinterpretation
in the way that and does (Winter, 2001). *Either John
or Mary respect each other is nonsense: the disjunctive
subject still forces a lub interpretation in which respect
each other would hold of at least one of the disjuncts.
First attempts to provide denotations for the sub-
ject NPs in (5) involve enriching the understood do-
main E of entities with a partial order relation called
part-of, to capture the sense in which the individual
John is part of the denotation of John and Mary in
(5a) or some individual student is part of the group of
students in (5c), etc. The group itself is a new type of
object, one that is the lub of its parts. And new types
of predicates, such as those in (5), can select these new
objects as arguments. Thus, the domain of a model is
no longer a mere set E but is a join semi-lattice, a set
equipped with a part-of partial order in which each
nonempty subset has a lub (see Link, 1983, 1998;
Landman, 1991).
Yet other new types of arguments are mass terms
(6a) and event nominals (6b).
(6a) Water and alcohol don’t mix.
(6b) 4000 ships passed through the lock last year.
(Krifka, 1991)
Mass term denotations have a natural part-of rela-
tion: if I pour a cup of coffee from a full pot, the
coffee that remains, as well as that in my cup, is part
of the original coffee. So mass term denotations are in
some way ontologically uniform, with the result that
definitional properties of a whole also apply to their
parts – the coffee I poured and the coffee that remains
are both coffee. This contrasts with predicates in (5),
where respect each other, gather in the courtyard,
etc., do not make sense even when applied to the
proper parts of their arguments. In general, mass

terms are much less well understood than count terms
(see Pelletier and Schubert, 1989; Link, 1998).
Last, observe that (6b) is ambiguous. It has a count
reading, on which there are 4000 ships each of which
passed through the lock (at least once) last year. But it
also has an event reading, of interest here, on which it
means that there were 4000 events of ships passing
through the lock. If, for example, each ship in our
fleet of 2000 did so twice, then there were 4000
passings but only 2000 ships that passed.
Now, the event in (6b) has the individual passing
events as parts, so such complex events exhibit some-
thing of the ontological uniformity of mass terms. But
there are limits. The subevents of a single passing
(throwing lines to the tugboats, etc.) are not them-
selves passings. So events present a part-of partial
order with limited uniformity, and at least some events
can be represented as the lubs of their parts. But in
distinction to pure mass terms, events are ontological-
ly complex, requiring time and place coordinates,
Agent and Patient participants, etc., resulting in a
considerable enrichment of our naı̈ve ontology (see
Parsons, 1990; Schein, 1993; and Landman, 2000).
See also: Formal Semantics; Monotonicity and
Generalized Quantifiers; Negation: Semantic Aspects;
Operators in Semantics and Typed Logics; Plurality;
Polarity Items; Quantifiers: Semantics.
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! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
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Link G (1998). Algebraic semantics in language and phi-
losophy. Stanford: CSLI.
Parsons T (1990). Events in the semantics of English: a study
in subatomic semantics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Pelletier F J & Schubert L K (1989). ‘Mass expressions.’ In
Gabbay D & Guenthner F (eds.) Handbook of phi-
losophical logic, vol. IV. Dordrecht: D. Reidel. 327–407.
Schein B (1993). Plurals and events. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Szabolcsi A (ed.) (1997). Ways of scope taking. Dordrecht:
Kluwer.
Szabolcsi A & Zwarts F (1993). ‘Weak islands and an
algebraic semantics for scope taking.’ Natural Language
Semantics 1, 235–284.
Winter Y (2001). Flexibility principles in boolean seman-
tics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
but through local schools, tutoring, and self-study
he grew well versed in mathematics, languages, and
literature. In 1831 he began teaching school, opening
his own boarding school in 1835 while pursuing inde-
pendent study of applied mathematics. Four years
later he published his first professional paper.
Despite his non-standard education, Boole in 1849
received a professorship in mathematics at the new
Queen’s College, Cork, partly on the strength of tes-
timonials from his hometown. In 1851 he was elected
Dean of Science, the position he held until his death.
At Cork he published the works for which he is best

terms are much less well understood than count terms
(see Pelletier and Schubert, 1989; Link, 1998).
Last, observe that (6b) is ambiguous. It has a count
reading, on which there are 4000 ships each of which
passed through the lock (at least once) last year. But it
also has an event reading, of interest here, on which it
means that there were 4000 events of ships passing
through the lock. If, for example, each ship in our
fleet of 2000 did so twice, then there were 4000
passings but only 2000 ships that passed.
Now, the event in (6b) has the individual passing
events as parts, so such complex events exhibit some-
thing of the ontological uniformity of mass terms. But
there are limits. The subevents of a single passing
(throwing lines to the tugboats, etc.) are not them-
selves passings. So events present a part-of partial
order with limited uniformity, and at least some events
can be represented as the lubs of their parts. But in
distinction to pure mass terms, events are ontological-
ly complex, requiring time and place coordinates,
Agent and Patient participants, etc., resulting in a
considerable enrichment of our naı̈ve ontology (see
Parsons, 1990; Schein, 1993; and Landman, 2000).
See also: Formal Semantics; Monotonicity and
Generalized Quantifiers; Negation: Semantic Aspects;
Operators in Semantics and Typed Logics; Plurality;
Polarity Items; Quantifiers: Semantics.
Bibliography
Bell E (1937). Men of mathematics. New York, NY: Simon
and Schuster.
Boole G (1854). The laws of thought. Reprinted (1952) as
vol. 2 in George Boole’s collected logical works. La Salle,
IL: Open Court.
Boole, George (1815–1864)
E Shay, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
George Boole, a mathematician who might have been
a shoemaker, was born in Lincoln, UK, on November
2, 1815, to a lady’s maid and a shoemaker who could
have been a mathematician. The younger Boole, who
acquired an early love of mathematics from his bril-
liant father John, studied Latin with a tutor and by
his late teens had taught himself Greek, French, and
German. Finances did not allow him an elite education,
Boole, George (1815–1864) 95
Carlson G (1977). ‘A unified analysis of the English bare
plural.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 1, 413–456.
Keenan E L (1983). ‘Facing the truth: some advantages
of direct interpretation.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 6,
335–371.
Keenan E L & Faltz L M (1985). Boolean semantics for
natural language. Dordrecht: D. Reidel.
Koppelberg S (1989). Monk J D & Bonnet R (eds.) Hand-
book of boolean algebras, vol. 1. North-Holland:
Amsterdam.
Krifka M (1991). ‘Four thousand ships passed through the
lock: object-induced measure functions on events.’ Lin-
guistics and Philosophy 13, 487–520.
Krifka M (1992). ‘Thematic relations as links between nom-
inal reference and temporal constitution.’ In Sag I A &
Szabolcsi A (eds.) Lexical matters. Chicago: CSLI Publi-
cations, Chicago University Press. 29–53.
Landman F (1991). Structures for semantics. Dordrecht:
Kluwer.
Landman F (2000). Events and plurality. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
Link G (1983). ‘A logical analysis of plurals and mass
terms: a lattice-theoretic approach.’ In Bäuerle R et al.
(eds.) Meaning, use and interpretation in language.
Berlin: de Gruyter. 302–323.
Link G (1998). Algebraic semantics in language and phi-
losophy. Stanford: CSLI.
Parsons T (1990). Events in the semantics of English: a study
in subatomic semantics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Pelletier F J & Schubert L K (1989). ‘Mass expressions.’ In
Gabbay D & Guenthner F (eds.) Handbook of phi-
losophical logic, vol. IV. Dordrecht: D. Reidel. 327–407.
Schein B (1993). Plurals and events. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Szabolcsi A (ed.) (1997). Ways of scope taking. Dordrecht:
Kluwer.
Szabolcsi A & Zwarts F (1993). ‘Weak islands and an
algebraic semantics for scope taking.’ Natural Language
Semantics 1, 235–284.
Winter Y (2001). Flexibility principles in boolean seman-
tics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
but through local schools, tutoring, and self-study
he grew well versed in mathematics, languages, and
literature. In 1831 he began teaching school, opening
his own boarding school in 1835 while pursuing inde-
pendent study of applied mathematics. Four years
later he published his first professional paper.
Despite his non-standard education, Boole in 1849
received a professorship in mathematics at the new
Queen’s College, Cork, partly on the strength of tes-
timonials from his hometown. In 1851 he was elected
Dean of Science, the position he held until his death.
At Cork he published the works for which he is best
96 Boole, George (1815–1864)
known, including An investigation into the laws of
thought (1854). The fundamental assumption of this
work is that human language and reasoning can be
expressed in algebraic terms and that the truth of a
proposition can be examined without reference to the
meaning of its components. Boolean logic is based on
Boolean algebra, which is founded on the notions of
sets, variables, and operators. If variables in an equa-
tion are replaced by propositions, and if operators
are replaced by connectives such as ‘and,’ ‘or,’ ‘not,’
or ‘if . . . then,’ the truth of a proposition may be
evaluated in the same way as the truth of an algebraic
statement. The results of such an evaluation are
binary: a proposition is held to be either true or not
true.
Boolean logic emerges in several subdisciplines
of linguistics. The notion that the truth of a proposi-
tion may be understood without reference to its
meaning is crucial to formal semantics, to the ‘pre-
dicate calculus’ of Frege and others, and to Choms-
ky’s attempts to analyze grammar in mathematical
terms. The binary nature of Boolean logic is funda-
mental to neuroscience, artificial intelligence, soft-
Bopp, Franz (1791–1867)
E F K Koerner, Zentrum für Allgemeine
Sprachwissenschaft, Berlin, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bopp (Figure 1) was born on September 14, 1791
in Mainz, and died on October 23, 1867 in Berlin.
After one year studying classical as well as mod-
ern languages at the newly created University of
Aschaffenburg, he went to Paris, inspired by Friedrich
Schlegel’s (see Schlegel, Friedrich von (1772–1829))
Ueber die Sprache und Weisheit der Indier (1808),
with the encouragement of his mentor Karl Joseph
Windischmann, and through contacts established
with the Orientalist Antoine Léonard de Chézy.
There he studied Sanskrit (largely on his own),
Arabic, and Persian with Antoine Isaac Silvestre de
Sacy (see Silvestre de Sacy, Baron Antoine-Isaac
(1758–1838)). In 1814, he received a grant from
the King of Bavaria that allowed him to continue his
research. This culminated in the book whose publica-
tion date – 1816 – is generally regarded as marking
the beginning of comparative Indo–European
linguistics. Bopp spent two more years in Paris until
a grant from the Munich Academy of Sciences
allowed him to move to London to add to his knowl-
edge of Sanskrit through contacts with the most
ware design, and most notably to all digital and
electronic devices that rely on binary switching
circuits.
In addition to his seminal work on logic, Boole
published roughly 50 papers on mathematics. He
earned the Medal of the Royal Society in 1844
and was named a Fellow of the Society in 1857. In
1855 he married Mary Everest, niece of the famous
explorer. He died of pneumonia on December 18,
1864.
See also: Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Formal Semantics;
Frege, Gottlob (1848–1925).
Bibliography
Boole G (1854). An investigation into the laws of thought.
London: Walton and Maberley (reprinted 1973, New
York: Dover).
Keenan E L & Faltz L M (1985). Boolean semantics for
natural language. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
MacHale D (1985). George Boole, his life and work.
Dublin: Boole Press.
distinguished scholars in the field, Henry Thomas
Colebrooke and especially Charles Wilkins, both
of whom had published grammars of the language.
During his stay in Britain, Bopp produced a revised
English version of the linguistic portion of his Con-
jugationssystem (1820) (the remainder was devoted
to translations from Sanskrit literature). While in
Paris, Bopp had introduced Friedrich Schlegel’s elder
brother, August Wilhelm (see Schlegel, August Wil-
helm von (1767–1845)) to the study of the classical
Indic language and literature; in London, he tutored
Wilhelm von Humboldt (see Humboldt, Wilhelm von
(1767–1835)), who at the time was Prussian ambas-
sador. In order to round off his studies to prepare
himself for an academic career, Bopp asked the
Bavarian Academy for permission to enroll at the
University of Göttingen. Instead, the authorities
there granted him a doctorate honoris causa in recog-
nition for work already done. Soon afterwards, in the
summer of 1821, he arrived in Berlin and (through
the intervention of Wilhelm von Humboldt and his
brother Alexander) was appointed extraordinary pro-
fessor of Oriental languages and general linguistics.
In 1825 he was made a full professor and a member of
the Prussian Academy, in whose Proceedings he pub-
lished a large number of his comparative linguistic
works. From 1824 onward he published his own
96 Boole, George (1815–1864)
known, including An investigation into the laws of
thought (1854). The fundamental assumption of this
work is that human language and reasoning can be
expressed in algebraic terms and that the truth of a
proposition can be examined without reference to the
meaning of its components. Boolean logic is based on
Boolean algebra, which is founded on the notions of
sets, variables, and operators. If variables in an equa-
tion are replaced by propositions, and if operators
are replaced by connectives such as ‘and,’ ‘or,’ ‘not,’
or ‘if . . . then,’ the truth of a proposition may be
evaluated in the same way as the truth of an algebraic
statement. The results of such an evaluation are
binary: a proposition is held to be either true or not
true.
Boolean logic emerges in several subdisciplines
of linguistics. The notion that the truth of a proposi-
tion may be understood without reference to its
meaning is crucial to formal semantics, to the ‘pre-
dicate calculus’ of Frege and others, and to Choms-
ky’s attempts to analyze grammar in mathematical
terms. The binary nature of Boolean logic is funda-
mental to neuroscience, artificial intelligence, soft-
Bopp, Franz (1791–1867)
E F K Koerner, Zentrum für Allgemeine
Sprachwissenschaft, Berlin, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bopp (Figure 1) was born on September 14, 1791
in Mainz, and died on October 23, 1867 in Berlin.
After one year studying classical as well as mod-
ern languages at the newly created University of
Aschaffenburg, he went to Paris, inspired by Friedrich
Schlegel’s (see Schlegel, Friedrich von (1772–1829))
Ueber die Sprache und Weisheit der Indier (1808),
with the encouragement of his mentor Karl Joseph
Windischmann, and through contacts established
with the Orientalist Antoine Léonard de Chézy.
There he studied Sanskrit (largely on his own),
Arabic, and Persian with Antoine Isaac Silvestre de
Sacy (see Silvestre de Sacy, Baron Antoine-Isaac
(1758–1838)). In 1814, he received a grant from
the King of Bavaria that allowed him to continue his
research. This culminated in the book whose publica-
tion date – 1816 – is generally regarded as marking
the beginning of comparative Indo–European
linguistics. Bopp spent two more years in Paris until
a grant from the Munich Academy of Sciences
allowed him to move to London to add to his knowl-
edge of Sanskrit through contacts with the most
ware design, and most notably to all digital and
electronic devices that rely on binary switching
circuits.
In addition to his seminal work on logic, Boole
published roughly 50 papers on mathematics. He
earned the Medal of the Royal Society in 1844
and was named a Fellow of the Society in 1857. In
1855 he married Mary Everest, niece of the famous
explorer. He died of pneumonia on December 18,
1864.
See also: Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Formal Semantics;
Frege, Gottlob (1848–1925).
Bibliography
Boole G (1854). An investigation into the laws of thought.
London: Walton and Maberley (reprinted 1973, New
York: Dover).
Keenan E L & Faltz L M (1985). Boolean semantics for
natural language. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
MacHale D (1985). George Boole, his life and work.
Dublin: Boole Press.
distinguished scholars in the field, Henry Thomas
Colebrooke and especially Charles Wilkins, both
of whom had published grammars of the language.
During his stay in Britain, Bopp produced a revised
English version of the linguistic portion of his Con-
jugationssystem (1820) (the remainder was devoted
to translations from Sanskrit literature). While in
Paris, Bopp had introduced Friedrich Schlegel’s elder
brother, August Wilhelm (see Schlegel, August Wil-
helm von (1767–1845)) to the study of the classical
Indic language and literature; in London, he tutored
Wilhelm von Humboldt (see Humboldt, Wilhelm von
(1767–1835)), who at the time was Prussian ambas-
sador. In order to round off his studies to prepare
himself for an academic career, Bopp asked the
Bavarian Academy for permission to enroll at the
University of Göttingen. Instead, the authorities
there granted him a doctorate honoris causa in recog-
nition for work already done. Soon afterwards, in the
summer of 1821, he arrived in Berlin and (through
the intervention of Wilhelm von Humboldt and his
brother Alexander) was appointed extraordinary pro-
fessor of Oriental languages and general linguistics.
In 1825 he was made a full professor and a member of
the Prussian Academy, in whose Proceedings he pub-
lished a large number of his comparative linguistic
works. From 1824 onward he published his own

Figure 1 Franz Bopp.
grammars of Sanskrit, and his comparative grammar
of the major Indo-European languages appeared be-
tween 1833 and 1852. Although he had a number of
distinguished students, including August Friedrich
Pott (see Pott, August Friedrich (1802–1887)), Adal-
bert Kuhn, William Dwight Whitney (see Whitney,
William Dwight (1827–1894)), and Michel Bréal (see
Bréal, Michel Jules Alfred (1832–1915)), Bopp’s
enormous impact on Sanskrit studies and on the
field of comparative philology was largely produced
– apart from his voluminous comparative grammar –
by the vast number of his empirical studies of individ-
ual branches of the Indo-European language family.
However, as Bréal (1991) pointed out, another reason
for his success was that he did not slavishly follow the
Indic grammatical tradition in his treatment of San-
skrit but introduced his own perspective to the analy-
sis of this language in conjunction with Greek, Latin,
Persian, and other Indo-European languages. Thus he
developed a method of showing their basic structural
identity, which provided the framework for several
generations of comparative-historical linguists.
See also: Arabic; Bréal, Michel Jules Alfred (1832–1915);
Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–1835); Persian, Old; Pott,
August Friedrich (1802–1887); Sanskrit; Schlegel, August
Wilhelm von (1767–1845); Schlegel, Friedrich von (1772–
1829); Silvestre de Sacy, Baron Antoine-Isaac (1758–
1838); Whitney, William Dwight (1827–1894).
Bibliography
Bopp F (1825). Vergleichende Zergliederung der Sanskrita-
Sprache und der mit ihm verwandten Sprachen. Erste
Abhandlung: Von den Wurzeln und Pronomen erster
und zweiter Person. Abhandlungen der Königlichen
Bopp, Franz (1791–1867) 97
Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin; Philos.-historische
Klasse 1825: 117–148. Repr. in Bopp 1972.
Bopp F (1827). Ausführliches Lehrgebäude der Sanskrita-
Sprache (2nd edn.). Berlin: F. Dümmler.
Bopp F (1833–1852). Vergleichende Grammatik des
Sanskrit, Send [Armenischen]. Griechischen, Latei-
nischen. Litthauischen, [Altslawischen], Gothischen
und Deutschen. 6 Abtheilungen. F. Dümmler, Berlin.
2nd edn. 1857–1861, 3 vols, repr. 1971, F. Dümmler,
Bonn.
Bopp F (1972). Kleine Schriften zur vergleichenden Sprach-
wissenschaft: Gesammelte Berliner Abhandlungen 1824–
54. Leipzig: Zentralantiquariat der DDR.
Bopp F & Windischmann K J (eds.) (1816). Über das
Conjugationssystem der Sanskritsprache in Vergleichung
mit jenem der griechischen, lateinischen, persischen und
germanischen Sprache. Frankfurt: Andreäische
Buchhandlung. Repr. 1975, Georg Olms, Hildesheim.
Bopp F & Koerner E F K (eds.) (1820). ‘Analytical
comparison of the Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, and Teu-
tonic languages, showing the original identity of their
grammatrical structure.’ Annals of Oriental Literature
1, 1–64. 1974 Benjamins, Amsterdam; 2nd edn. 1989
with detailed biography of Bopp.
Bréal M (1991). ‘Introduction to the French translation
of Bopp’s Comparative Grammar.’ In Wolf G (ed.)
The beginnings of semantics. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Koerner K (1989). ‘Franz Bopp.’ In Practicing linguistic
historiography; Selected essays by K. Koerner.
Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Lefmann S (1891–1895). Franz Bopp, sein Leben und seine
Wissenschaft. Mit dem Bildnis Franz Bopps und einem
Anhang: Aus Briefen und anderen Schriften (Parts I–II).
Berlin: Georg Reimer.
Lefmann S (1897). ‘Franz Bopp.’ Nachtrag. Mit einer Ein-
leitung und einem vollständigen Register. Berlin: Georg
Reimer.
Lehmann W P (1991). ‘Franz Bopp’s use of typology.’
Z Phon 44(3), 275–284.
Morpurgo Davies A (1987). ‘‘‘Organic’’ and ‘‘Organism’’ in
‘‘Franz Bopp.’’’ In Hoenigswald H M & Wiener L F (eds.)
Biological metaphor and cladistic classification: An inter-
disciplinary perspective. Philadelphia, PA: University of
Pennsylvania Press.
Paustian P R (1978). ‘Bopp and the nineteenth-century
distrust of the Indian grammatical tradition.’ Indogerma-
nische Forschungen 82, 39–49.
Timpanaro S (1973). ‘Il contrasto tra i fratelli Schlegel
e Franz Bopp sulla struitura e la genesi delle lingue
indoeuropee.’ Critica Storica 10, 1–38.
Verburg P A (1950). ‘The background to the linguistic
conceptions of Bopp.’ Lingua 2, 438–468. Repr. in
Sebeok T A (ed.) 1966 Portraits of Linguists, vol. I.
Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.
98 Borgstrøm, Carl Hjalmar (1909–1986)
Borgstrøm, Carl Hjalmar (1909–1986)
E Hovdhaugen, University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Borgstrøm was born in Kristiania (Oslo), Norway.
When he began his studies of Celtic languages, his
teacher, professor Carl Marstrander, encouraged him
to choose Scottish Gaelic dialects as his speciality.
Borgstrøm’s later studies of dialects on the Hebrides
(Borgstrøm, 1940, 1941) were pioneer works and laid
the foundation of subsequent investigations of Gaelic
dialects.
Borgstrøm also studied comparative Indo-European
philology and from 1932 to 1935 was Lecturer in
Comparative Philology at Trinity College in Dublin.
In 1936–1937 he was Visiting Professor of Sanskrit in
Ankara. During his stay in Turkey he learned Turkish
and consequently offered courses in Turkish at the
University of Oslo. During the war Borgstrøm went
to Sweden and in 1945 he was a lecturer of linguistics
in Lund.
In 1947 he was appointed Professor of Compara-
tive Indo-European Philology at the University of
Oslo. However, during his entire career he published
only a few articles in this field that were mainly over-
looked or negatively received. His main interest
(besides Celtic studies) was general linguistics, and
he produced some discerning structural studies on
Norwegian phonology (e.g., Borgstrøm, 1938).
However, his most important publication was his
introductory textbook on general linguistics, first
published in 1958. It was a successful symbiosis of
American and European structuralism interspersed
Bosnia and Herzegovina: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
After the break-up of the Republic of Yugoslavia,
and the following war in 1992–1995, Bosnia and
Herzegovina was administratively divided into two
entities: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina
and the Republika Srpska. The population of Bosnia
and Herzegovina is about 4 007 608 (estimated,
July 2004). There are three official languages:
Bosnian, spoken by 48% of the population (2000
census), Serbian (37.1%), and Croatian (14.3%).
Other languages spoken are German, Italian,
Macedo-Romanian, Vlax Romani, Turkish, and
Albanian.
with Borgstrom’s own ideas on language analysis.
For almost two decades it was the basic textbook in
linguistics in Norway and also to some extent in
the other Nordic countries. Borgstrom thus had an
important influence on the emergence of structural
linguistics in the Nordic countries.
Borgstrøm was a shy and formal person, but as a
teacher and supervisor he was unique. He stimu-
lated, encouraged, and supported his students in a
challenging way. A whole generation of Norwegian
linguists was influenced by his broad theoretical ori-
entation, his penetrating and constructive way of
analyzing linguistic data, and his scholarly and
human generosity.
See also: Marstrander, Carl J. S. (1883–1965).
Bibliography
Borgstrøm C Hj (1938). ‘Zur Phonologie der norwegischen
Schriftsprache (nach der ostnorwegischen Aussprache).’
NTS 9, 250–273.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1940). The dialects of the Outer Hebrides.
A Linguistic Survey of the Gaelic Dialects of Scotland,
vol. 1. NTS Suppl. bind 1. Oslo: Aschehoug.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1941). The dialects of Skye and Ross-
shire. A Linguistic Survey of the Gaelic Dialects of Scot-
land, vol. 2. NTS Suppl. bind 2. Oslo: Aschehoug.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1958). Innføring i sprogvidenskap. Oslo:
Universitetsforlaget.
Simonsen H G (1999). ‘Carl Hjalmar Borgstrøm.’ In
Arntzen J G (ed.) Norsk biografisk leksikon 1. Oslo:
Kunnskapsforlaget. 421–422.
The term ‘Bosnian’ refers to the languages spoken
by Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croats, and Bosnian
Bosniacs (formerly referred to as Bosnian Muslims),
although the Croats and the Serbs in Bosnia and
Herzegovina call their language Croatian and
Serbian, respectively. Bosnian is used to refer to the
language of the Bosniac group. All three languages –
Bosnian, Serbian, and Croatian – are dialects of the
standard version of Central-South Slavic, formerly
and still frequently called Serbo-Croatian. Bosnian
and Croatian use a Latin alphabet. Serbian uses
both Latin and Cyrillic alphabets.
See also: Serbian–Croatian–Bosnian Linguistic Complex.
98 Borgstrøm, Carl Hjalmar (1909–1986)
Borgstrøm, Carl Hjalmar (1909–1986)
E Hovdhaugen, University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Borgstrøm was born in Kristiania (Oslo), Norway.
When he began his studies of Celtic languages, his
teacher, professor Carl Marstrander, encouraged him
to choose Scottish Gaelic dialects as his speciality.
Borgstrøm’s later studies of dialects on the Hebrides
(Borgstrøm, 1940, 1941) were pioneer works and laid
the foundation of subsequent investigations of Gaelic
dialects.
Borgstrøm also studied comparative Indo-European
philology and from 1932 to 1935 was Lecturer in
Comparative Philology at Trinity College in Dublin.
In 1936–1937 he was Visiting Professor of Sanskrit in
Ankara. During his stay in Turkey he learned Turkish
and consequently offered courses in Turkish at the
University of Oslo. During the war Borgstrøm went
to Sweden and in 1945 he was a lecturer of linguistics
in Lund.
In 1947 he was appointed Professor of Compara-
tive Indo-European Philology at the University of
Oslo. However, during his entire career he published
only a few articles in this field that were mainly over-
looked or negatively received. His main interest
(besides Celtic studies) was general linguistics, and
he produced some discerning structural studies on
Norwegian phonology (e.g., Borgstrøm, 1938).
However, his most important publication was his
introductory textbook on general linguistics, first
published in 1958. It was a successful symbiosis of
American and European structuralism interspersed
Bosnia and Herzegovina: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
After the break-up of the Republic of Yugoslavia,
and the following war in 1992–1995, Bosnia and
Herzegovina was administratively divided into two
entities: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina
and the Republika Srpska. The population of Bosnia
and Herzegovina is about 4 007 608 (estimated,
July 2004). There are three official languages:
Bosnian, spoken by 48% of the population (2000
census), Serbian (37.1%), and Croatian (14.3%).
Other languages spoken are German, Italian,
Macedo-Romanian, Vlax Romani, Turkish, and
Albanian.
with Borgstrom’s own ideas on language analysis.
For almost two decades it was the basic textbook in
linguistics in Norway and also to some extent in
the other Nordic countries. Borgstrom thus had an
important influence on the emergence of structural
linguistics in the Nordic countries.
Borgstrøm was a shy and formal person, but as a
teacher and supervisor he was unique. He stimu-
lated, encouraged, and supported his students in a
challenging way. A whole generation of Norwegian
linguists was influenced by his broad theoretical ori-
entation, his penetrating and constructive way of
analyzing linguistic data, and his scholarly and
human generosity.
See also: Marstrander, Carl J. S. (1883–1965).
Bibliography
Borgstrøm C Hj (1938). ‘Zur Phonologie der norwegischen
Schriftsprache (nach der ostnorwegischen Aussprache).’
NTS 9, 250–273.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1940). The dialects of the Outer Hebrides.
A Linguistic Survey of the Gaelic Dialects of Scotland,
vol. 1. NTS Suppl. bind 1. Oslo: Aschehoug.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1941). The dialects of Skye and Ross-
shire. A Linguistic Survey of the Gaelic Dialects of Scot-
land, vol. 2. NTS Suppl. bind 2. Oslo: Aschehoug.
Borgstrøm C Hj (1958). Innføring i sprogvidenskap. Oslo:
Universitetsforlaget.
Simonsen H G (1999). ‘Carl Hjalmar Borgstrøm.’ In
Arntzen J G (ed.) Norsk biografisk leksikon 1. Oslo:
Kunnskapsforlaget. 421–422.
The term ‘Bosnian’ refers to the languages spoken
by Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croats, and Bosnian
Bosniacs (formerly referred to as Bosnian Muslims),
although the Croats and the Serbs in Bosnia and
Herzegovina call their language Croatian and
Serbian, respectively. Bosnian is used to refer to the
language of the Bosniac group. All three languages –
Bosnian, Serbian, and Croatian – are dialects of the
standard version of Central-South Slavic, formerly
and still frequently called Serbo-Croatian. Bosnian
and Croatian use a Latin alphabet. Serbian uses
both Latin and Cyrillic alphabets.
See also: Serbian–Croatian–Bosnian Linguistic Complex.

Bosnian See: Serbian–Croatian–Bosnian Linguistic Complex.
Botswana: Language Situation
H M Batibo, University of Botswana, Gaborone,
Botswana
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Botswana is a medium-sized country located in south-
ern Africa. It is completely landlocked, surrounded
by South Africa to its south, Zimbabwe to its east,
Namibia to its west, and Zambia and Namibia to its
north. It is largely composed of the Kalahari Basin of
the southern Africa Plateau. Apart from the Limpopo
and Chobe rivers, drainage is internal, and largely
to the Okavango Swamp in the northwest. The
Okavango Delta, which has resulted from this inland
drainage, as well as the surrounding area as far east as
the Chobe Basin, is a rich habitat of both fauna and
flora and has attracted many different communities,
who live in the areas as farmers, fishermen, herders,
or hunters.
Figure 1 The distribution of the 28 Botswana languages (after Batibo et al., 2003).
Botswana: Language Situation 99
The country has a population of over 1.7 million
people (according to the 2001 census report), giving
a density of about 3 people per square kilometer.
However, the population is concentrated on the east-
ern and northern fringes of the country where the
land is more fertile. On the other hand, the Kalahari
desert of the central, west, and southwest area of the
country is home to numerous groups of San and Khoe
people, commonly known as Khoesan or Bushman,
who traditionally live in scattered bands of no more
than 30 people each. In fact, the San were the first
inhabitants of the area, having lived there for at least
20 000 years as hunters and foragers. The Khoe
arrived in the area about 4000 years ago, followed
by the Bantu groups more than 2000 years later.
The territory, often attributed to Khoesan in
language maps such as Greenberg’s (see Greenberg,
1963), is misleadingly extensive, as settled areas are
100 Botswana: Language Situation

better considered to be Bantu, who constitute more Table 1 The estimated number of speakers of the Botswana
than 96% of the Botswana population. In fact the languages
Khoesan groups, whose population is about 39 000 Language Estimated number Percentage of
in Botswana, are fast vanishing due to integration into of speakers speakers
the more dominant and socioeconomically prestigious
1. Setswana 1 335 000 78.6%
Bantu communities. 2. Ikalanga 150 000 8.83%
3. Shekgalagari 48 000 2.82%
(including
Linguistic Relationships Shengologa)
The country has 28 languages (see Figure 1), belong- 4. Thimbukushu 30 000 1.76%
5. Shiyeyi 18 000 1.06%
ing to three main language families: Bantu (a sub-
6. Nambya (Najwa) 15 000 0.88%
branch of Niger–Congo), Khoesan (Khoisan), and 7. Sebirwa 12 500 0.73%
Germanic (a subbranch of Indo-European). There 8. Zezuru (Shona) 12 000 0.70%
are 14 Bantu languages, of which five belong to the 9. Otjiherero 11 500 0.67%
Sotho branch of Southern Bantu: Setswana (Tswana), 10. Naro 10 000 0.59%
11. Sindebele 9000 0.53%
Shekgalagari, Sebirwa, Setswapong (Tswapong), and
12. Afrikaans 7500 0.44%
Silozi (Lozi). Three languages belong to the Sala– 13. Chikuhane (Sesubiya) 7000 0.41%
Shona branch of Southeastern Bantu: Ikalanga, 14. Setswapong 6000 0.35%
Zezuru, and Nambya (Najwa). The southern branch 15. Shua 6000 0.035%
of Central Bantu includes Chikuhane (Sesubiya), 16. !Xóõ 5000 0.29%
17. Tshwa 5000 0.29%
Shiyeyi (Yeyi) (erroneously classified by Guthrie
18. Khwedam 4500 0.27%
[1948] in Zone R), Thimbukushu (Mbukushu), and 19. Ju|’hoan 4500 0.27%
Rugciriku (Rumanyo) [Diriku]. The only language 20. Silozi (Serotsi) 3000 0.02%
that belongs to Western Bantu is Otjiherero (Herero) 21. Sekgoa (English) 3000 0.002%
(classified by Guthrie in Zone R). Lastly, Sindebele 22. Kua 2500 0.015%
23. Kx’au||’ein 2500 0.015%
(Ndebele), which is extensively spoken along the east-
24. Rugciriku (Rumanyo) 2300 0.14%
ern borders of the country, belongs to the Nguni group 25. ||Gana 1300 0.008%
of languages, together with IsiZulu (Zulu) and IsiX- 26. Nama 1000 0.006%
hosa (Xhosa) in South Africa. (Khoekhoegowab)
There are 12 Khoesan languages which belong 27. |Gwi 1000 0.006%
28. Hua 200 0.001%
to three distinct groups: Northern Khoesan, with
Total 1 703 300 99.53%
three languages: Ju|’hoan, Kx’au||’ein, and Hua
(formerly thought to belong to Southern Khoesan); (After Batibo et al., 2003).
Central Khoesan, with eight languages: Nama, Naro,
|Gwi, ||Gana, Kua (Hietshware), Shua, Tshwa, and
Khwedam (the last comprising Bugakhwe, ||Anikhwe, Ngwato, Tawana, and part of the Kwena groups; the
|Anda, and various Kxoe dialects). The last group, southern dialect, spoken in southern areas by the
known as Southern Khoesan, has only one member Ngwaketse, Rolong, Tlhaping, Tlharo and part of
in Botswana, !Xóõ. The other members of Southern the Kwena groups; and the eastern dialect, spoken
Khoesan, formerly spoken mainly in what is now in the eastern areas by the Kgatla, Tlokwa and Lete
South Africa, have largely become extinct. groups. Setswana is the most dominant language both
There are two Germanic languages: Afrikaans, demographically and in terms of status and prestige.
spoken by about 7500 people, mainly Afrikaner set- It is spoken by 78.6 percent of the population as first
tlers in farms and ranches in the Ghanzi and language, and is understood and used by over 90
Kgalagadi districts (Grimes, 2000), and English, percent of the population. It is the national language
which is mainly spoken as a second language. and the main lingua franca of the country. The only
The figures presented in Table 1 are mere estimates, other widely used language is Ikalanga (Kalanga),
as no census involving language or ethnicity has taken which is spoken by over 150 000 people.
place in Botswana since independence in 1966. It is Leaving aside the very early literacy traditions of
difficult to come up with accurate figures regarding the Coptic, Nubian, Ethiopic, Vai, and Arab-speaking
the speakers of the various languages, as many people communities, the Setlhaping variety of Setswana in
tend to equate language with ethnicity or may want to Botswana has the distinction of being the first African
identify themselves with the majority languages. language known to develop an orthography and a
Setswana is found in three main dialects: the literature, with the publication by Robert Moffat of
northern dialect, spoken in the northern areas by the the Christian New Testament in 1839.

Language Policy, Use, and Literacy
English is the official language of Botswana, while
Setswana is the national language. Both are used in
the administration and mass media. English is used
in the formal business of government, while Setswana
is generally used in semiofficial interactions, particu-
larly in the oral mode. Setswana is used in lower
primary education and English in upper primary
and all the subsequent levels of education.
The official literacy rate is estimated at about 60
percent, although independent estimates of literacy in
Setswana are lower. The enrollment for secondary
level schooling is reported to be 21 percent. On the
other hand, over 2000 students per year enroll in
the University, giving Botswana the highest rate of
university admission, proportionate to its population,
in Africa.
Botswana is one of the countries in Africa where
the smaller languages have very few speakers. Most
of the small Botswana languages, especially those of
Khoesan origin, are spoken by fewer than 10 000
people, most of whom are bilingual in the major
languages, particularly Setswana. Hence, the process
of language shift and death are a great concern to
both linguists and the general public.
See also: Bilingualism and Second Language Learning;
Indo–European Languages; Khoesaan Languages; Lan-
guage Maintenance and Shift; Language Policy in Multi-
lingual Educational Contexts; Languages of Wider
Communication; Lingua Francas as Second Languages;
Minorities and Language; Multiculturalism and Lan-
guage; Namibia: Language Situation; Proto-Bantu; South
Africa: Language Situation; Xhosa; Zambia: Language
Situation; Zimbabwe: Language Situation; Zulu.
Bouvet Island: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bouvet Island, so named after the French naval officer
who discovered it in 1739, is a volcanic island
situated in the southern section of the Atlantic
Ocean, southwest of South Africa’s Cape of Good
Hope. It is the most isolated island on Earth – the
nearest land, the Antarctic Continent, is more than
1600 km away. The first territorial claim came from
Bouvet Island: Language Situation 101
Bibliography
Anderson G & Janson T (1997). The languages of
Botswana. Gaborone: Longman Botswana.
Batibo H M (1997). ‘The fate of the minority languages of
Botswana.’ In Smieja B & Tasch M (eds.) Human contact
through language and linguistics. Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
243–252.
Batibo H M (1998). ‘The fate of the Khoesan languages of
Botswana.’ In Brenzinger M (ed.) Endangered languages
in Africa. Koeln: Ruediger Koeppe. 267–284.
Batibo H M & Smieja B (eds.) (2000). Botswana: the future
of the minority languages. Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
Batibo H M & Tsonope J (eds.) (2000). The state of
Khoesan languages in Botswana. Gaborone: Tasalls.
Batibo H M, Mathangwane J T & Tsonope J (2003).
A study of the third language teaching in Botswana
(preliminary report). Gaborone: Associated Printers.
Europa Publications (1991). Africa south of the Sahara
(20th edn.). London: Europa Publications.
Government of Botswana (1994). Revised national policy on
education (white paper). Gaborone: Government Printers.
Greenberg J H (1963). The languages of Africa. Blooming-
ton: Indiana University Press.
Grimes B (2000). Ethnologue (14th edn.). Dallas:
S K Publications.
Guthrie M (1948). The classification of the Bantu
languages. London: International African Institute.
Janson T & Tsonope J (1991). Birth of a national language:
the history of Setswana. Gaborone: Heinemann Botswana.
Mazonde I N (ed.) (2002). Minorities in the millennium:
perspectives from Botswana. Gaborone: Light Books
Publishers for the University of Botswana.
Nyati-Ramahobo L (1999). The national language: a
resource or a problem? Gaborone: Pula Press.
Smieja B (2003). Language pluralism in Botswana: hope or
hurdle? Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
Vosssen R (1988). Bayreuth African studies 13: patterns of
language knowledge and use in Ngamiland in Botswana.
Bayreuth: Bayreuth University.
the British in 1825, but in 1928 the claim was waived
in favor of the Norwegian Crown. Bouvet Island was
declared a natural reserve in 1971 and, since 1977,
Norway has run an automated meteorological station
on the island. With no native population, the island is
considered a territory of Norway and is administered
by the Polar Department of the Ministry of Justice
and Police in Oslo. The official language is Norwe-
gian and the few researchers who on occasion are
present on Bouvet Island are subject to Norwegian
law.

Language Policy, Use, and Literacy
English is the official language of Botswana, while
Setswana is the national language. Both are used in
the administration and mass media. English is used
in the formal business of government, while Setswana
is generally used in semiofficial interactions, particu-
larly in the oral mode. Setswana is used in lower
primary education and English in upper primary
and all the subsequent levels of education.
The official literacy rate is estimated at about 60
percent, although independent estimates of literacy in
Setswana are lower. The enrollment for secondary
level schooling is reported to be 21 percent. On the
other hand, over 2000 students per year enroll in
the University, giving Botswana the highest rate of
university admission, proportionate to its population,
in Africa.
Botswana is one of the countries in Africa where
the smaller languages have very few speakers. Most
of the small Botswana languages, especially those of
Khoesan origin, are spoken by fewer than 10 000
people, most of whom are bilingual in the major
languages, particularly Setswana. Hence, the process
of language shift and death are a great concern to
both linguists and the general public.
See also: Bilingualism and Second Language Learning;
Indo–European Languages; Khoesaan Languages; Lan-
guage Maintenance and Shift; Language Policy in Multi-
lingual Educational Contexts; Languages of Wider
Communication; Lingua Francas as Second Languages;
Minorities and Language; Multiculturalism and Lan-
guage; Namibia: Language Situation; Proto-Bantu; South
Africa: Language Situation; Xhosa; Zambia: Language
Situation; Zimbabwe: Language Situation; Zulu.
Bouvet Island: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bouvet Island, so named after the French naval officer
who discovered it in 1739, is a volcanic island
situated in the southern section of the Atlantic
Ocean, southwest of South Africa’s Cape of Good
Hope. It is the most isolated island on Earth – the
nearest land, the Antarctic Continent, is more than
1600 km away. The first territorial claim came from
Bouvet Island: Language Situation 101
Bibliography
Anderson G & Janson T (1997). The languages of
Botswana. Gaborone: Longman Botswana.
Batibo H M (1997). ‘The fate of the minority languages of
Botswana.’ In Smieja B & Tasch M (eds.) Human contact
through language and linguistics. Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
243–252.
Batibo H M (1998). ‘The fate of the Khoesan languages of
Botswana.’ In Brenzinger M (ed.) Endangered languages
in Africa. Koeln: Ruediger Koeppe. 267–284.
Batibo H M & Smieja B (eds.) (2000). Botswana: the future
of the minority languages. Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
Batibo H M & Tsonope J (eds.) (2000). The state of
Khoesan languages in Botswana. Gaborone: Tasalls.
Batibo H M, Mathangwane J T & Tsonope J (2003).
A study of the third language teaching in Botswana
(preliminary report). Gaborone: Associated Printers.
Europa Publications (1991). Africa south of the Sahara
(20th edn.). London: Europa Publications.
Government of Botswana (1994). Revised national policy on
education (white paper). Gaborone: Government Printers.
Greenberg J H (1963). The languages of Africa. Blooming-
ton: Indiana University Press.
Grimes B (2000). Ethnologue (14th edn.). Dallas:
S K Publications.
Guthrie M (1948). The classification of the Bantu
languages. London: International African Institute.
Janson T & Tsonope J (1991). Birth of a national language:
the history of Setswana. Gaborone: Heinemann Botswana.
Mazonde I N (ed.) (2002). Minorities in the millennium:
perspectives from Botswana. Gaborone: Light Books
Publishers for the University of Botswana.
Nyati-Ramahobo L (1999). The national language: a
resource or a problem? Gaborone: Pula Press.
Smieja B (2003). Language pluralism in Botswana: hope or
hurdle? Frankfurt: Peter Lang.
Vosssen R (1988). Bayreuth African studies 13: patterns of
language knowledge and use in Ngamiland in Botswana.
Bayreuth: Bayreuth University.
the British in 1825, but in 1928 the claim was waived
in favor of the Norwegian Crown. Bouvet Island was
declared a natural reserve in 1971 and, since 1977,
Norway has run an automated meteorological station
on the island. With no native population, the island is
considered a territory of Norway and is administered
by the Polar Department of the Ministry of Justice
and Police in Oslo. The official language is Norwe-
gian and the few researchers who on occasion are
present on Bouvet Island are subject to Norwegian
law.
102 Bovelles, Charles de (1479–1567)
Bovelles, Charles de (1479–1567)
N Lioce, IVO Sint-Andries, Belgium
P Swiggers, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Leuven,
Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born in Saint-Quentin in Picardy (before March 28,
1479; according to some sources in 1475), Charles
de Bovelles (Bouvelles/Bouelles; Latinized: Bovillus)
studied in Paris (1495–1503) with J. Lefèvre d’Étaples
and started writing his first philosophical works there.
He then traveled through Switzerland, Germany, the
Low Countries, and Spain. He received instruction
in astronomy while in Rome in 1507. Upon his return
to Picardy in 1508, he devoted himself to his ecclesi-
astic functions as a canon in Saint-Quentin and a
priest in Noyon, combining these with a scholarly
career. He died in Ham (Vermandois) on February
24, 1567 (some sources give 1553 or 1556 as date
of his death).
His writings (and extensive scholarly correspon-
dence) cover various domains such as theology,
metaphysics, arithmetic, and geometry, but they pri-
marily involved biblical studies, theology, ethics, and
metaphysics. His philosophical work was inspired
by Ramon Llull, Nicolas of Cusa, Marsilio Ficino,
Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, and neo-Platonism
in general, which was highly popular in 16th century
humanist circles. In his classification of the sciences
(in his Metaphysicum introductorium, 1503–1504),
the liberal arts (grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric) are
classified on the lower level; Bovelles, however, took a
keen interest in language matters. As a typical Renais-
sance scholar he wrote almost all his works in Latin,
except his poetry (published in 1529) and a manual of
geometry (1511, the first geometry handbook in
French). He also showed interest in popular sayings
and proverbs; his collection of Latin sentences was
translated into French in 1557 (Proverbes et dicts
sententieux avec l’interpretation d’iceux).
Bovelles’s main linguistic work is his study of dia-
lect differences in northern France (1533), which also
includes a valuable etymological dictionary (in
which Bovelles also used Late Latin sources), and a
less useful onomasticon. Like many humanists, he
saw the relationship between Latin and the Romance
languages as that between a regularized, fixed lan-
guage and various vernacular offshoots, the latter
characterized by irregularity and incapable of being
laid down into rules (he denied the possibility of
writing a grammar of French). He explains language
evolution as due to astral determinism and human
intervention (arbitrium hominum). In his analysis of
dialect differences he shows himself as a keen observ-
er of lexical and phonetic data; his work constitutes
an important source for French diachronic lexi-
cology. In his explanation of the diversification of
Latin, Bovelles gave much weight to substratal and
superstratal influences.
See also: Renaissance Linguistics: French Tradition.
Bibliography
Bovelles C de (1533). Liber de differentia vulgarium
linguarum, & Gallici sermonis varietate. Quae voces
apud Gallos sint factitiae & arbitrariae vel barbarae:
quae item ab origine Latina manarint. De hallucinatione
Gallicanorum nominum. Paris: R. Estienne. [Reedition,
with French translation and notes, by C Dumont-
Demaizière: Sur les langues vulgaires et la variété de la
langue française. Paris: Klincksieck, 1973.]
Charles de Bovelles en son cinquième centenaire 1479–
1979 (1982). Actes du colloque international tenu à
Noyon. Paris: Trédaniel.
Demaizière C (1983). La grammaire française au XVIe
siècle. Les grammairiens picards. Lille: Atelier national
de reproduction des thèses.
Magnard P (1997). ‘Bovelles (Charles de) (1475–1556).’
In Centuriae Latinae. ed. by Colette Nativel. Geneva:
Droz. 169–174.
Margolin J-C (1985). ‘Science et nationalisme linguistique
ou la bataille pour l’étymologie au XVIe siècle. Bovelles et
sa postérité critique.’ In The fairest flower. The emer-
gence of linguistic national consciousness in Renaissance
Europe. Firenze: Accademia della Crusca. 139–165.
Margolin J-C (ed.) (2002). Lettres et poèmes de Charles de
Bovelles. Paris: Champion.
Schmitt C (1976). ‘Charles de Bovelles. Sur les langues
vulgaires (. . .). Une source importante pour l’histoire
du vocabulaire français.’ Travaux de Linguistique et de
Littérature 14(1), 129–156.
Schmitt C (1977). ‘La grammaire française des XVIe
et XVIIe siècles et les langues régionales.’ Travaux de
Linguistique et de Littérature 15(1), 215–225.
Victor J M (1978). Charles de Bovelles, 1479–1553.
An intellectual biography. Geneva: Droz.

Boxhorn, Marcus Zuerius (1602/12–1653)
D Droixhe
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
p. 395, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
With C. Saumaise’s De hellenistica (1643) and G. K.
Kirchmayer ’s school in Wittenberg (see Metcalf,
1974), Boxhorn’s work represents one of the most
accomplished efforts in pre-comparativism, in its
search for a European prototype called ‘Scythian.’
Born in Bergen op Zoom (Netherlands) in 1602 or
1612, Marcus Boxhorn studied at Leiden, where he
became professor of rhetoric and history, until his un-
timely death in 1653. As a young teacher, he submitted
to his famous colleague Claude Saumaise linguistic
comparisons, for example, between Greek hudor
‘sweat’, Latin sudor, and ‘Celtic’ sud. A strong Flemish
tradition pushed him to look for the key of such a
‘harmony’ in his national language. The latter had
been set among the oldest mother-tongues, on the
basis of a relation between the Cimmerians of the
Black Sea and the Dutch-Cimbrians (see Swiggers,
1984). Correspondences joining Persian and the Ger-
manic languages had also been recently popularized by
Justus Lipsius.
Boxhorn undertook a systematic exploration of the
analogies that united the European languages, includ-
ing the Celtic and Slavic ones. He drew profit from the
discovery of Anglo-Saxon, but died before Franciscus
Junius’s edition of the Gospels in Anglo-Saxon and
Gothic (1664–1665). His ideas were expounded in a
Dutch Antwoord of 1647, concerning the sensational
discovery of stone images of the goddess Nehalennia,
whose name he interpreted as a ‘Scythian root.’ That
100-page essay was led to demonstrate the common
origin of Greek, Latin, and Dutch.
In a rather traditional way he puts forward vari-
ous lexical analogies, focusing on the ‘basic vocab-
ulary’ (esp. names for body parts). His rudimentary
search for phonetic rules must be compared to
the universal equivalences previously established by
Cruciger, Besold, Nirmutanus, Hayne, and others.
But, contrary to most of these authors, he vigorously
broke with the theory of Hebrew mother tongue,
according to the secularization propagated in Leiden
by Joseph Juste Scaliger (see Scaliger, Joseph Justus
(1540–1609)) or Grotius. So, his Originum gallicarum
Boxhorn, Marcus Zuerius (1602/12–1653) 103
liber (1654) thrashed John Davies (1632) for having
linked Welsh with Hebrew. He was also said to have
‘‘planted the seed of Celtic philology in the fertile soil
of the mind of Leibniz’’ (see Leibniz, Gottfried Wil-
helm (1646–1716)).
Boxhorn, remarkably, extended the comparison
into morphology: declension of Latin unus and
German ein; likeness of the infinitive endings in
Greek and Dutch; similitudes with Latin in the for-
mation of present participles, comparatives, or dimi-
nutives. ‘‘It is obvious that those nations have learned
their tongue from one mother, as can be seen from
their ordinary manner of varying words and names,
in the declensions, the conjugations, etc.; and even in
the anomalies.’’
By laying the stress on his native language, some-
times awkwardly assimilated to ‘Scythian’ in declam-
atory statements, he already betrayed his own quest
for a real prototype, and his Originum gallicarum
liber finally fostered the Celtic fever. Despised by
Saumaise – who arrived at the same historical con-
clusions (!) – Boxhorn was considered a monomaniac.
One year before he died, he wrote to Huygens
that he nevertheless maintained his ideas with
‘pride’ and ‘joy,’ being confident that he had
‘‘understood something true and important.’’
See also: Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646–1716); Scaliger,
Joseph Justus (1540–1609).
Bibliography
Bonfante G (1953/54). ‘Ideas on the kinship of the Euro-
pean languages from 1200 to 1800.’ Cahiers d’histoire
mondiale 1, 679–699.
Droixhe D (1989). ‘Boxhorn’s bad reputation. A chapter
in academic linguistics.’ In Dutz K D (ed.) Speculum histor-
iographiae linguisticae. Münster: Nodus Publikationen.
Metcalf G J (1974). ‘The Indo–European hypothesis in
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.’ In Hymes D
(ed.) Studies in the history of linguistics. Traditions and
paradigms. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.
Muller J C (1986). ‘Early stages of language comparison
from Sassetti to Sir William Jones (1786).’ Kratylos 31,
1–31.
Swiggers P (1984). ‘Adrianus Schrieckius: de la langue des
Scythes à l’Europe linguistique.’ Histoire, Épistémologie,
Langage 6, 17–35.
104 Brahui
Brahui
P S Subrahmanyam, Annamalai University,
Bangalore, India
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The word ‘Brahui’ designates both a language and
its speakers. Brahui is the conventional spelling for
the phonetically more correct Brāhōı̄/Brāhūı̄. The lan-
guage is a member of the Dravidian family; more
specifically, it belongs to the North Dravidian sub-
group, of which the other two members are Kur. ux
and Malto. The Brahuis live mainly in the Baluchistan
and Sind provinces of Pakistan, but some are found
also in Afghanistan (Šōrāwāk desert) and Iran (Sistan
area). It is estimated that there are about 700 000
Brahui tribesmen, of whom only about 300 000
speak the language. Even those who speak Brahui
are bilinguals in either Balochi or Siraki. There are
two views current among the scholars to explain the
location of Brahui, which is far away from the main
Dravidian area. Whereas one view maintains that the
Brahuis lived where they are now located from
the earliest times, the other holds that they migrated
to the current locations from that part of the main
area that is occupied by the speakers of Kur. ux and
Malto.
Phonology
The Brahui phonological system contains eight
vowels and 28 consonants (see Tables 1 and 2).
Proto-Dravidian short *e and short *o have been
removed from the Brahui vowel system under the
influence of Balochi; *e developed into i/a and *o
developed into u/a/ō (the exact conditionings are not
known). The ē and ō have shorter (and somewhat
lower) allophones before a consonant cluster.
The voiceless stops p, t, and k may optionally be
accompanied by aspiration in all positions (pōk/
phōk/phōkh ‘wasted’); however, aspirated stops in
Indo-Aryan loans sometimes lose their aspiration in
the south (dhōbı̄/dōbı̄ ‘washerman’). The voiceless
lateral L is the most characteristic sound of Brahui
since it does not occur either in Proto-Dravidian
(PDr) or in the neighboring languages of Brahui. It
Table 1 Vowels of Brahui
Front Central Back
Short Long Short Long Short Long
High i ı̄ u ū
Mid ē ōō
Low a ā
comes from two sources, PDr (alveolar) *l and (retro-
flex) *l. ; both of these also show the reflex l in some
words, the conditioning being unclear because of
the paucity of the data (pāL ‘milk’ < PDr *pāl, tēL
‘scorpion’ < PDr *tēl. ). The contrast between L and l
is illustrated in pāL ‘milk’ and pāl ‘omen.’
One major dialectal division in Brahui involves the
voiceless glottal fricative h; it appears in all positions
in the northern dialects but is replaced in the south by
the glottal stop in initial and intervocalic positions,
and is lost before a consonant or in final position;
the following examples illustrate the variation in the
northern and southern dialects, respectively: hust,
ust ‘heart’; sahi affat. , sa ı̄ affat. ‘I don’t know’;
šahd, šad ‘honey’; and pōh, pō ‘intelligence.’
Syntax
Word Classes
The following word classes may be recognized for
Brahui: nouns (including pronouns and numerals),
verbs, adjectives, adverbs (including expressives),
particles, and interjections. An adjective normally
occurs before the noun it qualifies but may be shifted
to the postnominal position for the sake of emphasis:
jwān-ō hullı̄-as
good-INDEF horse-INDEF
‘good horse’
hullı̄-as jwān-ō
horse-INDEF good-INDEF
‘good horse’
Nouns and adjectives characteristically distinguish
between definite and indefinite forms. The basic
forms are definite and the corresponding indefinite
ones are derived by adding -ō to the adjective base
and -as to the nominal base, as illustrated in the pre-
ceding examples. A definite adjective that is monosyl-
labic is often strengthened by the addition of -ā/-angā:
sun-angā šahr
deserted village
‘deserted village’
An indefinite adjective can function also as a noun:
ball-ō
big-INDEF
‘big (one)’
An adverb occurs before the verb. Adverbs may be
divided into those of (1) time (e.g., dāsā ‘now,’ darō
‘yesterday’, aynō ‘today’, pagga ‘tomorrow’), (2)
place (e.g., monat. ı̄ ‘forward’), and (3) manner (e.g.,
dawn ‘thus’). For particles, the enclitic pronouns
 Brahui 105

Table 2 Consonants of Brahuia

Labial Dental Alveolar Retroflex Palatal Velar Glottal (VL)

VL VD VL VD VL VD VL VD VL VD VL VD

Stop p b t d t. d. c j k g
Nasal m n n.
Fricative f x G h
Sibilant s z š ž
Lateral L l
Trill r
Flap r.
Semivowel w y
a
Abbreviations: VD, voiced; VL, voiceless.

are very commonly used in Brahui. Whereas those for person are retained to refer to all categories: ō(d) ‘he/
the third person are used in dialects throughout the she/it’ (cf. Ta(mil). atu ‘it’, Te(legu). adi ‘she, it’) and
Brahui area, those for the first and the second persons ōfk ‘they’ (cf. Ta. av(ay), Te. avi ‘they (NEUT)’).
are more common in the Jahlawān dialect. They are
Agreement
suffixed to nouns or verbs. When added to a noun,
they carry the sense of a pronoun in the genitive case; A finite verb shows agreement with the subject
when added to a verb, they signal the direct or indi- pronoun for person and number (see Table 3).
rect object. The forms are: 1SG þ ka ‘my’, 2SG þ nē
‘your,’ 3SG þ ta ‘his/her/its’, 3PL þ tā ‘their’ (there are Noun Morphology
no plurals in the first and second persons):
A nominal base is followed by the plural suffix when
maL-ē þ ka plurality has to be expressed and then by a case suffix;
son-ACC/DAT þ 1ENCL a postposition is normally attached to the genitive
‘my son (accus.)/to my son’ form of a noun.
xalkus þ ka. Plural Suffix
strike-PAST-2SG þ 1ENCL
‘You struck me.’ The plural suffix is -k (variant -āk) in the nomina-
tive but -tē- before a nonnominative case suffix (see
Word Order Table 4); as in the South Dravidian languages, use of
the plural suffix is optional when plurality is
The favored word order in Brahui is subject-object-
understood from the context:
verb:
irā mār/mā-k (<*mār-k)
ı̄ dā kārēmē kar-ōı̄ ut. two son/son-PL
I this work do-NOM be.1SG ‘two sons’
‘I must do this work.’
Case Suffixes and Postpositions
Sentences Without the Copular Verb
The nominative is unmarked; locative I means ‘in’
Like most of the other Dravidian languages (espe- and locative II means ‘on, by’ (Table 4 shows all of
cially the southern ones), Brahui contains sentences the case forms of xal ‘stone’). The following example
without the copula in certain contexts: shows postpositions:
numā šahr-at. ı̄ at. urā/ō ka-nā nēmaGāı̄
your village-LOC how many house my towards
‘How many houses are there in your ‘towards me’
village?’
There are also a few prepositions, such as bē(d) ‘with-
out,’ of Perso-Arabic origin that have entered Brahui
Gender and Number
through Balochi.
Brahui, like Toda of South Dravidian, has no gender
Pronouns
distinction, but number (singular versus plural) is
distinguished (see later, Plural Suffixes). The original All of the pronouns are of Dravidian origin; however,
neuter forms (both singular and plural) of the third Brahui developed postclitic forms of personal
106 Brahui

Table 3 Finite tenses of tix- ‘to put’ Table 4 Case forms of xal ‘stone’

Tense Singular Plural Case Singular Plural

Past Nominative xal xal-k

1. tix-ā þ .t ‘I put’ tix-ā þ n Accusative-dative xal-ē xal-tē
2. tix-ā þ s tix-ā þ re Instrumental xal-at. xal-t-at.
3. tix-ā tix-ā þ r Comitative xal-tō xal-tē-tō
Imperfect Ablative xal-ān xal-tē-ān
1. tix-ā þ .t -a ‘I was putting’ tix-ā þ n-a Genitive xal-nā xal-tā
2. tix-ā þ s-a tix-ā þ re Locative I xal-(a).t ı̄ xal-tē-.t ı̄
3. tix-āk-a tix-ā þ r-a Locative II xal-ā(ı̄ ) xal-tē-ā(ı̄ )
Pluperfect
1. tix-ā þ sut ‘I had put’ tix-ā þ sun.
2. tix-ā þ sus tix-ā þ sure
3. tix-ā þ sas tix-ā þ sur by the addition of the transitive-causative suffix
Perfect -if (conditioned variant: -f ). This suffix converts
1. tix-ā-n þ ut. ‘I have put’ tix-ā-n þ un an intransitive into a transitive and an underived tran-
2. tix-ā-n þ us tix-ā-n þ ure sitive into the corresponding causative; it is, therefore,
3. tix-ā-n þ e tix-ā-n þ a
possible to use the suffix twice in a sequence, e.g., bin-
Present indefinite
1. tix-i-v ‘I may put’ tix-i-n ‘to hear,’ bin-if- ‘to cause to hear,’ ka - ‘to die,’ kas-f-
2. tix-i-s tix-i-re ‘to kill,’ and kas-f-if- ‘to cause (someone) to kill.’
3. tix-e tix-i-r
Future Finite Verbs
1. tix-o-.t ‘I will put’ tix-o-n
2. tix-o-s tix-o-re There are four kinds of past tense (past, imperfect,
3. tix-o-e tix-o-r pluperfect, and perfect), each with different shades of
Nonpast negative meaning, and all of them are periphrastic construc-
1. tix-pa-r ‘I will not put’ tix-pa-n tions involving the ‘be’ verb. The past stem, which
2. tix-p-ēs tix-p-ēre
is the basis for all of these, is formed by adding to
3. tix-p tix-pa-s
the base -b- (conditioned variants: -ē-, -k-, -g-, -is-, -s-,
-ss-). The following formulas give the structures of
these tenses:
and demonstrative pronouns under the influence of
Balochi (see preceding discussion, Word Classes). 1. Past: past stem þ present of ann- ‘to be.’
The first-person personal pronouns are ı̄ ‘I’ and nan 2. Imperfect: past þ a.
‘we’; the second-person personal pronouns are nı̄ 3. Pluperfect: past stem þ past of ann- ‘to be.’
‘you(singular)’ and num ‘you (plural).’ There is only 4. Perfect: past stem þ (u)n þ present of ann- ‘to be.’
the singular reflexive pronoun, tēn ‘self’. The interrog- The present indefinite, the future, and the nonpast
ative pronouns are dēr ‘who?’ and ant ‘what?’. The negative are morphological constructions with the
third-person forms show a threefold deictic distinc- following structures (these and the previously men-
tion: proximal dā(d) ‘(one) who is here’ (plural dāfk), tioned tenses are illustrated in Table 3 with the verb
medial ē(d) ‘(one) who is at some distance’ (plural ēfk), base tix- ‘to put’):
and distal ō(d) ‘(one) who is far off’ (plural ōfk).
1. Present indefinite: verb base þ i þ personal suffix.
2. Future: verb base þ o þ personal suffix.
Numerals
3. Nonpast negative: verb base þ pa þ personal
Only the cardinal numbers for one, two, and three are suffix.
of Dravidian origin (the forms without the final .t of
these function as adjectives); all others are borrowed There are some other syntactic constructions
from Balochi. The number ‘1’ is asi(t. ), ‘2’ is ira(t. ), and involving ann- ‘to be’ that need not be mentioned
‘3’ is musi(t. ). here. One noteworthy feature of Brahui is the
strategy of suffixing -a to form one type of finite
verb from another. The imperfect present-future and
Verb Morphology the negative present-future are thus formed from the
past present-indefinite and the nonpast negative,
Verb Bases
respectively.
A verb base in Brahui may be simple or complex. The imperative suffixes are 2SG -ø, 2PL -bo
The complex base is formed from the simple one (conditioned variant: -ibo):
 Brahui 107

tix Brahui A R (1983). ‘History, background, objectives and

put-2SG achievements of the Brahui Academy, Quetta, Pakistan.’
‘Put!’ In Rossi A & Tosi M (eds.) Newsletter of Baluchistan
studies I. Naples.
tix-bo
Bray D (1909). The Brahui language I. Calcutta [Reprinted
put-2PL
in 1972 in Quetta].
‘Put (plural)!’
Bray D (1913). Life-history of a Brahui. London.
The corresponding negative imperative has the nega- Bray D (1934). The Brahui language II: The Brahui
tive suffix -pa- (conditioned variant: -fa-) between the problem. Delhi [Reprinted in 1978 in Quetta].
base and the imperative suffix: Bray D (1939). ‘Brahui tales.’ Acta Orientalia 17, 65–98.
DeArmond R (1975). ‘Some rules of Brahui conjugation.’ In
tix-pa Schiffman H & Eastman C (eds.) Dravidian phonological
put-NEG-2SG systems. Seattle: University of Washington. 242–298.
‘Don’t put (singular)!’ Elfenbein J (1982). ‘Notes on the Balochi-Brahui commens-
ality.’ Transactions of the Philological Society. 77–98.
tix-pa-bo.
Elfenbein J (1983). ‘The Brahui problem again.’ Indo-Iranian
put-NEG-2PL
Journal 25, 103–132, 191–209.
‘Don’t put (plural)!’
Elfenbein J (1987). ‘A periplus of the Brahui problem.’
Studia Iranica 16, 215–233.
Nonfinite Verbs Elfenbein J (1997). ‘Brahui phonology.’ In Kaye A (ed.)
Phonologies of Asia and Africa. Winona Lake, IN:
The present adverb has the suffix -isa: Eisenbrauns. 797–811.
bis-isa Elfenbein J (1998). ‘Brahui.’ In Steever S B (ed.) The
bake-PRES ADV Dravidian languages. London and New York: Routledge.
‘baking’ 388–414.
Emeneau M B (1937). ‘Phonetic observations on the Brahui
The present adjective has the suffix -ok: language.’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African
Studies 8(4), 981–983.
bin-ok
Emeneau M B (1962a). Brahui and Dravidian comparative
hear-PRES ADJ
grammar. Berkeley: University of California Publications
‘that hear(s)’
in Linguistics.
The infinitive-cum-action noun is formed by adding Emeneau M B (1962b). ‘Bilingualism and structural bor-
-ing (conditioned variant: -ēng) to the verb base: rowing.’ Proceedings of the American Philosophical
Society 106, 430–442.
bin-ing Emeneau M B (1991). ‘Brahui personal pronouns, first
hear-INF/VN singular and reflexive.’ In Bai B L & Reddy B R (eds.)
‘to hear, hearing’ Studies in Dravidian and general linguistics (a Festschrift
for Bh. Krishnamurti). Hyderabad: Osmania University.
1–12.
See also: Afghanistan: Language Situation; Dravidian Grierson G (1906). Linguistic survey of India, vol. 4: the
Languages; Iran: Language Situation; Pakistan: Lan- Munda and Dravidian languages. Calcutta.
guage Situation. Grierson G (1921). Linguistic survey of India, vol. 10:
Eranian family. Calcutta.
Mayer T J L (1906–1907). A Brahui reading book (vols.
Bibliography
I–III). Ludhiana [Reprinted in one volume in 1983 by the
Bausani A (1969). ‘La letteratura Brahui.’ In Botto O (ed.) Brahui Academy, Quetta.].
Storia delle letterature d’Oriente II. Rome. 649–657. Tate G P (1909). The frontiers of Baluchistan. London.
108 Braille, Louis (1809–1852)
Braille, Louis (1809–1852)
A Bowers
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
pp. 396–397, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Louis Braille’s system is used worldwide to enable the
blind to read and write by means of raised dots that are
impressed from the reverse side of a page and read with
the fingertips. The original system has been adapted
to facilitate the notation of many other written forms,
including non-European languages, shorthand, math-
ematical and scientific characters, and music.
Figure 1 Standard English Braille. (Reproduced by kind permission of the Royal National Institute for the Blind, London, UK.)
Louis Braille was born in 1809 at Coupvray (Seine-
et-Marne), the son of a saddler. At age 3, playing in
his father’s workshop, he injured one eye with a sharp
instrument; complications resulted that led to total
blindness. In time his father attempted to teach him to
read the Roman letter shapes from wooden blocks
studded with nails, but this could only serve as a
beginning. At 10, in 1819, Braille was sent to an
institution for blind children, in Paris (the Institution
des Jeunes Aveugles), which had been founded five
years earlier by Professor Valentin Haüy. Here,
the teaching of reading seems to have been only
slightly more advanced than that which the boy had

experienced at home: again it relied on raised Roman
letter shapes, though Professor Haüy is credited with
embossing them on paper for his students.
At this time a former military officer, Charles Barbier,
had researched a method for night-communication in
battle by a code of dots embossed on cardboard,
which he maintained would also benefit blind
students. In 1824, however, at the age of 15, Braille
adapted the existing ideas into a system whereby as
many as 63 letters, abbreviations, and numbers could
be embossed, requiring only a 6-dot code.
The code for each symbol or word was embossed
from the back of the page using an awl and a
perforated ruler, and arranged in a ‘cell’ or domino
formation offering six possible dots, with extra guide
symbols to multiply their possibilities. The columns
were set about 3 mm apart, slightly more widely
spaced than in present-day Braille. The inventor
published this revolutionary system in 1829, by
which time he was a teacher at the Institution. An
accomplished musician, he also adapted his system to
enable musical notation to be embossed.
Figure 1 is an example of the Standard English
Braille dots representing letters and letter groups,
together with some of the wide range of contractions,
punctuation, and mathematical signs.
Brands and Logos
M Danesi, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The technique of promoting products by identifying
them with the name of the manufacturer or with some
invented name, known as the brand name, has be-
come a primary marketing strategy since the turn of
the 20th century. It was (and continues to be) based
on the premise that the appeal of a product, called the
‘brand,’ increases if it can be linked to socially sig-
nificant trends and values that the name evokes sub-
consciously. Turning a product into a brand thus
transforms it into a sign – something that stands for
something other than itself – that taps into social
meaning systems that govern lifestyle, values, beliefs,
and the like. For this reason, the semiotic study of
brand creation as a central strategy of consumerist
cultures has become widespread. Its origin can be
traced to the general study of popular culture as a
‘mythological sign system’ by Roland Barthes (1915–
Brands and Logos 109
The Braille system revolutionized the speed of stu-
dents’ reading, and would have opened the way to
large-scale embossed printing of books if the support
of the authorities and funding had been available. In
fact throughout his life Braille faced stubborn resis-
tance from sighted teachers who insisted that the
Roman letter shapes must be used, and several dec-
ades passed before his system was adopted widely in
Europe. Its simplicity, compactness, and the speed
with which it could be used would finally ensure its
adoption. Braille died at 43, however, from tubercu-
losis, before his system was in common use even in his
native France.
The only viable alternative that does not use
encoded print is Moon Type, which was perfected in
1845 by William Moon, a printer from Brighton, UK.
Moon Type uses Roman capital letters, and is valuable
for users who have lost their sight late in life.
Bibliography
Braille, Primer (rev. edn.). Peterborough: Royal National
Institute for the Blind.
Henri P (1987). (transl.) The life and work of Louis Braille
1809–1852: inventor of the alphabet for the blind. Pre-
toria: South African National Council for the Blind.
1980) in 1957. It now constitutes a branch of semiot-
ics, generally called marketing semiotics (e.g., Wolfe,
1989; Umiker-Sebeok, 1987; Berger, 2000; Beasley
and Danesi, 2002; Danesi, 2002).
Brands and Advertising
The modern history of brands and ‘persuasion’ adver-
tising overlap considerably (see Marketing and Semi-
otics: From Transaction to Relation). It is impossible
to advertise ‘nameless’ products with any degree of
persuasion. Brand names imbue products with iden-
tities in the same way that names given to human
beings give them a distinct identity. It was in the
20th century that advertising evolved into a science
of persuasion intended to influence people to perceive
objects of consumption as ‘necessary’ accouterments
of life, leading to a widespread, insatiable appetite for
new objects of consumption in general ‘groupthink.’
Roland Barthes (1957) coined the term ‘neomania’ to
characterize this type of groupthink (see Mythologies
in Pop Culture).

experienced at home: again it relied on raised Roman
letter shapes, though Professor Haüy is credited with
embossing them on paper for his students.
At this time a former military officer, Charles Barbier,
had researched a method for night-communication in
battle by a code of dots embossed on cardboard,
which he maintained would also benefit blind
students. In 1824, however, at the age of 15, Braille
adapted the existing ideas into a system whereby as
many as 63 letters, abbreviations, and numbers could
be embossed, requiring only a 6-dot code.
The code for each symbol or word was embossed
from the back of the page using an awl and a
perforated ruler, and arranged in a ‘cell’ or domino
formation offering six possible dots, with extra guide
symbols to multiply their possibilities. The columns
were set about 3 mm apart, slightly more widely
spaced than in present-day Braille. The inventor
published this revolutionary system in 1829, by
which time he was a teacher at the Institution. An
accomplished musician, he also adapted his system to
enable musical notation to be embossed.
Figure 1 is an example of the Standard English
Braille dots representing letters and letter groups,
together with some of the wide range of contractions,
punctuation, and mathematical signs.
Brands and Logos
M Danesi, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The technique of promoting products by identifying
them with the name of the manufacturer or with some
invented name, known as the brand name, has be-
come a primary marketing strategy since the turn of
the 20th century. It was (and continues to be) based
on the premise that the appeal of a product, called the
‘brand,’ increases if it can be linked to socially sig-
nificant trends and values that the name evokes sub-
consciously. Turning a product into a brand thus
transforms it into a sign – something that stands for
something other than itself – that taps into social
meaning systems that govern lifestyle, values, beliefs,
and the like. For this reason, the semiotic study of
brand creation as a central strategy of consumerist
cultures has become widespread. Its origin can be
traced to the general study of popular culture as a
‘mythological sign system’ by Roland Barthes (1915–
Brands and Logos 109
The Braille system revolutionized the speed of stu-
dents’ reading, and would have opened the way to
large-scale embossed printing of books if the support
of the authorities and funding had been available. In
fact throughout his life Braille faced stubborn resis-
tance from sighted teachers who insisted that the
Roman letter shapes must be used, and several dec-
ades passed before his system was adopted widely in
Europe. Its simplicity, compactness, and the speed
with which it could be used would finally ensure its
adoption. Braille died at 43, however, from tubercu-
losis, before his system was in common use even in his
native France.
The only viable alternative that does not use
encoded print is Moon Type, which was perfected in
1845 by William Moon, a printer from Brighton, UK.
Moon Type uses Roman capital letters, and is valuable
for users who have lost their sight late in life.
Bibliography
Braille, Primer (rev. edn.). Peterborough: Royal National
Institute for the Blind.
Henri P (1987). (transl.) The life and work of Louis Braille
1809–1852: inventor of the alphabet for the blind. Pre-
toria: South African National Council for the Blind.
1980) in 1957. It now constitutes a branch of semiot-
ics, generally called marketing semiotics (e.g., Wolfe,
1989; Umiker-Sebeok, 1987; Berger, 2000; Beasley
and Danesi, 2002; Danesi, 2002).
Brands and Advertising
The modern history of brands and ‘persuasion’ adver-
tising overlap considerably (see Marketing and Semi-
otics: From Transaction to Relation). It is impossible
to advertise ‘nameless’ products with any degree of
persuasion. Brand names imbue products with iden-
tities in the same way that names given to human
beings give them a distinct identity. It was in the
20th century that advertising evolved into a science
of persuasion intended to influence people to perceive
objects of consumption as ‘necessary’ accouterments
of life, leading to a widespread, insatiable appetite for
new objects of consumption in general ‘groupthink.’
Roland Barthes (1957) coined the term ‘neomania’ to
characterize this type of groupthink (see Mythologies
in Pop Culture).
110 Brands and Logos
The dawn of advertising as a science of persuasion
was signaled by the establishment and rapid growth
of ‘advertising agencies’ at the end of the 19th centu-
ry. These started composing newspaper ads, posters,
and billboards for clients that related the qualities of a
product not in themselves, but in relation to specific
social and lifestyle trends. By the 1920s, such agencies
had become themselves large business enterprises,
continuously turning to psychologists to help them
develop techniques and methods designed to influ-
ence the ‘typical consumer’ of the product. Business
and psychology had clearly joined forces, broadening
the attempts of their predecessors to build an uncon-
scious bridge between a product and the consumer by
playing on his or her emotional needs, fears, and
expectations. With the entrenchment of electronic
media (radio and television) in the 1940s and 1950s
as mass communication outlets, advertising became
itself a mass communication strategy, imprinting in
groupthink the perception that objects of consump-
tion were necessarily intertwined with the style and
content of everyday life – a perception reinforced
today through Internet advertising.
The influence of brand advertising on society is
unmistakable. Its language has become the language
of virtually everyone – even of those who are critical
of it. This is because of its omnipresence in the social
landscape. As Twitchell (2000: 1) aptly puts it, ‘‘Lan-
guage about products and services has pretty much
replaced language about all other subjects.’’ The ob-
jective of brand advertising is, in fact, to get people to
assimilate and react to advertising discourse unwit-
tingly and in ways that parallel how individuals and
groups have responded in the past to other kinds of
‘authoritative’ social discourse (such as religious dis-
course). Advertising language has become one of
the most ubiquitous and persuasive forms of social
discourse of the modern era. There are now even
websites, such as AdCritic.com, that feature ads for
their own sake, so that audiences can view them for
their rhetorical and aesthetically pleasing qualities
alone.
Creating Brand Identity
The main techniques that go into the creation of
brand identity are called ‘positioning,’ ‘image-
creation,’ and ‘mythologization.’ Positioning is the
placing or targeting of a brand for the right market
segment. For example, ads for the Mercedes Benz
automobile are aimed typically at socially upscale
car buyers, whereas ads for Dodge vans are designed
to appeal (make sense) to middle-class individuals.
The language of the ad, the lifestyle characteristics
displayed in it, the overall ‘look’ of the personages in
it, and so on are tailored to reflect class and appurte-
nant lifestyle distinctions. The register of the language
used by the characters in Mercedes Benz ads, for
instance, is sociolinguistically higher than that used
by characters in Dodge van ads.
Creating an ‘image’ for a brand inheres in fash-
ioning a recognizable ‘personality’ for it so that it
can be positioned for specific market populations.
Personality in this case refers to the traits and quali-
ties that a potential consumer of the brand uncon-
sciously possesses or aspires to have. The image is a
sign constructed with an amalgam of signifiers (actual
forms) – the brand name, design, logo, price, and
overall presentation of the product. This amalgam
creates is fashioned to appeal to specific consumer
types – hence the term personality (as mentioned).
Take alcohol brands as an example. What kinds of
people drink beer? And what kinds drink aperitifs? In
current American culture, answers to these questions
would typically include remarks about the education-
al level, class, social attitudes, etc., of the consumer.
The one who drinks beer is portrayed in ads as a
down-to-earth character who simply wants to ‘hang
out’ with friends; the one who drinks an aperitif is
portrayed instead as a smooth, sophisticated type. The
idea behind creating an image for the brand is, clearly,
to speak directly to particular types of individuals,
not to everyone, so that these individuals can see their
own personalities mirrored in the lifestyle images
created by the appurtenant advertising.
Brand identity is often also created by the tech-
nique of mythologization. This is the strategy of im-
buing a brand with some mythic meaning, such as the
quest for eternal beauty, the conquest of death, and so
on. This is an especially widespread in the case of
cosmetic and beauty products. The eternal beauty
myth can be seen in the images that advertisers create
for such products. The characters in the relevant ads
are, typically, attractive people with a deified, mythic
quality about them. They are not unlike the statues
of ancient Greek gods like Apollo and Aphrodite.
In effect, through positioning, image-creation, and
mythologization, the modern advertiser stresses not
the brand’s qualities as a product or service, but
rather the personality image that can be associated
with it.
Brand Names
Creating an identity for a product is tantamount to
creating a ‘signification system’ for it – a system of
meanings that are relevant to specific kinds of indi-
viduals. This is achieved, first and foremost, by giving
it a ‘brand name.’ The product, like a person, can
then be easily differentiated from other products.

The legal term for brand name is ‘trademark.’ It is
little wonder that trademarks are so fiercely protected
by corporations and manufacturers. So powerful are
they as identifiers that some have gained widespread
currency, becoming general terms for the product
type in common discourse. Examples include ‘aspi-
rin,’ ‘scotch tape,’ ‘cellophane,’ and ‘escalator.’ Most
brand names appear on the product, on its container,
and in advertisements for the product. These provide,
in effect, an easy way to determine who makes a
certain product, helping consumers easily identify
what they like about it so that they can purchase it
again. A brand represents not only a certain social
meaning, but also the manufacturer’s reputation and
good will.
A so-called ‘strong brand’ is a product name that
has no recognizable meaning, such as Kodak. Strong
brands receive broad protection from being used by
other companies who might play on the name in
order to cause confusion among consumers. ‘Weak
brands,’ on the other hand, are product names creat-
ed with common words, such as Premier, some of
which refer to a characteristic of the product (e.g.,
Wet ‘n Wash). These receive less protection, unless the
public identifies them with a certain manufacturer as
a result of extensive advertising and long, continuous
use.
A brand was, originally, a recognizable mark made
on the flesh of animals with a hot iron so as to identify
ownership and qualities of the animals. The ancient
Egyptians branded livestock as early as 2000 B.C.E. In
the late medieval period, tradespeople and guild
members posted characteristic visual ‘marks’ outside
their shops for the same basic reasons – to identify the
owner and quality of the product or service. Visual
signs were used because most people were not literate
at the time. Such signs became, a little later, the
‘marks of the trade’ or ‘trademarks.’ Shops selling
medieval swords and ancient Chinese pottery, for
instance, bore visual signs that buyers could identify
and use, when put on the products themselves, to
ascertain their origin and determine their quality.
Among the best-known trademarks surviving from
that era are the striped pole of the barbershop and
the three-ball sign of the pawnbroker shop.
Names for common products, such as household
ones, were first used towards the end of the 19th
century. Previously, everyday household products
were sold in neighborhood stores from large bulk
containers. Around 1880, soap manufacturers started
naming their products so that they could be identified
and differentiated for their qualities. The first of these
were Ivory, Pears’, Sapolio, and Colgate. The concept
of the brand name thus came into being, spreading
rapidly because, as Naomi Klein (2000: 6) aptly
Brands and Logos 111
observes, the market was starting to be flooded by
uniform mass-produced and, thus, indistinguishable
products: ‘‘Competitive branding became a necessity
of the machine age.’’ By the early 1950s, it became
obvious that branding was not just a simple strategy
for product differentiation but the very semiotic fuel
that propelled corporate identity and product recog-
nizability. Even the advent of no-name products,
designed to cut down the cost of purchase, have
had little counter-effects on the power that branding
has had on the consciousness of people. Names such
as Nike, Apple, Body Shop, Calvin Klein, Levi’s,
Coke, Pepsi, among many others, have become
‘culture-wide signs’ recognized by virtually anyone
living in a modern consumerist society. As Klein
(2000: 16) goes on to remark, for such brands, the
name constitutes ‘‘the very fabric of their companies.’’
To continue to be effective, however, brands must
keep in step with the times. In early 2000, some car-
makers, for instance, started looking at naming
trends that were designed to appeal to a new genera-
tion of customers accustomed to an Internet style of
communication and representation. Cadillac, for in-
stance, announced a new model with the monogram
name CTS in 2001 and STS in 2005. Acura also
transformed its line of models with names such as
TL, RL, MDX, RSX. Such ‘alphabetic names’ evoke
images of accuracy, technology, and sleekness in an
analogy with similar abbreviating tendencies in sci-
ence at large – e.g., ‘laser’ for ‘l(ight) a(mplification)
by s(timulated) e(mission of) r(adiation).’ They are
also consistent with ‘Internet style,’ a telegraphic
form of language that spawns monogrammatic and
alphanumeric signifiers on a daily basis. Hyundai’s
XG300 model, for instance, sounds perfect for Inter-
net times. On the other side of the naming equation,
such abbreviations are hard to remember, especially
for older customers who have not yet tapped into
Internetese.
As the above examples show, brand names are
devised intentionally to create a signification system
for products. At a practical informational level, nam-
ing a product has, of course, a denotative function;
that is, it allows consumers to identify what product
they desire to purchase (or not). But at a connotative
level, the product’s name generates images that go
well beyond this simple identifier function (see Deno-
tation versus Connotation). In the world of fashion,
for instance, designer names such as Gucci, Armani,
and Calvin Klein evoke connotations of the clothes as
objets d’art rather than images of mere clothing items,
shoes, or jewelry; so too do names such as Ferrari,
Lamborghini, and Maserati in the domain of auto-
mobiles. The manufacturer’s name, in such cases,
extends the meaning of the product considerably.
112 Brands and Logos

When people buy an Armani or a Gucci product, they Maxima

feel that they are buying a work of art to be displayed Precidia
on the body; when they buy Poison, by Christian Dior, Samara
they sense instead that they are buying a dangerous, Sentra
but alluring, love potion; when they buy Moondrops, Serenia
Natural Wonder, Rainflower, Sunsilk, or Skin Dew Sonata
cosmetics they feel that they are acquiring some of
Brand names are clearly powerful signs, because
nature’s beauty resources; when they buy Eterna 27,
they are suggestive of various qualities or attributes,
Clinique, Endocil, or Equalia beauty products they
either explicitly or implicitly. Here are examples of
sense that they are getting products made with scien-
some of the strategies that are used to bring about
tific precision; and so on.
overt or implicit suggestion.
Another common brand naming strategy involves
iconicity – the strategy of creating names that resem- 1. Brand names that are the names of the actual
ble or assign some sensory property or social meaning manufacturers imply ‘tradition,’ ‘reliability,’ and,
to a product (see Iconicity: Theory). Iconicity is an in the case of lifestyle products such as clothes,
effective strategy, because it renders the products ‘artistry,’ ‘sophistication,’ and ‘beauty’:
highly memorable. A name such as Ritz Crackers, Armani
for example, assigns sonority to the product that is Bell
simulative of sounds that crackers make as they are Benetton
being eaten. Another example of an iconic brand Calvin Klein
name is Drakkar Noir, chosen by Guy Laroche for a Folger’s
cologne product. Together with the dark bottle, the Gillette
name conveys images of ‘fear,’ the ‘forbidden,’ and Gucci
the ‘unknown.’ Forbidden things take place under the Kraft
cloak of the night; hence the name noir (French etc.
for ‘black’). The sepulchral name Drakkar Noir is 2. Brand names referring to real or fictitious people
clearly iconic with the bottle’s design at a connotative elicit images built culturally into the bearers of the
level, reinforcing the idea that something desirous actual name (e.g., Wendy’s evokes the image a
in the ‘dark’ will happen by splashing on the co- friendly young girl), or else suggest qualities that
logne. The word Drakkar is obviously suggestive of the name itself is designed to emphasize (e.g., Mr.
Dracula, the deadly vampire who came out at night Clean):
to mesmerize his sexual prey with a mere glance. Aunt Jemima
The name of the Acura automobile, to give another Barbie (the doll)
example of the use of iconicity, was likely designed Ken (the doll)
to be imitative of both Italian and Japanese words. McDonald’s
Italian feminine nouns end in -a and certain Japanese Mr. Clean
words end in the suffix -ura (e.g., tempura). The Wendy’s
brand name is thus linked iconically to Italian and etc.
Japanese words and, by extension, the perceived qua- 3. Names identifying the geographical location of a
lities of the respective cultures at once. Carmakers product or of a company suggest stability and
have used the same strategy of creating car names tradition:
ending in the vowel -a which, given the inbuilt melo- American Bell
dious quality of such a word, makes it not only easier Southern Bell
to remember but also suggestive of specific qualities. Western Union
Here are a few examples: etc.
4. Names designed to refer to some aspect of nature
Achieva
bestow upon the product the meanings that the
Altima
particular aspect evokes:
Asuna
Aqua Velva
Aurora
Cascade
Corsica
Mountain Dew
Elantra
Surf
Festiva
Tide
Integra
etc.
Lumina
 Brands and Logos 113

5. Names indicating the kinds of things that can be Table 1 Brand names and the signification systems they evoke
done with the product, such as a vehicle, or the Brand names Signification systems
kinds of places that can be visited with it, evoke
connotations of lifestyle such as ‘country living,’ Superpower, Multicorp, Future ‘big picture,’ ‘forward-looking,’
‘back-to-nature living,’ ‘wild-west lifestyle,’ ‘city Now, Quantum Health ‘strong,’ ‘powerful,’ etc.
Resources, PowerAde, etc.
life,’ and so on: People’s Choice, Advantage ‘free-spirited,’
Dodge Durango Plus, Light N’ Easy, Viewer’s ‘advantageous,’
Ford Escape Choice, etc. egalitarian,’ ‘common,’
Ford Expedition ‘friendly,’ etc.
Ford Explorer Biogenical, Technics, ‘scientific,’ ‘methodical,’
Panasonic, Vagisil, Anusol, ‘fool-proof,’ ‘accurate,’
Hyundai Santa Fe Proof Positive, Timex, etc. ‘reliable,’ etc.
Jeep Grand Cherokee Coronation, Morning Glory, ‘conquering,’ ‘regal,’
Jeep Renegade Burger King, Monarch’s ‘majesty,’ ‘nobility,’
Jeep Wrangler Flour, etc. ‘blue-blooded,’ etc.
Mercury Mountaineer Wash ‘N Wear, Drip-Dry, Easy ‘user-friendly,’ ‘simple,’
Clean, Okay Plus, etc. ‘uncomplicated,’ ‘basic,’ etc.
etc. General Electric, General ‘all-encompassing’
6. Names constructed as hyperboles emphasize prod- Mills, General Dynamics, ‘widespread,’ ‘popular,’ etc.
uct ‘superiority’ and ‘excellence’: General Foods, etc.
MaxiLight Cheer, Joy, etc. ‘happy,’ ‘bright,’ ‘friendly,’
SuperFresh ‘smiling,’ etc.
Pledge, Promise, etc. ‘trustworthy,’ ‘reliant,’
UltraLite ‘secure,’ etc.
etc.
7. Names created as combinations of words describe
a product in a ‘poetic’ way:
Frogurt (¼ Frozen þ Yogurt) entails an unconscious signification system – a set of
Fruitopia (¼ Fruit þ Utopia) connotations – of one kind or other. It is this system
Yogourt (¼ Yogurt þ Gourmet) that is used and reused for various advertising
etc. purposes. Indeed, the more connotations a name
8. Names designed to indicate what the product can evokes, the more powerful it is and, as a consequence,
do set off images of ‘user-friendliness’: the more possibilities it offers to the advertiser for
Easy On creating truly effective ads and commercials. The
Easy Wipe higher the ‘connotative index’ of a signification sys-
Kleenex tem, as it has been called (Beasley and Danesi, 2002),
Lestoil the greater its market appeal.
One Wipe Table 1 shows just a few examples of how signifi-
Quick Flow cation systems are generated by brand names.
etc. Naming a product makes it possible to refer to it as
9. Brand names designed to indicate what can be if it had a distinctive character or quality – ‘I don’t
accomplished with the product are also suggestive trust Colgate products; they’re useless’; ‘I will only
of ‘user-friendliness’ and ‘goal-achievement’: buy Quaker Oats; it suits me perfectly’; etc. It is
Air Fresh meaningless to say something like ‘I don’t trust the
Bug Off toothpaste that has blue stripes in it’; or ‘I will buy
Close-Up Toothpaste only the cereal that has an oat-like taste to it.’ More-
No Sweat over, a product with a name has the capacity, by its
etc. very nature, to tap into the brain’s capacity to store
meaningful categories in the form of language. A word
Even in relaying straightforward information, such classifies something, keeps it distinct from other
as identifying the manufacturer (Bell, Kraft, etc.), things, and, above all else, allows it to have meaning
indicating the geographical location of the company over and above itself. The name Ivory, for example,
(Southern Bell, American Bell, etc.), describing what evokes an image of something ‘ultrawhite,’ Royal
the product can do (Easy On, Quick Flow, etc.), and Baking Powder of something ‘regal’ and ‘splendid,’
so on, brand names nevertheless create significa- Bon Ami of ‘a good friend,’ and so on. Such sugges-
tion systems. The name Bell, for instance, evokes tive images stick in the mind in the same way that the
meanings of ‘tradition’ and ‘reliance’ that familiarity meanings of words do. They become an unconscious
with the name kindles. In effect, every brand name part of our semantic memory system.
114 Brands and Logos
It is little wonder that the term ‘brand’ is no longer
used today just to refer just to a specific product line,
but also to the company that manufactures it, to the
image that the company wishes to impart of itself and
of its products, and to the ‘personality structure’ that
is perceived in users of the product. Thus, the name
Coca-Cola now refers not only to the actual soft
drink, but also to the company itself, the social
meanings that drinking Coke entails, and so on and
so forth. Coca-Cola went on sale as a headache
and hangover remedy on May 8, 1886 at Jacob’s
Pharmacy in Atlanta. It was created by local pharma-
cist John S. Pemberton from South American cocoa
shrub leaves, an extract of African kola nuts, and fruit
syrup. It was Pemberton’s bookkeeper who named
the product ‘Coca-Cola’ and who suggested writing
its name with the familiar flowing script that virtually
everyone recognizes. The drink was subsequently
promoted with such slogans as ‘‘Wonderful nerve
and brain tonic and remarkable therapeutic agent’’
and ‘‘Its beneficial effects upon diseases of the vocal
chords are wonderful.’’ In 1891, Atlanta pharmacist
Asa G. Candler acquired ownership of Coca-Cola,
changing its image from a ‘tonic’ to that of a popular
5¢ soft drink that could be drunk together with fami-
ly and friends – an image that has persisted to this day
and is the basis of Coca-Cola’s continued commercial
success.
That image was created at first by imprinting the
Coca-Cola name on drinking glasses, providing them
to diners and other eateries that featured ‘pop’ and
foods meant to be eaten quickly and cheaply. From
then, Coca-Cola has coopted socially significant
themes, from the brotherly love and peace espoused
during the counterculture era of the late 1960s and
early 1970s with its ‘‘I’d like to teach the world to sing
in perfect harmony’’ campaign, to the ‘‘Coke is the
real thing’’ campaign shortly thereafter, to 2000’s
campaigns showing Coke as the drink of Olympic
athletes.
Logos
Logos (an abbreviation of ‘logogriphs’) are the picto-
rial counterparts of brand names. They are designed
to reinforce the signification system for a product
through the visual channel. Consider the apple logo
adopted by the Apple Computer Company. As a visu-
al iconic sign suffused with latent religious symbol-
ism, it strongly suggests the story of Adam and Eve in
the Western Bible, which revolves around the eating
of forbidden fruit (probably the apple) that contained
forbidden knowledge. The logo reinforces this sym-
bolic association because it shows an apple that has
had a bite taken from it. The creator of the logo, a
man named Rob Janoff of Regis McKenna Advertis-
ing, has consistently denied any intent to connect the
logo to the Genesis story, claiming instead that he put
the bite there in order to ensure that the figure not be
confused with a tomato. Whatever the truth, the bite
in the logo evokes the Genesis story nonetheless.
As another example, consider the Playboy logo of a
bunny wearing a bow tie. Its ambiguous design opens
up at least two interpretive chains:
1. rabbit ¼ ‘female’ ¼ ‘highly fertile’ ¼ ‘sexually ac-
tive’ ¼ ‘promiscuous’ ¼ etc.
2. bow tie ¼ ‘elegance’ ¼ ‘night club scene’ ¼ ‘finesse’
¼ etc.
The appeal and staying power of this logo is due,
arguably, to this inbuilt dual signification system. By
not being able to pin down what the actual meaning of
the logo is, we start experiencing the sign holistically
and, thus, as an artistic text or mysterious pictograph.
Logos have now become part of a culture-wide
visual symbolism that interconnects products with
daily life. Until the 1970s, logos on clothes, for in-
stance, were concealed discretely inside a collar or on
a pocket. Today, they can be seen conspicuously on all
kinds of products, indicating that society has become
‘logo conscious.’ Ralph Lauren’s polo horseman,
Lacoste’s alligator, and Nike’s ‘swoosh’ symbol, to
mention but three, are now shown prominently on
clothing items, evoking images of heraldry and, thus,
nobility. They constitute symbols of ‘cool’ (Klein,
2000: 69) that legions of people are seemingly eager
to put on view in order to convey an aura of high class
‘blue-blooded’ fashionableness.
To see why logos are so powerful psychologically,
consider briefly the Nike symbol, which is found on
the shoe brand. As a visual sign suggesting speed, it
works on several levels, from the iconic to the mythi-
cal. At the iconic level, it implies the activity of run-
ning at top speed with the Nike shoe; at the mythic
level, it taps into the idea of speed as symbolic of
power and conquest (such as in the Olympic races).
The combination of these two signifying levels creates
a perception of the logo, and thus the product, as
having a connection to both reality and narrative
history. Nike was the goddess of victory in Greek
mythology. An ancient statue of Nike shows a winged
female figure alighting on the prow of a ship, presum-
ably to crown the ship’s commander. Her garments,
wet with spray and blown by her flight, whip about
her body.
Given their psychological power, it is little wonder
that logos are used as well by noncommercial enter-
prises and organizations. One of the most widely
known ones is the peace sign, often worn on chains
and necklaces. Derived from an ancient runic symbol

of despair and grief, it became the logo for philoso-
pher Bertrand Russell’s (1872–1970) ‘Campaign for
Nuclear Disarmament’ in the 1950s. The logo’s first
widespread exposure came when it surfaced in the
1962 sci-fi film The Day the Earth Caught Fire, lead-
ing to its adoption by the counterculture youth of
the era.
In a fundamental sense, a logo is a pictograph – a
picture used to express ideas. The inbuilt emotional
appeal of pictography is likely the reason why the
alphabet character X has become a kind of ersatz
logo for everything from movies to sports names:
e.g., Nissan’s X-Terra model, X-treme sports, the
movie action hero ‘Triple X,’ XXX movies, and so
on. The letter X has become a kind of ‘macrologo’
that is synonymous with youth, danger, and excite-
ment, even though it has been around for centuries as
the mathematical variable par excellence, as a signa-
ture used by those who cannot write, as a blasphe-
mous letter assigned to cartoon bottles of alcohol and
boxes of dynamite, and as a symbol marking a secret
treasure on a pirate’s map. ‘X’ has always constituted
a pictography of various meanings that predate
X-treme sports and X-File TV programs.
X is powerful because it conjures up images of
things that are just beyond the realm of information,
or beyond decency and righteousness. In today’s sex-
ually charged culture, ‘X’ on a product means ‘Buy
me, I’m X-rated and X-citing.’ ‘X’ is, in a phrase,
one of the most provocative symbols of contempo-
rary logo culture, characterizing it in a compact
yet accurate way. And the reason is, ultimately, be-
cause it reverberates with mythical symbolism that
reaches back to the origin of pictography as a craft
controlled by those in power. It is a modern-day
hieroglyph.
The only way to explain why we extract so much
meaning from a simple letter is, in fact, to see it as a
product of an unconscious pattern of pictorial sym-
bolism that continues to have emotional hold on the
modern mind. Its particular design – a cross symbol
that has been rotated 45 degrees – reverberates with
contradiction and opposition. No wonder that adver-
tisers, manufacturers, Hollywood moguls, and all the
other image-makers of contemporary pop culture
have adopted it as a symbol of ‘cool.’
Conclusion
As mentioned, brands and logos are now created
to name not just products, but entire corporations
(IBM, Ford, etc.) and even specific characters that
represent, in some way, a corporation. Take, for ex-
ample, the Disney Corporation cartoon character
Mickey Mouse. In 1929, Disney allowed Mickey
Brands and Logos 115
Mouse to be reproduced on school slates, effectively
transforming the character into a logo. A year later
Mickey Mouse dolls went into production and
throughout the 1930s the Mickey Mouse brand
name and image were licensed with huge success. In
1955, The Mickey Mouse Club premiered on US
network television, further entrenching the brand
and image – and by association all Disney products
– into the cultural mainstream.
Analogous ‘branding events’ have repeated them-
selves throughout modern society. The idea is to get
the brand to become intertwined with cultural spec-
tacles (movies, TV programs, etc.) and thus indistin-
guishable as a sign from other culturally meaningful
signs and sign systems. Because of the Disney Corpo-
ration, toys, children’s TV programming, childhood
films, videos, DVDs, theme parks, and the like have
become part of the modern perception of childhood
as a Fantasyland world. This is why children now
experience their childhood through such products.
See also: Barthes, Roland: Theory of the Sign; Denotation
versus Connotation; Iconicity: Theory; Marketing and Se-
miotics: From Transaction to Relation; Media: Semiotics;
Mythologies in Pop Culture.
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Braune, Wilhelm (1850–1926)
E Einhauser, University of Cologne, Cologne,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Wilhelm Braune belonged to the so-called ‘Neogram-
marians,’ a group of linguists with quite a strong
influence on linguistic research in the last third of
the 19th century and at the beginning of the 20th
century. But whereas other Neogrammarians such as
Hermann Paul and Karl Brugmann became rather
famous, Wilhelm Braune more or less took on the
role of the decent working linguist in the background.
The obituaries of his friend Eduard Sievers (1927)
and of his successor Friedrich Panzer (1927) give
evidence of his calm and peaceable character and of
his conscientious working attitude.
As the most famous results of his diligence,
Braune’s Gotische and his Althochdeutsche Gramma-
tik should be mentioned. The newest (20th) edition of
the Gotische Grammatik only recently has been re-
vised by Frank Heidermanns and so today is still of
value as a reliable working tool. The Althochdeutsche
Grammatik, too, has seen many editions, and even
the Althochdeutsche Lesebuch is still in print.
Furthermore, a great part of Braune’s working en-
ergy was absorbed by the Beiträge zur Geschichte der
deutschen Sprache und Literatur, a journal he
founded together with Hermann Paul in 1874 and
which quickly became one of the central periodicals
of the Neogrammarians (the common abbreviation
PBB refers to the initials of the co-founders: Paul
and Braune’s Beiträge). A great deal of Braune’s
works were published here, among others an impor-
tant essay on the history of the German language
titled Zur Kenntnis des Fränkischen und zur hoch-
deutschen Lautverschiebung (1874) and a volumi-
nous analysis of the Handschriftenverhältnisse des
Nibelungenliedes (1900). These two titles, as well as
the Beiträge, are representative of Braune’s scientific
position: he saw himself not only as a linguist but also
as a Germanist, a philologist who is not interested in
linguistic questions alone (see also Panzer, 1927:
159). That he was still open to new scientific trends
Umiker-Sebeok J (ed.) (1987). Marketing signs: new
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deutsch und Angelsächsisch (1918), in which he took
into account geographical and cultural aspects.
Braune’s university career was quite unspectacular,
fitting for his role as a decent worker. He studied
in Leipzig, where he was mostly influenced by his
teachers August Leskien, Friedrich Zarncke, and
Rudolf Hildebrandt. In Leipzig he also met Hermann
Paul, Eduard Sievers, Hermann Osthoff, and Karl
Brugmann and hence became part of the new devel-
opment in linguistics, which quite soon was named
Neogrammarian. After his graduation Braune first
worked as an assistant at the library at the University
of Leipzig, then he gave lectures, and finally he was
offered a chair at Gießen in 1880. Mainly due to
the influence of Hermann Osthoff, who already
taught there, he was offered a chair at the University
of Heidelberg in 1888, where he lived until he died
in 1926.
See also: Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919); English, Old English;
German; Gothic; Leskien, August (1840–1916); Osthoff,
Hermann (1847–1909); Paul, Hermann (1846–1921); Sievers,
Eduard (1850–1932); Zarncke, Friedrich (1825–1891).
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Panzer F (1927). ‘Wilhelm Braune [Nachruf].’ Zeitschrift
für deutsche Philologie 52, 158–164.
Sievers E (1927). ‘Wilhelm Braune [Nachruf].’ Beiträge zur
Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur 5, I–VI.
Wunderlich H (1910). ‘Wilhelm Braune.’ Germanisch-
Romanische Monatshefte 2, 81–91.
116 Brands and Logos
Leymore V (1975). Hidden myth: structure and symbolism
in advertising. London: Heinemann.
Packard V (1957). The hidden persuaders. New York:
McKay.
Twitchell J B (2000). Twenty ads that shook the world.
New York: Crown.
Braune, Wilhelm (1850–1926)
E Einhauser, University of Cologne, Cologne,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Wilhelm Braune belonged to the so-called ‘Neogram-
marians,’ a group of linguists with quite a strong
influence on linguistic research in the last third of
the 19th century and at the beginning of the 20th
century. But whereas other Neogrammarians such as
Hermann Paul and Karl Brugmann became rather
famous, Wilhelm Braune more or less took on the
role of the decent working linguist in the background.
The obituaries of his friend Eduard Sievers (1927)
and of his successor Friedrich Panzer (1927) give
evidence of his calm and peaceable character and of
his conscientious working attitude.
As the most famous results of his diligence,
Braune’s Gotische and his Althochdeutsche Gramma-
tik should be mentioned. The newest (20th) edition of
the Gotische Grammatik only recently has been re-
vised by Frank Heidermanns and so today is still of
value as a reliable working tool. The Althochdeutsche
Grammatik, too, has seen many editions, and even
the Althochdeutsche Lesebuch is still in print.
Furthermore, a great part of Braune’s working en-
ergy was absorbed by the Beiträge zur Geschichte der
deutschen Sprache und Literatur, a journal he
founded together with Hermann Paul in 1874 and
which quickly became one of the central periodicals
of the Neogrammarians (the common abbreviation
PBB refers to the initials of the co-founders: Paul
and Braune’s Beiträge). A great deal of Braune’s
works were published here, among others an impor-
tant essay on the history of the German language
titled Zur Kenntnis des Fränkischen und zur hoch-
deutschen Lautverschiebung (1874) and a volumi-
nous analysis of the Handschriftenverhältnisse des
Nibelungenliedes (1900). These two titles, as well as
the Beiträge, are representative of Braune’s scientific
position: he saw himself not only as a linguist but also
as a Germanist, a philologist who is not interested in
linguistic questions alone (see also Panzer, 1927:
159). That he was still open to new scientific trends
Umiker-Sebeok J (ed.) (1987). Marketing signs: new
directions in the study of signs for sale. Berlin: Mouton.
Wolfe O (1989). ‘Sociosemiology and cross-cultural
branding strategies.’ Marketing Signs 3, 3–10.
in his later years can be seen in his essay Althoch-
deutsch und Angelsächsisch (1918), in which he took
into account geographical and cultural aspects.
Braune’s university career was quite unspectacular,
fitting for his role as a decent worker. He studied
in Leipzig, where he was mostly influenced by his
teachers August Leskien, Friedrich Zarncke, and
Rudolf Hildebrandt. In Leipzig he also met Hermann
Paul, Eduard Sievers, Hermann Osthoff, and Karl
Brugmann and hence became part of the new devel-
opment in linguistics, which quite soon was named
Neogrammarian. After his graduation Braune first
worked as an assistant at the library at the University
of Leipzig, then he gave lectures, and finally he was
offered a chair at Gießen in 1880. Mainly due to
the influence of Hermann Osthoff, who already
taught there, he was offered a chair at the University
of Heidelberg in 1888, where he lived until he died
in 1926.
See also: Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919); English, Old English;
German; Gothic; Leskien, August (1840–1916); Osthoff,
Hermann (1847–1909); Paul, Hermann (1846–1921); Sievers,
Eduard (1850–1932); Zarncke, Friedrich (1825–1891).
Bibliography
Braune W (1918). ‘Althochdeutsch und Angelsächsisch.’
Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und
Literatur 43, 361– 445.
Braune W (1994). Althochdeutsches Lesebuch (17th edn.).
Bearbeitet von Ernst A. Ebbinghaus. Beitrag von Karl
Helm. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Braune W (2004). Gotische Grammatik. Mit Lesestücken
und Wörterverzeichnis (20th edn.). Bearbeitet von Frank
Heidermanns. Tübingen: Niemeyer. (1st edn., 1880.)
Einhauser E (1989). Die Junggrammatiker. Ein Problem
für die Sprachwissenschaftsgeschichtsschreibung. Trier:
Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier.
Panzer F (1927). ‘Wilhelm Braune [Nachruf].’ Zeitschrift
für deutsche Philologie 52, 158–164.
Sievers E (1927). ‘Wilhelm Braune [Nachruf].’ Beiträge zur
Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur 5, I–VI.
Wunderlich H (1910). ‘Wilhelm Braune.’ Germanisch-
Romanische Monatshefte 2, 81–91.

Brazil: Language Situation
D Moore, Museu Goeldi, Belém, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Background
The indigenous population in what is now Brazil was
much higher in the past, with a multiplicity of societies
and languages. According to Roosevelt (1994), the
oldest pottery in the New World (6000–8000 years)
is found in Brazilian Amazonia, on whose flood plains
dense populations, divided into chiefdoms, lived at the
time of European contact. Other regions of Brazil,
such as the central highlands, the semi-arid northeast,
and the more temperate southern region, were like-
wise home to sizeable indigenous populations, most of
which were destroyed or absorbed. Over 40% of the
modern Brazilian gene pool is of indigenous origin.
European contact began with the arrival of the ships
of the Portuguese explorer Pedro Álvares Cabral in
1500. He encountered some Tupinambá on the eastern
coast of Brazil. European immigration was relatively
slight for the first two centuries. European men fre-
quently took indigenous wives, and a class of mestizos
was produced, which was important in the colonizing
process, during which large numbers of native people
were relocated and obliged to learn the language of the
mestizo, Lı́ngua Geral, or Nheengatu (Nhengatu), a
Tupı́-Guaranı́ language originally spoken on the coast
that was modified by substratum effects and borrow-
ings from Portuguese. Several dialects of Nheengatu
still persist in Amazonia. With the expulsion of the
Jesuits in the mid-18th century, the state assumed con-
trol over the communities of resettled native peoples
(reduções), where the population was already declining
from occidental disease.
The regions of Brazil that have been occupied the
longest have the fewest indigenous societies and lan-
guages, especially eastern Brazil, where few indigenous
groups still speak their language. Rodrigues (1993)
estimates that 75% of the indigenous languages
became extinct. The surviving native groups are most-
ly in remote areas, especially in Amazonia, where
contact with national society has been more recent
and less intensive. There are still native groups living
out of contact with the outside world. Newly con-
tacted groups still commonly lose two-thirds of their
population to Western diseases – an unnecessary loss,
since the diseases responsible for this loss of life and
language are preventable or treatable. A number of
native political organizations exist in Brazil (for ex-
ample, the Coordenação de Organizações Indı́genas
da Amazônia Brasileira – COIAB, and the Federação
de Organizações Indı́genas do Rio Negro – FOIRN)
Brazil: Language Situation 117
and are active in debating policy and defending
the interests of the communities that they repre-
sent. Indigenous affairs are under the control of the
National Indian Foundation (FUNAI), and all
researchers must obtain authorization from that gov-
ernmental entity to enter indigenous areas, as well as
approval from the National Council for Scientific and
Technological Development (CNPq).
The Study of Native Brazilian Languages
Some of the earliest descriptive studies of the native
languages of the New World were conducted by
Jesuits in Brazil, for example, Anchieta (1595). This
tradition did not take hold, however. In the 19th
century and the first half of the 20th century, a num-
ber of nonspecialists, especially members of scientific
expeditions, accomplished a certain amount of lin-
guistic description. These include, notably, Karl von
den Steinen, General Couto de Magalhães, Theodor
Koch-Grünberg, Curt Nimuendaú, Emilie Snethlage,
and João Capistrano de Abreu. Modern scientific
studies of native Brazilian languages only began in
the second half of the 20th century. Mattoso Câmara
established the Setor de Lingüı́stica at the Museu
Nacional in 1961 and also authored a book about
indigenous languages (1965), though he was not a
fieldworker. During a number of years, Brazilian re-
search on indigenous languages was mainly done at
the Museu Nacional and at the State University of
Campinas (UNICAMP). However, in the second half
of the 1980s the study of native languages spread to
other centers, especially the Federal Universities of
Brası́lia (UnB), Goiás (UFG), Pernambuco (UFPE),
and Pará (UFPA), aside from the University of São
Paulo (USP) and the Museu Goeldi, which is a federal
research institute in Belém.
The anthropologist Darcy Ribeiro established a
cooperation agreement between the Summer Institute
of Linguistics (SIL) and the Museu Nacional in 1956.
This agreement was terminated in 1981, and there are
now no formal ties between Brazilian academic cen-
ters and missionary organizations. Foreign mission-
aries have become less influential in the study of
indigenous languages as their place is being taken to
a certain extent by Brazilian missionaries and increas-
ingly by professional and numerous Brazilian scien-
tific linguists. A number of these latter have studied
abroad in recent years, and upon the completion of
their studies, they are strengthening the national ca-
pacity in scientific linguistics, especially in diachronic
linguistics (see, for example, Meira and Franchetto,
forthcoming), in recent theory and methodology, and
118 Brazil: Language Situation
in overall descriptions of individual languages. The
first complete grammar of a native language in dec-
ades authored by a Brazilian linguist was the de-
scription of Kamayurá by Seki (2000). More such
general descriptions have been undertaken by young
Brazilian linguists. There is, unfortunately, no nation-
al program for identifying and describing endangered
languages in Brazil. However, a number of recent
modern documentation projects with international
funding have improved the level of documentation
efforts. These are very popular with native groups.
The small number of foreign nonmissionary lin-
guists studying Brazilian indigenous languages has
increased considerably in recent years.
Some modern information about Brazilian na-
tive languages appeared in a general work on South
American languages edited by Klein and Stark (1985).
Amazonia became identified as a distinct research
area in linguistics with the publication of the Hand-
book of Amazonian languages series, edited by
Derbyshire and Pullum (1986–1998) and the com-
pendium edited by Payne (1990). Later useful general
works with the same regional focus are those edited
by Queixalós and Renault-Lescure (2000) and by
Dixon and Aikhenvald (1999). These typically in-
clude languages outside of what is, strictly speaking,
Amazonia, for example, the languages of the central
highlands of Brazil. In recent years, volumes of the
ILLA series have included many Brazilian languages,
for example, the volumes edited by van der Voort and
van de Kerke (2000) and by Crevels, van de Kerke,
Meira, and van der Voort (2002).
In Portuguese, a general treatment of Brazilian lan-
guages is that by Rodrigues (1986). Rodrigues (1993)
presents information on the situation of Brazilian
native languages, but suffers from confusion between
the number of speakers and the population size,
which results in underestimating the degree of endan-
germent. Seki (1999) and Franchetto (2000) describe
the study of indigenous languages in Brazil. Wetzels
(1995) presents a collection of phonological studies.
A recent collection of articles is that by Cabral and
Rodrigues (2002). One Brazilian periodical dedicated
exclusively to indigenous languages is Lı́nguas Indı́-
genas Americanas (LIAMES), of UNICAMP. The
Boletim do Museu Paraense Emı́lio Goeldi contains
linguistics articles in its Anthropology issues. Articles
likewise appear in the journals Revista de Documen-
tação de Estudos em Lingüı́stica Teórica e Aplicada
(D.E.L.T.A.) of the Pontı́fica Universidade Católica
de São Paulo, the Boletim da ABRALIN, and the
Cadernos de Estudos Lingüı́sticos of UNICAMP. Of
the many NGOs working with indigenous groups, the
largest and most concerned with documentation is
the Instituto Sócio Ambiental (ISA), whose website
is a valuable source of information and also publica-
tions (including maps) that can be purchased via the
Internet. There is also a website and a listserv run
by the Museu Antropológico, Universidade Federal
de Goiás.
The Situation of the Native Brazilian
Languages
Of course, Portuguese is the official language of
Brazil. Impressionistically, Brazilian Portuguese is
about as different from the Portuguese dialects in
Portugal as American English is from the English
dialects in Great Britain. There are many other lan-
guages spoken by immigrant communities in Brazil,
especially German, Italian, and Japanese. We will
focus attention here on the situation of the native
languages. It must be emphasized that the informa-
tion presented below is approximate, due to the lack
of systematic data gathering about the situation of the
native languages of Brazil. Even when population
size is known, the number of effective speakers and
the degree of transmission is often not known with
certainty. What are considered to be different lan-
guages sometimes turn out to be dialects of the same
language, often reflecting ethnic or political divisions.
Much of the information is a revised version of infor-
mation presented in an overview article about
endangered languages in lowland South America by
Moore (forthcoming), which is based on a number of
sources, including Queixalós and Renault-Lescure
(2000), Rodrigues (1993), Dixon and Aikhenvald
(1999), the map of the Centro de Documentação
Indı́gena (1987), the website of the Instituto Sócio
Ambiental, the author’s own knowledge of several
regions, and personal communications from many
linguists actively studying indigenous languages in
various geographical areas.
Language names and the genetic classification are
adapted from those of the Instituto Sócio Ambiental
website, which are a 1997 adaptation of information
from Rodrigues (1986). Names used by Ethnologue,
if different, appear in parentheses after (note that
Ethnologue’s family names and categorization some-
times differ from the one used here). Population fig-
ures are normally from this same website; numbers
from other sources are put in brackets. Speaker esti-
mates are from various sources; when more than one
source is used, the second is separated by placing it in
brackets. Where no real information is available, the
space is left blank. Since many tribal groups span
national boundaries, it is important to note that all
estimates are specific to Brazil and excluding speakers
of those groups living in, say, Colombia or Venezuela.
Likewise, the estimate of the amount of study refers to

studies carried out among speakers in Brazil, not in
other countries. These estimates are very rough and
can change quickly with the publication of new work.
Languages with little or no significant scientific
description are rated 0; those with an M.A. thesis or
several articles are rated 1, those with a good overall
sketch or doctoral thesis on some aspects of the lan-
guage are rated 2; and those with reasonably com-
plete descriptions are rated 3. In the terminology used
here for genetic groupings, ‘family’ means a group of
related but different languages whose genetic relation
is reasonably obvious, and ‘stock’ refers to a group of
families whose relation is not so obvious. Because of
the small size of the surviving speech communities
and the precarious conditions in which they live, all
might be considered to be in danger of extinction.
However, it is more useful to distinguish those that
are in serious, imminent danger of disappearing, ei-
ther because of a low number of speakers, low trans-
mission, or both factors. Some languages listed may
already be extinct, but are listed anyway because a
careful search sometimes finds remaining speakers
somewhere, and that search may be abandoned if
they are not listed. Languages are not considered
urgently endangered if there are a reasonable number
of speakers of at least one dialect or a reasonable
number of speakers in another country. Larger group-
ings are considered first, following alphabetical order
within the grouping.
Hypothetical Linguistic Stock
Macro-Jê Various authors have, on one basis or
another, proposed groupings of languages often con-
sidered today as Macro-Jê. It is important to confirm
or disconfirm each of the proposed genetic affilia-
tions, some of which are not obvious. The Jê family
of languages, the largest of the stock, is focused on the
savanna regions of Brazil from the southern parts
of the states of Pará and Maranhão south to Santa
Catarina e Rio Grande do Sul. The other families
of this hypothesized stock generally occur outside of
Amazonia, mainly in eastern and northeastern
Brazil, but with some in central Brazil and farther
west. Rikbaktsa has been held to be the exception,
apparently living for a long time in an Amazonian
environment in northern Mato Grosso. Recent re-
search, however, indicates that the Jabutı́ languages
are probably Macro-Jê, as was speculated by some
authors, indicating a wider and older presence in
Amazonia as well. Because of their early contact
with Europeans, many of the Macro-Jê languages in
the east and northeast of Brazil are extinct, with or
without some documentation. The last speaker of
Umotı́na died recently (Table 1).
Brazil: Language Situation 119
Major Language Families
Arawak The languages of the Arawak family, in its
restricted sense, also designated Maipurean, have
long been recognized as related, though proposed
genetic links to other linguistic groups are more
doubtful. The supposed link with the Arawá lan-
guages, for example, has no linguistic basis. The
work of Noble (1965) influenced archeology, but is
dubious in its conclusions. The Arawak languages are
amazingly widespread, from the Caribbean to Boli-
via. In Brazil, they occur in northern Pará state, on the
tributaries of the Rio Negro in the northwest, along
the Purus River in the west, on the tributaries of the
Juruena River in Mato Grasso, and along the Upper
Xingu River. The relatively numerous Terêna live in
Mato Grosso do Sul. It is not certain whether or not
there are still speakers of Mandawáka (Mandahuaca)
in the region of the Upper Rio Negro. The Arawak
languages are polysynthetic and often have gender
and nominal classification (Table 2).
Carib The Carib family is centered on northern South
America. The Carib languages of northern Brazil are
rather similar, though Waimiri-Atroari (Atruahı́) is
more distant. The language called Galibi do Oiapoque
is intrusive from French Guiana, where it is called
Kali’na (or Carib in Surinam and Guyana). The Carib
languages on or near the Upper Xingu are quite differ-
ent from the northern languages and also do not con-
stitute a single consistent subgroup (Table 3).
Pano The Pano linguistic family is not highly differ-
entiated internally. It occurs in Peru, Bolivia, and Bra-
zil, and is usually considered to be related to the
Tacana family of Bolivia. The Brazilian Pano lan-
guages occur in the states of Acre and Amazonas,
except for the Kaxararı́ in Randônia, and have received
relatively little study. Sources are contradictory as to
whether Amawáka is spoken in Brazil (Table 4).
Tucano Of the divisions of the Tucano family, West-
ern, Eastern, and (for some authors) Central, it is
mainly the Eastern branch which occurs in Brazil,
though Kubewa (Cubeo), of the putative Central
branch, also occurs there. Except for Arapaso, each
of the Tucano languages of Brazil is also spoken in
Colombia, where they have generally received more
study. More recent sources doubt that Yuruti (Juriti)
is spoken in Brazil. These languages are noted for
tone or pitch accent, morpheme-intrinsic nasality,
and complex obligatory coding of evidentiality. The
languages are spoken in the region of the Vaupés,
Tiquié, and Papurı́ Rivers. The speakers of several of
them refer to themselves as Yebá-masã (Yepá-masã).
120 Brazil: Language Situation

Table 1 Macro-Jê (Macro-Ge) stock

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

speakers

Boróro Family
Boróro (Borôro) 1024 2
Guató Family
Guató 5 [40] 372 low 2 urgent
Jê Family
Akwén Xakriab́á 0? 6000 none urgent
Xavánte most 9602 high? 1
Xerénte all? 1814 1
Apinayé 1262 high? 2
Kaingáng Kaingáng do 25 000 2 total
Paraná total Kaingáng
Kaingáng
Kaingán Central
Kaingáng do
Sudoeste
Kaingáng do
Sudeste
Kayapó Gorotire 7096 total high 1 total
Kayapò Kayapó
Kararaô
Kokraimoro
Kubenkrankegn
Menkrangnoti
Mentuktı́re
(Txukahamãe)
Xikrin
Panará (Kreen-akore, all 202 high 2
Krenakarore)
Suyá Suyá all 334 high 1–2
Tapayúna (Beiço-de-Pau) 58
Timbı́ra Canela Apaniekra 458 high 2
Canela 1337 high
Ramkokamekra
Gavião do Pará (Parkateyé, 338 low 2
Gavião, Pará)
Gavião do 250
Maranhão
(Pukobiyé)
Krahô 1900 high 1
Krikatı́ (Krinkatı́, 620
Krikati-Timbira)
Xokléng (Xokleng) 757 low 1
Karajá Family
Karajá Javaé most 919 good 2
Karajá 1860 2500 high 1
Xambioá 10 185 none 0
Krenák Family
Krenák (Krenak) 10? 150 low 1 urgent
Maxakalı́ Family
Maxakalı́ most? 802 1
Ofayé Family
Ofayé (Opayé, 25 56 low 1 urgent
Ofayé-Xavante)
Rikbaktsá Family
Rikbaktsá (Erikpaksá, 909 med? 1
Rikbaktsa)
Yathé Family
Yathê, Fulniô, Carnijó) most? 2930 med? 1
 Brazil: Language Situation 121

Table 2 Arawak (Aruák, Maipure) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Apurinã (Ipurinã) 2779 med 2

Banı́wa do Içana 3189 high 3
(Kurripako, Kuripako, [5000]
Curripaco)
Baré 0? 2790 none 1
Kampa (Axı́ninka, 813 0
Ashéninca)
Mandawáka (Mawaca, Mandahuaca) ? [3?] urgent
[Mawayána] <10 <10 none? 0 urgent
Mehináku close to Waurá all 199 high 1
Palikúr 918 1
Paresı́ (Aritı́, Haliti, 1293 1
Pareás)
Pı́ro Manitenéri (Machinere) [530] 0
Maxinéri 459 [345] 0
(Machinere)
Salumã (Enawenê-Nawê) 320 high 1
Tariana (Tariano) Yurupari-Tapúya 100 1914 very 3 urgent
(Iyemi) low
Terena (Tereno, Terêna) 15795 1
Wapixána (Aruma) 6500 variable 1
Warekéna (Guarequena) 491 2
Waurá Close to all 321 high 1
Mehinaku
Yawalapitı́ 8 208 none 1 urgent

Many of these languages are quite robust, but have
received little study in Brazil (Table 5).
Tupı́ The Tupı́ family consists of 10 branches, one
of which, Tupı́-Guaranı́, spreads over a vast area, with
extensions into Argentina, Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru,
and French Guiana. Languages of this branch have
been studied for centuries, but with more fascination
for the Tupı́-Guaranı́ dialects on the coast studied by
the Jesuits, which contributed many loanwords to
Portuguese and which achieved an almost classical
status in Brazil, where the word ‘Tupı́’ is sometimes
used to refer to these dialects. Though Tupı́-Guaranı́
is often thought to be somehow more central in the
family, it is actually rather atypical. Awetı́ is appar-
ently the branch most closely related to Tupı́-Guara-
nı́, and these two together with Mawé form a
subgroup within the family. The Ramarama and Pur-
uborá branches form a subgroup also; the other rela-
tions are not obvious and are still being worked out.
Research on the Tupi families in the western state
of Rondônia, often considered the original location
of the Tupi peoples, is rather recent. A number of
languages important for comparative Tupi studies
are urgently endangered (Table 6).
Medium-sized Language Families
Arawá The Arawá languages are spoken in a rela-
tively circumscribed region centered on the upper and
middle Purus and Juruá rivers. Their maintenance is
generally good (Table 7).
Katukina The Katukina family of languages (not
to be confused with Katukina do Acre, a Pano
language) are spoken by groups on the Javaı́, Juruá,
and Jutuı́ rivers in southern Amazonas. Recently,
Adelaar (2000) presented evidence that the Peruvian
family Harakmbut is genetically related to the
Katukina family of languages. Their study is urgent
(Table 8).
Makú The Makú languages (not to be confused
with the Máku language of Roraima) are spoken
by hunter-gatherer groups mainly in the region of
the Vaupés, though the Nadëb live lower on the Rio
Negro. The Bará (Kakua, Kakwa) language (not to
be confused with the Bará (Barasana) language of
the Tucano family) is spoken on the border with
Colombia, and it is not clear how many live in Brazil
(Table 9).
122 Brazil: Language Situation

Table 3 Carib (Karib) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

speakers

Aparaı́ (Apalaı́) most 415 high 2

[150?]
Arara do Pará (Ukarãgmã, all? 195 high? 1
Arára, Pará)
Bakairı́ most 950 good 2
Galibı́ do Oiapoque (Kali’na, 28 low? 0
Carib)
Hixkaryána most? [550] high 3
Ingarikó (Kapóng, Akwaio, 675 good 1
Patamona)
Kalapálo (Kuikúro-kalapálo) Kalapálo, Kuikúru, Matipú, most 417 good 1
Nahukwá are dialects of one
language
Kaxuyána (Warikyána, Shikuyana is dialect most 69 [145] low 1
Kaxuiâna)
Kuikúru (Kuikúro-Kalapálo) most 450 [500] good 2
Makuxı́ (Macushi) most 16 500 high? 3
Matipú (Matipuhy) few 119 low 0
Mayongong (Makiritáre, most? 426 high? 0
Yekuána, Maquiritari)
Nahukwá (Matipuhy) most 105 good 1
Taulipáng (Pemóng, Pemon) most 532 high? 1
Tiriyó (Tirió, Trio, Trió) all 735 [900] high 3
Ikpeng (Txikão) all 310 high 2
Waimirı́ (Waimirı́-Atroarı́ all 931 high 2
Atruahı́)
Wai-Wai (Waiwai) all? 2020 high 2
Wayána (Wayana) most? 450 med? 1
[150?]

Table 4 Pano (Panoan) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

speakers

Amawáka (Amahuaca) [220]? 0

Arara (Shawanauá, Arara, Shanenawá, Yamináwa, 9? 200 1
Sheuanahua) Yawanawá are perhaps dialects of
one language
Katukina do Acre 318 1
(Katukı́na Pano;
Katukı́na, Panoan)
Kaxararı́ 269 0
Kaxinawá (Hãtx Kuin, 3964 variable 2
Cashinahua)
Korúbo (Korubo) 250 0
Marúbo 1043 high 2?
Matis (Matı́s) all 239 high 2
Matsés (Mayoruna) 829 [250] high 2
Nukini (Nukuini) any? 458 none? 0 urgent
Poyanáwa 2 403 [180] none 1 urgent
Shanenawá (Xipináwa) 178 [160] 1
Yamináwa (Jaminawa, 618 0
Yaminahua)
Yawanáwa (Yawanowa) 450 [220] low
 Brazil: Language Situation 123

Table 5 Tucano (Tucanoan) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Arapaso 328 0
Bará (Waimajã) 39 0
Barasána, (Barasana) 61 0
Desána (Desano) close to Siriáno 1531 1
[Yuruti (Juritı́)] close to Tuyúka [50?]
Karapanã (Carapana) 42 0
Kubewa (Kubeo, Cubeo) 287 0
Makúna (Yebá-masã, 168 0
Macuna)
Pira-Tapuya (Waı́kana, close to Wanano 1004 0
Piratapuyo)
Siriáno (Siriano) 17 [10] 0
Tucano (Tukano) 4604 3
Tuyúka (Tuyuca) 593 0
Wanano (Guanano) 447 2

Nambikwara The Nambikwara languages occur
in western Mato Grosso and southeastern Rondônia,
in a region that includes both tropical forest and
savanna, centered on tributaries of the Guaporé
and the Juruena rivers (Table 10).
Chapakura (Txapakúra) The extant Chapakura
languages are spoken in the state of Rondônia (and
in Bolivia). Torá, in the state of Amazonas, is de-
scribed by recent visitors as already extinct for many
years. Recent ethnographers state that Urupá is ex-
tinct also. The Moré live in Bolivia, though there may
be a few in Brazil (Table 11).
Yanomami The languages of the Yanomami family
are spoken in Brazil and in Venezuela, by rather un-
acculturated groups. In Brazil these languages occur
in the northern state of Roraima, near the Venezuelan
border (Table 12).
Smaller Language Families
Bora Some speakers of the Miranha dialect of Bora
reportedly live along the Solimões River in Brazil.
Mura The language of the Mura and that of the
Pirahã appear to have been quite close; often they
are grouped under one name (Múra-Pirahã). There
are occasional reports of elderly Mura speakers,
though the Mura generally speak Portuguese or a
dialect of Nheengatu (Table 13).
Isolated Languages
Seven languages are not known to be genetically affil-
iated with others. Of these, Aikanã (Tubarão), Kanoê
(Kanoé), and Kwazá are in the same region in south-
ern Rondônia. The language of the Iranxe (Irântxe)
and Mynky is spoken near the headwaters of the
Juruena River, in Mato Grosso. The Trumái are
thought to have been relative latecomers to the
Upper Xingu regional system. There is said to be
only one Máku speaker, in the state of Roraima.
The Tikuna (Ticuna) are numerous, living along the
Solimões River, extending into Columbia and Peru. It
is a sign of progress that, of these isolated languages,
Kanoê, Kwazá, Mynky, Trumai, and Tikuna have
received intensive modern study in recent years
(Table 14).

Guaikurú Kadiwéu, one of the Guaikurú languages

(which tend to occur in the Chaco region of Paraguay
and Argentina) is spoken in Mato Grosso do Sul in
Brazil.
Jabutı́ The name of this family is a corruption of
Djeoromitxi, one of its component languages. The
languages are found in southern Rondônia.
Creole Languages
There are two groups in the northern state of Amapá,
the Galibi-Marworno (Carib) and the Karipuna do
Norte (Karipúna Creole French), both of whom lived
for some time in French Guiana and speak creoles
heavily influenced by the French-based creole of that
country (Table 15).
124 Brazil: Language Situation

Table 6 Tupı́ family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

speakers

Arikém Branch
Karitiána all 206 high 2
Awetı́ Branch
Awetı́ all 138 high 1
Juruna Branch
Juruna (Yuruna, Yudjá, all 278 high 2
Jurúna)
Xipaia (Shipaya, 2? 595? none 2 urgent
Kuruáya)
Mawé Branch
Mawé (Sateré-Mawé) most? 7134 good 2
Mondê Branch
Aruá 12? 58 low 0
Cinta-Larga Aruá, Cinta Larga, Zoró, and Gavião all 1300 high 1
(Cinta Larga) are dialects of one language
Gavião (Gavião do all 338 high 2
Jiparaná)
Salamãy (Mondé) 2 semi 10? none 0 urgent
Suruı́ (Paitér) all 920 high 1
Zoró all 414 high 0
Puruborá Branch
Puruborá 2 semi [50?] none 0 urgent
Mundurukú Branch
Kuruáya 3? 115 none? 0 urgent
Mundurukú most 7500 high 3
Ramarama Branch
Karo (Arara, Arára) most 184 good 2
Tuparı́ Branch
Ajuru (Wayoró) 8? 77 low 0 urgent
Makuráp 267 med? 2
Sakurabiat (Mekém 25 66 [70] low 2 urgent
Mekens)
Tuparı́ most? 338 med-low 1
Akuntsu 7 7 high 0 urgent
Tupı́-Guaranı́ Branch
Akwáwa Parakanã most 800 high? 0
Suruı́ do Tocantins (Suruı́ do Pará) most 185 high? 1
Asurini do Tocantins most 303 high? 2
(Asurinı́)
Amanayé any? 192 none? 0 urgent
Anambé 6 132 none? 1 urgent
Apiaká (Apiacá) 0? 192 ? 0 urgent
Araweté most 278 high 0
Asurinı́ do Xingu most 106 high? 1
(Asurinı́, Xingú)
Avá-Canoeiro most? 14 0 urgent
Guajá all 280 high 1
Guaranı́ Kaiowá (Kaiwá) 34 000 2 total
Mbyá (Guaranı́, total
Mbyá)
Nhandéva (Chiripá)
Kaapór (Urubu-Kaapór, most 800 high 2
Urubu-Kaapor)
Kamayurá most 355 high 3
Kayabı́ most? 1000 high? 1

Continued
 Brazil: Language Situation 125

Table 6 Continued

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

speakers

Kawahı́b Parintintin 156 2 total

Diahkói 30
Juma (Júma) 7
Karipúna 21
Tenharin 585 med
Uru-Eu-Wau-Wau all 87 high
(Uru-eu-uau-uau)
Kokáma Kokáma 5 622 low? 2 urgent
(Cocama-Cocamilla)
Omágua few? 156 [240] low? 0 urgent
(Kambeba, Omagua)
Lı́ngua Geral Amazônica ¼ coastal Tupi- >6000? med 1
(Nheengatu, Guarani altered by contact
Nhengatu)
Tapirapé 438 1
Tenetehára Guajajara 13100 2
Tembé 820 variable 2
Wayampı́ (Waiãpi; most? 525 high? 2
Oiampi; Wayampi,
Amapari)
Xetá 3 8 urgent
Zo’é (Puturú, Poturu) all 152 high 1

Table 7 Arawá (Anian) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Banawá-Yafı́ (Banawá) 215 high 1

Deni (Denı́) 738 high 1
Jarawára (Jaruára) 160 high 3
Kulı́na (Culina) 2318 high 1
Paumarı́ 870 low 3
Jamamadı́ (Yamamadı́, Kanamantı́) 800 high 1
Suruahá (Zuruahá) 143 high 1

Table 8 Katukina (Katukinan) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Kanamarı́ most? 1327 1

Katawixı́ 10? 250 0 urgent
Katukina do Rio Biá (Pedá Djapá, Katukı́na) few? 289 0 urgent
Txunhaã-Djapá (Tsohom-Djapá, Tshom- 30? 100 0 urgent
Djapa)

Table 9 Makú (Maku) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Bará (Kakua, Cacua) [220] in Brazil ?

Dâw (Kamã) 83 2
Húpda (Hupdë) close to Yuhúp 1800 [1800] high 2
Nadëb (Guariba) 400 1
Yuhúp (Yuhup) 400 1
126 Brazil: Language Situation

Table 10 Nambikwára (Nambiquaran) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, No. of Population Transmission Studies Endangered

groups speakers

Nambikwára do Norte 323 [346] med 2

(Mamaindê; Latundê; Nagarotê; Nambiquára,
Northern)
Nambikwára do Sul (Nambikuára, Southern) all [721] good 2
Sabanê (Sabanês) 7 active [30] none 2 urgent

Table 11 Chapakura (Txapakúra, Chapacura-Wanham) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Kujubim (Kuyubi) very close to Moré? 2? 27[50] none 0 urgent

Oro Win 5? 50 urgent
Torá 0? 51 [250] 0 urgent
Urupá ?0 [150] 0 urgent
any?
Warı́ (Pakaanova, Pakaásnovos) 1930 good 3

Table 12 Yanomami (Yanomam) family

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Ninam (Yanam) 466 11 700 high 2

Sanumá 462 total high 2
Yanomám (Yanomae, Yanomam̈o) 4000 high 2
Yanomami (Yanomámi) 6000 high 3

Table 13 Small families

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

[Bora Family]
[Miranha] dialect of Bora few? 613 0
Guaikurú (Guaicuruan) Family
Kadiwéu most 1592 high 2
[900]
Jabutı́ Family
Djeoromitxı́ (Jabutı́) 30? 123 low 1 urgent
Arikapú 2 19 none 1 urgent
Mura Family
Mura (Múra-Pirahã) any ? 5540 none 0 urgent
Pirahã (Múra-Pirahã) all 360 high 3
 Brazil: Language Situation 127

Table 14 Isolated languages

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Aikaná (Masaká, Kasupá, Tubarão) 264 med? 2

Iránxe (Irântxe) Mynky (dialect) 326 2
Kanoê (Kanoé) 5 95 low 2 urgent
Kwazà (Koaiá) 25 25 [40] low 3 urgent
Máku 1 [1] none 1 urgent
Trumái (Trumaı́) 51 120 low 2 urgent
Tikúna (Ticuna) 32 613 3

Table 15 Creole languages

Linguistic unit Dialects, groups No. of speakers Population Transmission Studies Endangered

Galibi Marwono (Carib) 1764 0

[860]
Karipuna do Norte (Karipúna Creole French) 1708 1
[672]

See also: Arawak Languages; Benveniste, Emile (1902–
1976); Cariban Languages; Endangered Languages; Evo-
lution of Semantics; Guarani; Meaning: Pre-20th Cen-
tury Theories; Polysemy and Homonymy; Tupian
Languages.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 51.
Bibliography
Adelaar W (2000). ‘Propuesta de un nuevo vı́nculo genético
entre dos grupos lingüı́sticos indı́genas de la Amazonia
occidental: harakmbut y katukina.’ In Miranda L (ed.)
Actas I Congresso de lenguas indı́genas de Sudamérica II.
Peru: Lima. 219–236.
Anchieta J de (1595). Arte e grammatica da lingua mais
usada na costa do Brasil. Coimbra: Antônio Mariz.
Cabral A S A C & Rodrigues A D (eds.) (2002). Lı́nguas
indı́genas brasileiras: fonologia, gramática e história; atas
do I Encontro Internacional do Grupo de Trabalho sobre
Lı́nguas Indı́genas da ANPOLL I and II. Belém: Editora
Universitária UFPA.
Centro de Documentação, Indı́gena. (1987). Povos indı́-
genas do Brasil. (Map). São Paulo: CEDI.
Crevels M, van de Kerke S, Meira S & van der Voort H
(eds.) (2002). Selected papers from the 50th International
Congress of Americanists in Warsaw and the Spinoza
Workshop on Amerindian Languages in Leiden, 2000.
CNWS Publications, 114. Leiden: Research School of
Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies.
Derbyshire C D & Pullum G K (eds.) (1986–1998). Hand-
book of Amazonian languages. 4 vols. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Dixon R M W & Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) (1999). The Ama-
zonian languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Franchetto B (2000). ‘O conhecimento cientı́fico das lı́n-
guas indı́genas da Amazônia no Brasil.’ In Queixalós F &
Renault-Lescure O (eds.). 165–182.
Klein H E & Stark L R (eds.) (1985). South American
Indian languages: retrospect and prospect. Austin:
University of Texas Press.
Mattoso Câmara J Jr (1965). Introdução às lı́nguas indı́-
genas brasileiras. Rio de Janeiro: Livraria Acadêmica.
Meira S & Franchetto B (2005). ‘The Southern Cariban
languages and the Cariban family.’ International Journal
of American Linguistics 71(2), 127–190.
Moore D (forthcoming). ‘Endangered languages of lowland
tropical South America.’ In Brenzinger M (ed.) Language
diversity endangered. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Noble G K (1965). Proto-Arawakan and its descendents.
Bloomington: Indiana University Research Center in
Anthropology, Folklore, and Linguistics.
Payne D L (ed.) (1990). Amazonian linguistics: studies in
lowland South American languages. Austin: University of
Texas Press.
Queixalós F & Renault-Lescure O (eds.) (2000). As
lı́nguas Amazônicas hoje. São Paulo: Instituto Sócio
Ambiental.
Rodrigues A D (1986). Lı́nguas brasileiras: para o con-
hecimento das lı́nguas indı́genas. São Paulo: Edições
Loyola.
Rodrigues A D (1993). ‘Endangered languages in Brazil.’
unpublished manuscript from the Symposium on
endangered languages of South America. Leiden: Rijks
Universiteit.
Roosevelt A C (1994). ‘Amazonian anthropology:
strategy for a new synthesis.’ In Amazonian Indians
from prehistory to the present. Tucson: The University
of Arizona Press. 1–29.
Seki L (1999). ‘A lingüı́stica indı́gena no Brasil.’ Revista
de Documentação de Estudos em Lingüı́stica Teórica
e Aplicada 15, 257–290.
128 Brazil: Language Situation
Seki L (2000). Gramática do Kamaiurá. Campinas: Editora
da UNICAMP.
van der Voort H & van de Kerke S (eds.) (2000). Indigenous
languages of lowland South America. Indigenous lan-
guages of Latin America, vol. 1, CNWS publications
90. Leiden: Research School of Asian, African, and
Amerindian Studies.
Wetzels L (1995). Estudos fonológicos das lı́nguas indı́-
genas brasileiras. Rio de Janeiro: Editora UFRJ.
Bréal, Michel Jules Alfred (1832–1915)
E Guimarães, Institute of Language Studies–Unicamp,
São Paulo Campinas, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bréal, French linguist and one of the founders of
semantic linguistics, studied Sanskrit in Berlin with
Bopp and Albrecht Weber. He received his Ph.D. in
1863, defending the thesis Hércules et Cacus. Étude
de mithologie comparée and Des noms perses dans les
ecrivains grecs. In 1864, he became a professor of
compared grammar at the Collège de France.
In 1868, he joined the group that founded the École
des Hautes Études, where he became director and was,
for a time, Ferdinand de Saussure’s professor. From
1879 to 1888, he was Inspector General of French
Public Instruction. His work was dedicated to three
domains: the study of ancient inscriptions and myths,
the study of historical and compared linguistics,
and reflection on questions related to teaching.
He himself named his work in linguistics semantics,
having been the first to use this word in a linguistic
discipline (Bréal, 1883). In these studies, Bréal includ-
ed himself in the historical perspective of the 19th
century and considered that semantics deals with
the change of the signification of words (Delesalle,
1988). He differed from the comparativists of his time
(Aarsleff, 1981; Delesalle, 1980), as he considered
that language does not reduce to forms and that its
study must necessarily include the meaning (Bréal,
1866).
Changes in language are not natural, ruled by inevi-
table laws, but occur by man’s willful action and intel-
ligence. Willful action, which is not conscious, is
constituted by the slow and groping agreement of the
will of many, a collective will. Intelligence is a faculty
of knowledge and has its origin in the functioning
of the sign. Language represents an accumulation of
intellectual work. Therefore, language is not a natural
science; it is historical and cultural (Bréal, 1897).
In this domain, Bréal established a fundamental
concept in semantics studies – that of polysemy –
Relevant Websites
http://www.socioambiental.org – Instituto Sócio Ambiental
(ISA).
http://www.geocities.com/linguasindigenas/ – Listserv about
indigenous languages in Brazil.
and this aspect can be found in the work that
synthesizes the principal points of his production
(1897). Willful action and intelligence change the
signification of a word that, not losing its previous
signification, takes on more than one meaning. Poly-
semy is the result of history and is one of the places
that represent the accumulation of the intellectual
work of the language.
Another important aspect, also present in the Éssai
de sémantique, is what he called the subjective ele-
ment. He who speaks is marked in what he spoke. In
languages there are the forms that, when used, mark
this presence. Personal pronouns are one of the exam-
ples of these forms, which would later be crucial in
the work of Émile Benveniste.
See also: Bopp, Franz (1791–1867); Weber, Albrecht Frie-
drich (1825–1901).
Bibliography
Aarsleff H (1981). ‘Bréal, la Sémantique et Saussure.’ His-
toire, Epistémologie, Langage III 2, 115–134.
Bréal M (1863). Hercule et Cacus, étude de mythologie
comparée. Paris: A. Durand.
Bréal M (1866). ‘De la forme et de la fonction des mots.’
Revue des cours littéraires de la France et de l’étranger,
fascicle dated December 29, 1866. In Desmet P &
Swiggers P (eds.) (1995) De la grammaire comparée à la
sémantique. Textes de Michel Bréal publiés entre 1864 et
1898. Paris: Peeters.
Bréal M (1883). ‘Les lois intellectuelles du langage. Frag-
ment de sémantique.’ Annuaire de l’Association pour
l’Encouragement des Études Grecques em France, 17.
In Desmet P & Swiggers P (eds.) (1995) De la grammaire
comparée à la sémantique. Textes de Michel Bréal publiés
entre 1864 et 1898. Paris: Peeters.
Bréal M (1897). Éssai de sémantique. Paris: Hachette.
Delesalle S (1980). ‘L’analogie: d’un arbitraire à l’autre.’
Langue Française 46, 90–108.
Delesalle S (1988). ‘L’Éssai de Sémantique de Bréal, du
‘transformisme,’ à la diachronie.’ In La Linguistique
génétique. Histoire et théories. Paris: PUF.
128 Brazil: Language Situation
Seki L (2000). Gramática do Kamaiurá. Campinas: Editora
da UNICAMP.
van der Voort H & van de Kerke S (eds.) (2000). Indigenous
languages of lowland South America. Indigenous lan-
guages of Latin America, vol. 1, CNWS publications
90. Leiden: Research School of Asian, African, and
Amerindian Studies.
Wetzels L (1995). Estudos fonológicos das lı́nguas indı́-
genas brasileiras. Rio de Janeiro: Editora UFRJ.
Bréal, Michel Jules Alfred (1832–1915)
E Guimarães, Institute of Language Studies–Unicamp,
São Paulo Campinas, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bréal, French linguist and one of the founders of
semantic linguistics, studied Sanskrit in Berlin with
Bopp and Albrecht Weber. He received his Ph.D. in
1863, defending the thesis Hércules et Cacus. Étude
de mithologie comparée and Des noms perses dans les
ecrivains grecs. In 1864, he became a professor of
compared grammar at the Collège de France.
In 1868, he joined the group that founded the École
des Hautes Études, where he became director and was,
for a time, Ferdinand de Saussure’s professor. From
1879 to 1888, he was Inspector General of French
Public Instruction. His work was dedicated to three
domains: the study of ancient inscriptions and myths,
the study of historical and compared linguistics,
and reflection on questions related to teaching.
He himself named his work in linguistics semantics,
having been the first to use this word in a linguistic
discipline (Bréal, 1883). In these studies, Bréal includ-
ed himself in the historical perspective of the 19th
century and considered that semantics deals with
the change of the signification of words (Delesalle,
1988). He differed from the comparativists of his time
(Aarsleff, 1981; Delesalle, 1980), as he considered
that language does not reduce to forms and that its
study must necessarily include the meaning (Bréal,
1866).
Changes in language are not natural, ruled by inevi-
table laws, but occur by man’s willful action and intel-
ligence. Willful action, which is not conscious, is
constituted by the slow and groping agreement of the
will of many, a collective will. Intelligence is a faculty
of knowledge and has its origin in the functioning
of the sign. Language represents an accumulation of
intellectual work. Therefore, language is not a natural
science; it is historical and cultural (Bréal, 1897).
In this domain, Bréal established a fundamental
concept in semantics studies – that of polysemy –
Relevant Websites
http://www.socioambiental.org – Instituto Sócio Ambiental
(ISA).
http://www.geocities.com/linguasindigenas/ – Listserv about
indigenous languages in Brazil.
and this aspect can be found in the work that
synthesizes the principal points of his production
(1897). Willful action and intelligence change the
signification of a word that, not losing its previous
signification, takes on more than one meaning. Poly-
semy is the result of history and is one of the places
that represent the accumulation of the intellectual
work of the language.
Another important aspect, also present in the Éssai
de sémantique, is what he called the subjective ele-
ment. He who speaks is marked in what he spoke. In
languages there are the forms that, when used, mark
this presence. Personal pronouns are one of the exam-
ples of these forms, which would later be crucial in
the work of Émile Benveniste.
See also: Bopp, Franz (1791–1867); Weber, Albrecht Frie-
drich (1825–1901).
Bibliography
Aarsleff H (1981). ‘Bréal, la Sémantique et Saussure.’ His-
toire, Epistémologie, Langage III 2, 115–134.
Bréal M (1863). Hercule et Cacus, étude de mythologie
comparée. Paris: A. Durand.
Bréal M (1866). ‘De la forme et de la fonction des mots.’
Revue des cours littéraires de la France et de l’étranger,
fascicle dated December 29, 1866. In Desmet P &
Swiggers P (eds.) (1995) De la grammaire comparée à la
sémantique. Textes de Michel Bréal publiés entre 1864 et
1898. Paris: Peeters.
Bréal M (1883). ‘Les lois intellectuelles du langage. Frag-
ment de sémantique.’ Annuaire de l’Association pour
l’Encouragement des Études Grecques em France, 17.
In Desmet P & Swiggers P (eds.) (1995) De la grammaire
comparée à la sémantique. Textes de Michel Bréal publiés
entre 1864 et 1898. Paris: Peeters.
Bréal M (1897). Éssai de sémantique. Paris: Hachette.
Delesalle S (1980). ‘L’analogie: d’un arbitraire à l’autre.’
Langue Française 46, 90–108.
Delesalle S (1988). ‘L’Éssai de Sémantique de Bréal, du
‘transformisme,’ à la diachronie.’ In La Linguistique
génétique. Histoire et théories. Paris: PUF.

Bredsdorff, Jakob Hornemann (1790–1841)
J van Pottelberge, Ghent University, Ghent, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Though trained as a natural scientist, Jakob Horne-
mann Bredsdorff is remembered most of all as one of
the first scientific runologists and historical linguists.
He was born on April 3, 1790, in Vester Skerninge
(on the island of Fyn, Denmark) into a line of highly
educated Lutheran priests. After thorough prepara-
tion at home, Bredsdorff entered Nykøbing Cathedral
School in 1807. Here, his language teacher was
S. N. J. Bloch, a renowned philologist and pedagogue
who also taught Rasmus Rask. In 1809 Bredsdorff
enrolled at the University of Copenhagen, where he
received a first degree in Divinity in 1814 and a
doctoral degree in natural sciences in 1817. Early on
in Copenhagen, if not before, Bredsdorff met Rask,
with whom he was friends until the latter’s death in
1832. He spent most of his career as a reader in
geology and botany at the prestigious private school
Sorø Academy, where he died on June 16, 1841.
Bredsdorff left a small but remarkable body of
linguistic writings. He owes his special place in the
history of linguistics most of all to his highly original
paper On the causes of linguistic change (published in
Danish in 1821), which provides a genuine theory of
language change, with the speaker as the central locus
of change. It differs fundamentally from the ideas
of Rask, who treated language history in terms of
natural history. Being at least 40 years ahead of its
time and published in an examination program of
Roskilde Cathedral School, the paper passed unno-
ticed. It was rediscovered and republished by Vilhelm
Thomsen in 1886.
In the long-standing Scandinavian tradition of
runology, Bredsdorff gave the first more-or-less
correct interpretation of the runic inscription on the
famous Golden Horn of Gallehus (1839), which
Breton
J Le Dû, Université de Bretagne Occidentale,
Brest, France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Breton (brezoneg, brezhoneg) belongs to the Brythonic
branch of the Celtic languages. It is spoken in Lower
Brittany, and its linguistic border is the western-
most limit of the withdrawal of Celtic before Roman
expansion.
Breton 129
ultimately led to today’s standard transliteration by
Ludvig Wimmer. He was also the first to realize that
the 24-character runic alphabet was older than the
more common 16-character alphabet, though he
derived both erroneously from Ulfilas Gothic
alphabet. His data-oriented analysis of the relation-
ships between the Germanic languages also fore-
shadowed modern views, arguing that Gothic
should be considered a separate branch of Germanic
and not the ancestor of High German or all Germanic
languages together.
Being well aware of the gap between the rough
classification of sounds in orthography and the more
sophisticated differentiations in pronunciation,
Bredsdorff tried to develop an alphabet to represent
pronunciation more accurately, which he applied to
both standard and colloquial Danish in 1817.
The sources of Bredsdorff’s linguistic insights have
not yet been investigated; preliminary information
can be found in Andersen (1982).
See also: Gothic; Phonetic Transcription: History; Rask,
Rasmus Kristian (1787–1832); Runes; Thomsen, Vilhelm
Ludvig Peter (1824–1927).
Bibliography
Andersen H (1982). ‘On the causes of linguistic change
(1821) by Jakob Hornemann Bredsdorff. English transla-
tion with commentary and an essay on J. H. Bredsdorff.’
Historiographia Linguistica 9, 1–41.
Glahder J (ed.) (1933). J. H. Bredsdorffs udvalgte afhand-
linger inden for sprogvidenskab og runologi. Copenha-
gen: Levin & Munksgaard.
Sandfeld K (1979). ‘Bredsdorff, Jakob Hornemann.’ In
Cedergreen Bech S (ed.) Dansk biografisk leksikon (3rd
edn.), vol. 2. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. 497–498.
Breton has long been considered the continuation
of Gaulish. Linguistic studies in the 19th century
smothered all purported genetic connection between
Breton and French and also any close relationship
to Gaulish. Some historians argued that Breton had
been imported whole by immigrants from Britain into
a thoroughly romanized Armorica. Modern Celtic
studies confirmed the view that Breton was a late
offshoot of British Celtic. We now know that emigra-
tion from Britain began before the Saxon invasions,

Bredsdorff, Jakob Hornemann (1790–1841)
J van Pottelberge, Ghent University, Ghent, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Though trained as a natural scientist, Jakob Horne-
mann Bredsdorff is remembered most of all as one of
the first scientific runologists and historical linguists.
He was born on April 3, 1790, in Vester Skerninge
(on the island of Fyn, Denmark) into a line of highly
educated Lutheran priests. After thorough prepara-
tion at home, Bredsdorff entered Nykøbing Cathedral
School in 1807. Here, his language teacher was
S. N. J. Bloch, a renowned philologist and pedagogue
who also taught Rasmus Rask. In 1809 Bredsdorff
enrolled at the University of Copenhagen, where he
received a first degree in Divinity in 1814 and a
doctoral degree in natural sciences in 1817. Early on
in Copenhagen, if not before, Bredsdorff met Rask,
with whom he was friends until the latter’s death in
1832. He spent most of his career as a reader in
geology and botany at the prestigious private school
Sorø Academy, where he died on June 16, 1841.
Bredsdorff left a small but remarkable body of
linguistic writings. He owes his special place in the
history of linguistics most of all to his highly original
paper On the causes of linguistic change (published in
Danish in 1821), which provides a genuine theory of
language change, with the speaker as the central locus
of change. It differs fundamentally from the ideas
of Rask, who treated language history in terms of
natural history. Being at least 40 years ahead of its
time and published in an examination program of
Roskilde Cathedral School, the paper passed unno-
ticed. It was rediscovered and republished by Vilhelm
Thomsen in 1886.
In the long-standing Scandinavian tradition of
runology, Bredsdorff gave the first more-or-less
correct interpretation of the runic inscription on the
famous Golden Horn of Gallehus (1839), which
Breton
J Le Dû, Université de Bretagne Occidentale,
Brest, France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Breton (brezoneg, brezhoneg) belongs to the Brythonic
branch of the Celtic languages. It is spoken in Lower
Brittany, and its linguistic border is the western-
most limit of the withdrawal of Celtic before Roman
expansion.
Breton 129
ultimately led to today’s standard transliteration by
Ludvig Wimmer. He was also the first to realize that
the 24-character runic alphabet was older than the
more common 16-character alphabet, though he
derived both erroneously from Ulfilas Gothic
alphabet. His data-oriented analysis of the relation-
ships between the Germanic languages also fore-
shadowed modern views, arguing that Gothic
should be considered a separate branch of Germanic
and not the ancestor of High German or all Germanic
languages together.
Being well aware of the gap between the rough
classification of sounds in orthography and the more
sophisticated differentiations in pronunciation,
Bredsdorff tried to develop an alphabet to represent
pronunciation more accurately, which he applied to
both standard and colloquial Danish in 1817.
The sources of Bredsdorff’s linguistic insights have
not yet been investigated; preliminary information
can be found in Andersen (1982).
See also: Gothic; Phonetic Transcription: History; Rask,
Rasmus Kristian (1787–1832); Runes; Thomsen, Vilhelm
Ludvig Peter (1824–1927).
Bibliography
Andersen H (1982). ‘On the causes of linguistic change
(1821) by Jakob Hornemann Bredsdorff. English transla-
tion with commentary and an essay on J. H. Bredsdorff.’
Historiographia Linguistica 9, 1–41.
Glahder J (ed.) (1933). J. H. Bredsdorffs udvalgte afhand-
linger inden for sprogvidenskab og runologi. Copenha-
gen: Levin & Munksgaard.
Sandfeld K (1979). ‘Bredsdorff, Jakob Hornemann.’ In
Cedergreen Bech S (ed.) Dansk biografisk leksikon (3rd
edn.), vol. 2. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. 497–498.
Breton has long been considered the continuation
of Gaulish. Linguistic studies in the 19th century
smothered all purported genetic connection between
Breton and French and also any close relationship
to Gaulish. Some historians argued that Breton had
been imported whole by immigrants from Britain into
a thoroughly romanized Armorica. Modern Celtic
studies confirmed the view that Breton was a late
offshoot of British Celtic. We now know that emigra-
tion from Britain began before the Saxon invasions,
130 Breton
so that most scholars acknowledge that Breton is
rooted in Armorican Gaulish, absorbing different
varieties of British Celtic.
A traditional view of the language purports the exis-
tence of a unified old Breton, supposed to have split
into four dialects, named after the dioceses as they
existed before the 1789 French Revolution: Léonais
for the diocese of Léon, Trégorrois for Tréguier,
Cornouaillais for Cornouaille, and Vannetais for
Vannes. There are, in fact, two major dialect groups:
(1) KLT – Cornouaille (Kerne), Léon, Trégor and
(2) Vannetais, the western border of which is the river
Ellé. Falc’hun (1962, 1981) has reported the existence
of an intermediate dialect centered on Carhaix, the
meeting point of all the major roads, and constituting
a bridge between remote linguistic forms, like the
reflexes of the dental spirants from old Celtic *tt and
*d. Léon deiz ‘day’ and dervez ‘duration of a day’
(Welsh dydd and dyddwaith) are far removed from
vannetais de and deùeh. The central forms are de and
devez, dropping z from *d as in vannetais, but keeping
z from *tt as in Léon. The primitive twofold partition
could reflect the difference between Osismii and
Venetes Gaulish, the latter keeping closer to Armorican.
An intensity stress generally falls on the penulti-
mate in the northwest, whereas in the Southeast a
pitch stress affects the last syllable, not unlike French.
Voiceless consonants and /m/ are fortes, voiced spir-
ants are lenes, and voiced stops and /l/, /n/ and /r/ can be
either. Vowels are short before fortes and long before
lenes when stressed. One can thus oppose ar zal ‘the
room’ (long [a:], weak [l]) and zall ‘salted’ (short [a],
strong [l]). There can be up to eight phonemic nasal
vowels, which are not borrowings from French, but
archaic features, as in hañv ‘summer’.
Primitive consonants were weakened, especially
between vowels. These changes survived the loss of
final syllables, turning a simple phonetic mechanism
into a grammatical device called ‘lenition,’ so that the
initial consonants of feminine words are lenited after
the article – originally ending in a vowel – and also
the following adjective: mamm ‘mother,’ mad ‘good,’
ar vamm vad ‘the good mother.’ The geminate voice-
less fortes became voiceless spirants, giving rise to the
spirant mutation: penn ‘head,’ he fenn ‘her head.’
Another sandhi phenomenon caused the so-called
provective mutation: a final -h in hoh ‘your’ devoices
a following voiced initial consonant, as in bugel
‘child,’ ho(h) pugel ‘your child.’
Final consonants are devoiced before pausa. Ma zad
‘my father’ keeps a long [a:], but a devoiced -d when
final, the voice being restored when the utterance
is followed by a vowel as in ma zad eo ‘(he) is my
father’. All voiceless consonants are voiced before a
vowel or l, m, n, and r. Native Breton speakers are
readily recognizable in French when they pronounce
toud’ la z’maine for toute la semaine ‘during the
whole week.’
English and Breton grammars show striking
similarities; for example, both use a compulsory peri-
phrastic progressive in opposition to a simple present:
Ma breur ne gan ket ‘my brother does not sing’ vs. ma
breur n’ema ket o kana ‘my brother is not singing.’
The lexis is basically Celtic (dorn ‘fist, hand’, Welsh
dwrn, Gaelic dorn; den ‘person’, Welsh dyn, Gaelic
duine). About 500 common words are Latin borrow-
ings (taol <tabula ‘table,’ spered < spiritus ‘mind,’
kistin < castanea ‘chestnut’). For centuries, a flow
of romance and French words has enriched the
language, very much like in English. Some words
have been kept in both languages while disappearing
from French; for example, skourje ‘whip’ from
escourgée, écourgée, English scourge. The most im-
portant borrowings are the numerous affixes, taken
both from Latin (-adur < -atura as in skub-adur
‘sweepings’) and French (lenn-abl ‘read-able’).
Polls carried out in 1991 and 1997 show that from
1950 to 1990, the percentage of Breton speakers has
decreased from about roughly 70 to 20% of the pop-
ulation. In 2004, it is estimated that about 250 000
persons are able to speak the language, and most
of them are over 60 years old. French has become
dominant because of the unprecedented social and
agricultural revolution occurring in Brittany.
Before 1941, there existed two written forms,
called at the time ‘breton vannetais’ and ‘bas-breton,’
which had been developed in the two Jesuit colleges
of Quimper and Vannes in the 17th century; each
form had its own grammars, dictionaries, and litera-
ture. In 1941 the peurunvan ‘totally unified’ orthog-
raphy was established. ‘Cat,’ kaz in KLT and kah in
vannetais, would be spelled kazh. A new spelling
called ‘orthographe universitaire,’ which was closer
to the spoken language, was created in 1954. Finally,
a third orthography, etrerannyezhel ‘interdialectal,’
was created in the 1970s to take into account all
regional differences.
Both the French State and the Breton Regional
Assembly have encouraged publishing in the Breton
language in the last 30 years, and Breton is partially
used on local state-owned (France-Bleu Breiz Izel)
and private radio (like Radio Kerne) and television
stations (France 3).
Degrees in Breton, at all levels, are delivered in
Rennes and Brest. Breton language teachers have
been recruited since 1982 to teach in the secondary
schools. Breton is taught to about 5000 children at the
primary level in a few bilingual classes in public and
Catholic schools, and the private Diwan schools
teach mostly through Breton. However, less than

1% of Breton children benefit from this bilingual
education.
See also: Celtic; France: Language Situation; Welsh.
Bibliography
Balcou J & Le Gallo Y (eds.) (1987). Histoire littéraire
et culturelle de la Bretagne. Paris-Genève: Champion-
Slatkine.
Broudic F (1995). La pratique du breton de l’ancien régime
à nos jours. Rennes: PUR.
Falc’hun F (1962). ‘Le Breton, forme moderne du gaulois,
Rennes.’ Annales de Bretagne 64(4).
Falc’hun F (1981). Perspectives nouvelles sur l’histoire de la
langue bretonne. Paris: UGE.
Fleuriot L (1980). Les origines de la Bretagne. Paris: Payot.
Guiomar J-Y (1987). Le Bretonisme: les historiens bretons
au XIX! siècle. Société d’Histoire et d’archéologie de
Bretagne.
Hélias P-J (1979). The horse of pride – life in a Breton
village. London/New Haven: Yale University Press.
Hemon R (1975). A historical morphology and syntax
of Breton. Dublin: The Dublin Institute for Advanced
Studies.
Hersart de La Villemarqué T (1867). Barzaz Breiz – chants
populaires de la Bretagne. Paris: Perrin.
Humphreys L l H (1995). Phonologie et morphosyntaxe du
parler breton de Bothoa en Saint-Nicolas-du-Pelem.
Brest: Emgleo Breiz-Brud Nevez.
British Indian Ocean Territory: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The British Indian Ocean Territories comprise an
overseas territory of the United Kingdom. It consists
of more than 2000 islands in the Indian Ocean to the
south of India, midway between Africa and Indonesia.
The territory was established in 1965, when it was
slightly larger than today; in 1976 a number of islands
became part of the newly independent Seychelles.
Currently the British Indian Ocean Territories com-
prise the six main island groups that make up the
British Indian Ocean Territory: Language Situation 131
Jackson K (1967). A historical phonology of Breton.
Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies.
Le Berre Y & Le Dû J (1997). ‘Nommer le breton.’ In
Tabouret-Keller (ed.) Le nom des langues I: les enjeux
de la, nomination des langues. Louvain-La-Neuve:
BCILL, Peeters.
Le Berre Y & Le Dû J (1999). ‘Le qui pro quo des langues
régionales: sauver la langue ou éduquer l’enfant?’ In Clairis
C, Costaouec D & Coyos J-B (eds.) Langues et cultures
régionales de France – Etat des lieux, enseignement,
politiques. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Le Dû J (2001). Nouvel atlas linguistique de la Basse-
Bretagne. Brest: CRBC.
Le Roux P (1924–1963). Atlas linguistique de la Basse-
Bretagne. Rennes and Paris.
Loth J (1883). L’immigration bretonne en Armorique du
Vème au VIIème siècles de notre ère. Paris.
McKenna M (1988). A handbook of modern spoken Breton.
Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Piette J F R (1973). French loanwords in Middle Breton.
Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
Ploneis J-M (1983). Au carrefour des dialectes breton: le
parler de Berrien. Paris: SELAF.
Sommerfelt A (1978). Le breton parlé à Saint-Pol-de-Léon:
phonétique et morphologie (2ème éd.). Oslo: Universitet-
forlaget.
Tanguy B (1977). Aux origines du nationalisme breton-le
renouveau des études bretonnes au XIXème siècle. Paris:
UGE.
Ternes E (1970). Grammaire structurale du breton de l’ı̂le
de Groix. Heidelberg: Carl Winter.
Chagos Archipelago. The largest of these islands is
Diego Garcia, which houses a joint U.K.–U.S. naval
support facility. It is the only island that is inhabited,
by approximately 1500 (U.K. and U.S.) military per-
sonnel and 2000 civilian contractors. During the
establishment of the naval base (1967–1973), the
local population of Ilois, mainly agricultural workers,
were relocated to Mauritius and the Seychelles. There
is a legal campaign to gain the right of return, but so
far this has been unsuccessful, largely due to the
special military status of Diego Garcia. Thus, the
official (and only) language of the British Indian
Ocean Territories is English.

1% of Breton children benefit from this bilingual
education.
See also: Celtic; France: Language Situation; Welsh.
Bibliography
Balcou J & Le Gallo Y (eds.) (1987). Histoire littéraire
et culturelle de la Bretagne. Paris-Genève: Champion-
Slatkine.
Broudic F (1995). La pratique du breton de l’ancien régime
à nos jours. Rennes: PUR.
Falc’hun F (1962). ‘Le Breton, forme moderne du gaulois,
Rennes.’ Annales de Bretagne 64(4).
Falc’hun F (1981). Perspectives nouvelles sur l’histoire de la
langue bretonne. Paris: UGE.
Fleuriot L (1980). Les origines de la Bretagne. Paris: Payot.
Guiomar J-Y (1987). Le Bretonisme: les historiens bretons
au XIX! siècle. Société d’Histoire et d’archéologie de
Bretagne.
Hélias P-J (1979). The horse of pride – life in a Breton
village. London/New Haven: Yale University Press.
Hemon R (1975). A historical morphology and syntax
of Breton. Dublin: The Dublin Institute for Advanced
Studies.
Hersart de La Villemarqué T (1867). Barzaz Breiz – chants
populaires de la Bretagne. Paris: Perrin.
Humphreys L l H (1995). Phonologie et morphosyntaxe du
parler breton de Bothoa en Saint-Nicolas-du-Pelem.
Brest: Emgleo Breiz-Brud Nevez.
British Indian Ocean Territory: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The British Indian Ocean Territories comprise an
overseas territory of the United Kingdom. It consists
of more than 2000 islands in the Indian Ocean to the
south of India, midway between Africa and Indonesia.
The territory was established in 1965, when it was
slightly larger than today; in 1976 a number of islands
became part of the newly independent Seychelles.
Currently the British Indian Ocean Territories com-
prise the six main island groups that make up the
British Indian Ocean Territory: Language Situation 131
Jackson K (1967). A historical phonology of Breton.
Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies.
Le Berre Y & Le Dû J (1997). ‘Nommer le breton.’ In
Tabouret-Keller (ed.) Le nom des langues I: les enjeux
de la, nomination des langues. Louvain-La-Neuve:
BCILL, Peeters.
Le Berre Y & Le Dû J (1999). ‘Le qui pro quo des langues
régionales: sauver la langue ou éduquer l’enfant?’ In Clairis
C, Costaouec D & Coyos J-B (eds.) Langues et cultures
régionales de France – Etat des lieux, enseignement,
politiques. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Le Dû J (2001). Nouvel atlas linguistique de la Basse-
Bretagne. Brest: CRBC.
Le Roux P (1924–1963). Atlas linguistique de la Basse-
Bretagne. Rennes and Paris.
Loth J (1883). L’immigration bretonne en Armorique du
Vème au VIIème siècles de notre ère. Paris.
McKenna M (1988). A handbook of modern spoken Breton.
Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Piette J F R (1973). French loanwords in Middle Breton.
Cardiff: University of Wales Press.
Ploneis J-M (1983). Au carrefour des dialectes breton: le
parler de Berrien. Paris: SELAF.
Sommerfelt A (1978). Le breton parlé à Saint-Pol-de-Léon:
phonétique et morphologie (2ème éd.). Oslo: Universitet-
forlaget.
Tanguy B (1977). Aux origines du nationalisme breton-le
renouveau des études bretonnes au XIXème siècle. Paris:
UGE.
Ternes E (1970). Grammaire structurale du breton de l’ı̂le
de Groix. Heidelberg: Carl Winter.
Chagos Archipelago. The largest of these islands is
Diego Garcia, which houses a joint U.K.–U.S. naval
support facility. It is the only island that is inhabited,
by approximately 1500 (U.K. and U.S.) military per-
sonnel and 2000 civilian contractors. During the
establishment of the naval base (1967–1973), the
local population of Ilois, mainly agricultural workers,
were relocated to Mauritius and the Seychelles. There
is a legal campaign to gain the right of return, but so
far this has been unsuccessful, largely due to the
special military status of Diego Garcia. Thus, the
official (and only) language of the British Indian
Ocean Territories is English.

Brøndal, Rasmus Viggo (1887–1942)
F Gregersen, University of Copenhagen,
Copenhagen, Denmark
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Viggo Brøndal, born Rasmus Viggo Hansen on
October 13, 1887, in Copenhagen, was a Danish lin-
guist and Romance philologist. He changed his name
from Hansen to Brøndal in 1912. Brøndal studied
with Sandfeld and Nyrop at the University of Copen-
hagen and graduated as magister artium in Romance
Philology in 1912. As a postgraduate, Brøndal stud-
ied with Bédier and Meillet in Paris for a year. In 1917
he was awarded the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
by the University of Copenhagen for a dissertation on
loans and substratum influences in Romance and
Germanic languages. The book is heavily influenced
by the sociological Meillet school and thereby atypi-
cal of Brøndal’s later work. From 1917 to 1925 he
worked as an assistant to the Place-Name Committee,
and then returned to Paris for a three-year period
where he was a reader of Danish at the Sorbonne.
In 1928 he was appointed Professor of Romance
Philology at the University of Copenhagen, a position
that he held until his death on December 14, 1942.
Viggo Brøndal was among the founding members
of the Linguistic Circle of Copenhagen (1931), and,
until his premature death, he was a major force in its
endeavors to further structural linguistics. In particu-
lar, he and Louis Hjelmslev together edited the Acta
Linguistica (later Acta Linguistica Hafniensia) from
its start (1937). Brøndal formed strong bonds with
other structuralists, such as Roman Jakobson, and
he functioned as the secretary general of the 1936
Copenhagen Congress of Linguists, which was
presided over by his former teacher, Otto Jespersen.
Brøndal’s particular kind of structuralism is of an
idealist transcendent type, based on his reception of
the Aristotelian categories. From his work on word
classes (1928), arguably his best book, until his theo-
ry of the prepositions (1940), the vision is refined, but
the outlines remain the same: The four generic con-
cepts of descriptum (D), descriptor (d), relatum (R),
and relator (r) may be combined to form what are
seen as the possible linguistic categories in any specif-
ic system. Brøndal uses his categories to analyze the
relation between morphology and syntax in his 1932
book on the subject and later wrote a number of
Brøndal, Rasmus Viggo (1887–1942) 133
papers, collected in the posthumously published
Essais de linguistique générale (1943).
Viggo Brøndal was a fascinating orator, and the
debates between him and Hjelmslev were both fierce
and singularly gratifying for a whole generation of
Danish linguists. Brøndal deeply influenced his imme-
diate pupils, the Nordic philologist Paul Diderichsen,
the Romance philologist Knud Togeby, and the liter-
ary historian Hans Sørensen, but none of them are
seen to adhere to his theory, strictly speaking, in their
later works. The theory is justly characterized by Eli
Fischer-Jørgensen as a great intellectual achievement
in that it seeks to capture everything linguistic with
rather few but very abstract concepts and strives
to treat all linguistic levels from phonology through
word classes (morphology) to syntax and semantics
using only these same concepts to arrive finally at
a characteristic of a language – and through this –
a culture. But unlike Hjelmslev’s theory, Brøndal’s
impressive structure has remained outside the
mainstream of linguistics.
See also: Copenhagen School; Scandinavia: History of
Linguistics.
Bibliography
Brandt P A (ed.) (1989). Linguistique et sémiotique:
Actualité de Brøndal. Travaux du Cercle Linguistique
de Copenhague, Vol. 22, C.A. Reitzel: Cph.
Brøndal V (1943). Essais de linguistique générale.
Munksgaard: Cph.
Brøndal V (1948). Les Parties du discours. Munksgaard:
Cph. [Original Danish ed., 1928.]
Brøndal V (1948). Substrat et emprunt. Munksgaard: Cph./
Institutul de linguistica româna. [Original Danish ed.,
1917.]
Brøndal V (1950). Théorie des prépositions. Munksgaard:
Cph. (Original Danish ed., 1940.)
Fischer-Jørgensen E (1979). Viggio Brøndal, Cedergreen
Bech (ed.): Dansk biografisk leksikon, Vol. 1.
Gyldendal: Cph.
Larsen S E (1987). ‘A semiotician in disguise: semiotic
aspects of the work of Viggo Brøndal.’ In Sebeok T &
Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) The semiotic web ’86. An inter-
national yearbook. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Larsen S E (1986). Sprogets geometri (vols 1–2). Odense:
Odense Universitets forlag.
Larsen S E (ed.) (1987). Langages 86: Actualité de Brøndal.
Paris: Larousse.
132 Brockelmann, Carl (1868–1956)
Brockelmann, Carl (1868–1956)
M V McDonald
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
pp. 415–416, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
The German Orientalist Brockelmann was born in
Rostock on September 17, 1868. While still at school,
his imagination was fired by the great geographical
discoveries then being made, and he showed an early
interest in exotic languages. However, on entering
Rostock University in 1886 he began with the study
of classics as offering more secure career prospects.
The award of a scholarship allowed him to move
shortly to Breslau (now Wroclaw) where he studied
Semitic and Indo–European philology. At this time he
also taught himself Turkish, a language which was to
remain an abiding interest. In 1888 he went to Stras-
bourg (then in Germany) in order to study under
Nöldeke (see Nöldeke, Theodor. Here he occupied
himself with Sanskrit, Armenian, and Ancient Egyp-
tian. By 1892 he was once again in Breslau where he
completed his Habilitation (on Ibn al-Jawzi), wrote
his Lexicon Syriacum, and traveled for the first time
to Turkey. While in Constantinople he made the ac-
quaintance of Jahn, to whose chair in Königsberg he
was later to succeed. These years in Breslau saw in
particular the preparation of his edition of Ibn Qutay-
ba’s ‘Uyūn al-Akhbār (Berlin/Strasbourg, 1900–
1908) and the first edition of his Geschichte der Ara-
bischen Litteratur (Weimar/Berlin, 1898–1902).
In 1903 he was appointed to a chair in Königsberg,
where he completed his own best-loved work, the
Grundriss der Vergleichenden Grammatik der
Semitischen Sprachen (Berlin, 1907–1913). In 1910
he accepted a chair in Halle, which became his home-
town for the rest of his life. In 1923 he went back to
Breslau, from which he finally retired to Halle in
1935. His years of retirement were overshadowed
by World War II and its ensuing miseries. His son
was taken prisoner at Stalingrad, only returning in
the early 1950s, and his wife died in 1945. His savings
became worthless, and a period of extreme diffi-
culty was finally alleviated when in 1947 he was
made librarian to the Deutsche Morgenländische
Gesellschaft in Halle. It is said to be due to his efforts
that this library was not shipped to the Soviet Union
as war reparations. Even during these years, he con-
tinued to teach a number of languages, and his
scholarly energies remained undimmed. He retired
again in 1953 and was still working on his Hebräische
Syntax at his death (May 6, 1956).
During his lifetime, Brockelmann produced a mass
of articles and studies covering an enormous range of
Semitic and Turkish studies (see Fück, 1958), center-
ing mainly on grammar, syntax, and lexicography. He
is best remembered however, by Arabists at least, for
his Geschichte der arabischen Literatur, the final ver-
sion of which appeared in Leiden (1943–1949). This
is an invaluable but unwieldy work; to some extent it
has been superseded by later works, but it is still
indispensable, even though it is occasionally impossi-
ble to identify his references. He is one of the select
band of Orientalists whose name has become a house-
hold work in the field, and a copy of ‘Brockelmann’ is
one of the most-used works in any Arabic library.
See also: Nöldeke, Theodor (1836–1930); Semitic Lan-
guages.
Bibliography
Fück J (1958). Obituary in Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift
der Martin-Luther-Universität Halle–Wittenberg. 7, 4.
Ges. Sprachw., Halle/Saale.
Sellheim R (1981). ‘Autobiographische Aufzeichnungen
und Erinnerungen von Carl Brockelmann.’ Oriens
27–28, 1–65.
134 Brosses, Charles de (1709–1777)
Brosses, Charles de (1709–1777)
G Haßler, University of Potsdam, Potsdam, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Charles de Brosses was born in Dijon, France, on
February 7, 1709, and died in Paris, on May 7,
1777. He was a French magistrate and scholar, who
came from a family of judges and studied in his home
town. A classmate of Georges Louis Leclerc de Buffon
(1707–1788) at Godrans Collège in Dijon, he was
appointed judge at the Burgundian Parlement des
États (1730), later becoming a conseiller (1741) and
finally first president (1775). He also followed his
inclination towards literature and science, and, dur-
ing a visit to Italy in 1739–1740, he wrote his letters
on Italy which were published posthumously. His
friend Buffon solicited him to undertake the compo-
sition of his Histoire des navigations aux terres aus-
trales (1756). This work included many word lists
and was translated into English and German. De
Brosses was the first to lay down the geographical
divisions of Australasia and Polynesia, which were
afterwards adopted by succeeding geographers. His
works on the history and origins of language earned
him a reputation as a theorist in this field. He was
elected to the Académie des Inscriptions in 1758.
In 1760 de Brosses published a dissertation, Du
culte des dieux fétiches, which was afterwards in-
serted into the Encyclopédie méthodique. In this
work, secretly smuggled into France after having
been rejected by the Académie des Inscriptions, he
developed the hypothesis that all divinities had a
physical origin and that they were initially material
objects adored for their own sake.
In 1765 appeared his work on the origin of lan-
guage, Le Traité de la formation méchanique des
langues. De Brosses aimed at giving a naturalistic
interpretation to symbolic functioning. Language is
for him primarily an organic phenomenon. ‘Mechani-
cal’ was not a neutral term, but was taken from
the works of Jean Baptiste le Rond d’Alembert
(1717–1783), who used it to designate a part of ap-
plied mathematics which tried to explain movement
and its forces. The linguistic use of the term mechani-
cal was not invented by de Brosses, but he took it up
from Noël Antoine Pluche (1688–1761), who used it
in a work on the acquisition of languages by children
(La Méchanique des langues et l’art de les enseigner,
1751). De Brosses goes further in his explanation,
adopting materialist connotations of the mechanical
description of the first languages. Their elements
should be natural and necessary and can be found in
any language. His aim was to observe the operation
of the expressive movement of the body and the icon-
ic links between the first sounds and the objects they
represent. Nature is the author of the germination
of sound and the first true words. The gradual evolu-
tion of languages towards arbitrariness does not elim-
inate this link. He developed a phonetic theory which
allowed him to link words of different languages with
their organic root.
Nevertheless, de Brosses’s emphasis on etymology
and the study of regularities of sound change does
not make him a forerunner of historical linguistics. In
this respect, the Traité was more likely a failure. De
Brosses thought that we would be able to compare
all languages on the basis of their organic roots and
that the forms of unknown languages would fit easily
into this scheme. He stressed the word in itself, inde-
pendent of its relation to specific languages. Together
with his thesis of a universal family of languages this
emphasis produces an unbridgeable gap which sepa-
rates his theory from the comparative grammar of the
19th century.
De Brosses was occupied throughout most of his
life with a translation of Sallust, attempting to
supply the lost chapters of that celebrated historian’s
work. These literary occupations did not prevent the
author from efficiently executing his official duties
as first president of the parliament of Burgundy, nor
from carrying on a constant and extensive correspon-
dence with the most distinguished literary figures of
his time. Presenting himself as a candidate for the
Académie Française in 1770, de Brosses was rejected
due to the opposition of Voltaire (1694–1778) on
personal grounds.
See also: 18th Century Linguistic Thought; Origin of Lan-
guage Debate.
Bibliography
Auroux S (1979). La sémiotique des encyclopédistes: essai
d’épistémologie historique des sciences du langage. Paris:
Payot.
Bézard Y ([1937] 1939). Le Président de Brosses et ses amis
de Genève, d’après les correspondances inédites échangés
entre Charles de Brosses, Bénigne Legouz de Gerland,
Charles Bonnet, Pierre Pictet, Jean Jallabert. Annales
de Bourgogne, January–March 1937. Paris: Ancienne
Librarie Furne, Boivin et Cie.
Brosses C de (1765). Traité de la formation méchanique
des langues et des principes physiques de l’étymologie.
Paris: Saillant.
Brosses C de ([1756] 1967). Histoire des navigations aux
terres australes. Amsterdam: Nico Israel.

Brosses C de (1995). Lettres familières d’Italie: lettres
écrites d’Italie en 1739 et 1740. Brussels: Editions
Complexe.
Garreta J-C (ed.) (1981). Charles de Brosses 1777–1977:
actes du colloque organisé à Dijon du 3 au 7 mai 1977
pour le deuxième centenaire de la mort du président de
Brosses, par l’Académie des Sciences, Arts et Belles Let-
Brown, Gillian
G Yule, Kaaawa, HI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Gillian (Gill) Brown, with a Cambridge M.A., had
already taught in Ghana (1962–1964) before becom-
ing an assistant lecturer in Phonetics and Linguistics
at Edinburgh University in 1965. After fieldwork in
Uganda, Gill published an early paper in generative
phonology (Brown, 1970), which became part of her
Edinburgh doctoral dissertation on the phonology of
Lumasaaba in 1971, and the basis of a scholarly
monograph (Brown, 1972). In the 1970s, Gill’s
work on the practical applications of phonetics and
phonology led to her widely acclaimed book on lis-
tening to spoken English (Brown, 1977/1990). Later,
Gill’s intonation project (1975–1979), funded by the
first of many research grants, developed innovative
methods of eliciting and analyzing spoken data
(Brown et al., 1980). Gill then combined linguistics,
cognitive psychology, and the study of discourse
structure to create a book that helped define the
field of discourse analysis for many linguists (Brown
and Yule, 1983a). Further research projects resulted
in more books, two on the teaching and testing of
spoken language (Brown and Yule, 1983b and
Brown et al., 1984), one on language understand-
ing (Brown et al., 1994) and another on referential
communication (Brown, 1995). In subsequent re-
search, Gill has focused on the ways in which context
is created in discourse understanding (Brown, 1998).
While the research projects continued, Gill moved
from Edinburgh (1965–1983) to become Professor
of Applied Linguistics at the University of Essex
(1983–1988), then to serve as the founding Director
of the Research Centre for English and Applied Lin-
guistics at Cambridge University (1988–2004), where
she created a stimulating intellectual environment for
graduate study in many areas at the intersection of
linguistics and cognitive psychology. As one of the
few women professors in these institutions at the
time, Gill was increasingly involved in administra-
tion, serving as Dean of Social Sciences at Essex, in
Brown, Gillian 135
tres de Dijon et le Centre de Recherche sur le XVIIIe
Siècle de l’Université de Dijon. Geneva: Slatkine.
Sautebin H ([1899] 1971). Un linguiste français du XVIIIe
siècle, le président de Brosses: étude historique et analy-
tique du Traité de la formation méchanique des langues.
Geneva: Slatkine.
committee work, such as the University Grants Com-
mittee, and in public service, as a member of the
Kingman Inquiry into English language teaching in
British schools. In recognition of her outstanding
work, Gill received a CBE in 1992.
See also: Assimilation; Cognitive Pragmatics; Cohesion and
Coherence: Linguistic Approaches; Communication, Un-
derstanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects; Dis-
course Processing; Elicitation Techniques for Spoken
Discourse; Generative Phonology; Human Reasoning and
Language Interpretation; Information Structure in Spoken
Discourse; Intonation; Language Education: Grammar; Nar-
rative: Cognitive Approaches; Phonetic Processes in Dis-
course; Phonetic Transcription: Analysis.; Phonology:
Overview; Second Language Listening; Spoken Discourse:
Types.
Bibliography
Brown G (1970). ‘Syllables and redundancy rules in gener-
ative phonology.’ Journal of Linguistics 6, 1–17.
Brown G (1972). Phonological rules and dialect variation:
the phonology of Lumasaaba. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Brown G (1977/1990). Listening to spoken English (2nd
edn.). Harlow: Longman.
Brown G (1995). Speakers, listeners and communication.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G (1998). ‘Context creation in discourse under-
standing.’ In Malmkjaer K & Williams J (eds.) Context
in language learning and language understanding.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G & Yule G (1983a). Discourse analysis.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G & Yule G (1983b). Teaching the spoken language.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G, Anderson A, Shillcock R & Yule G (1984).
Teaching talk: strategies for production and assessment.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G, Currie K & Kenworthy J (1980). Questions of
intonation. London: Croom Helm.
Brown G, Malmkjaer K, Pollitt A & Williams J (eds.)
(1994). Language and understanding. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.

Brosses C de (1995). Lettres familières d’Italie: lettres
écrites d’Italie en 1739 et 1740. Brussels: Editions
Complexe.
Garreta J-C (ed.) (1981). Charles de Brosses 1777–1977:
actes du colloque organisé à Dijon du 3 au 7 mai 1977
pour le deuxième centenaire de la mort du président de
Brosses, par l’Académie des Sciences, Arts et Belles Let-
Brown, Gillian
G Yule, Kaaawa, HI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Gillian (Gill) Brown, with a Cambridge M.A., had
already taught in Ghana (1962–1964) before becom-
ing an assistant lecturer in Phonetics and Linguistics
at Edinburgh University in 1965. After fieldwork in
Uganda, Gill published an early paper in generative
phonology (Brown, 1970), which became part of her
Edinburgh doctoral dissertation on the phonology of
Lumasaaba in 1971, and the basis of a scholarly
monograph (Brown, 1972). In the 1970s, Gill’s
work on the practical applications of phonetics and
phonology led to her widely acclaimed book on lis-
tening to spoken English (Brown, 1977/1990). Later,
Gill’s intonation project (1975–1979), funded by the
first of many research grants, developed innovative
methods of eliciting and analyzing spoken data
(Brown et al., 1980). Gill then combined linguistics,
cognitive psychology, and the study of discourse
structure to create a book that helped define the
field of discourse analysis for many linguists (Brown
and Yule, 1983a). Further research projects resulted
in more books, two on the teaching and testing of
spoken language (Brown and Yule, 1983b and
Brown et al., 1984), one on language understand-
ing (Brown et al., 1994) and another on referential
communication (Brown, 1995). In subsequent re-
search, Gill has focused on the ways in which context
is created in discourse understanding (Brown, 1998).
While the research projects continued, Gill moved
from Edinburgh (1965–1983) to become Professor
of Applied Linguistics at the University of Essex
(1983–1988), then to serve as the founding Director
of the Research Centre for English and Applied Lin-
guistics at Cambridge University (1988–2004), where
she created a stimulating intellectual environment for
graduate study in many areas at the intersection of
linguistics and cognitive psychology. As one of the
few women professors in these institutions at the
time, Gill was increasingly involved in administra-
tion, serving as Dean of Social Sciences at Essex, in
Brown, Gillian 135
tres de Dijon et le Centre de Recherche sur le XVIIIe
Siècle de l’Université de Dijon. Geneva: Slatkine.
Sautebin H ([1899] 1971). Un linguiste français du XVIIIe
siècle, le président de Brosses: étude historique et analy-
tique du Traité de la formation méchanique des langues.
Geneva: Slatkine.
committee work, such as the University Grants Com-
mittee, and in public service, as a member of the
Kingman Inquiry into English language teaching in
British schools. In recognition of her outstanding
work, Gill received a CBE in 1992.
See also: Assimilation; Cognitive Pragmatics; Cohesion and
Coherence: Linguistic Approaches; Communication, Un-
derstanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects; Dis-
course Processing; Elicitation Techniques for Spoken
Discourse; Generative Phonology; Human Reasoning and
Language Interpretation; Information Structure in Spoken
Discourse; Intonation; Language Education: Grammar; Nar-
rative: Cognitive Approaches; Phonetic Processes in Dis-
course; Phonetic Transcription: Analysis.; Phonology:
Overview; Second Language Listening; Spoken Discourse:
Types.
Bibliography
Brown G (1970). ‘Syllables and redundancy rules in gener-
ative phonology.’ Journal of Linguistics 6, 1–17.
Brown G (1972). Phonological rules and dialect variation:
the phonology of Lumasaaba. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Brown G (1977/1990). Listening to spoken English (2nd
edn.). Harlow: Longman.
Brown G (1995). Speakers, listeners and communication.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G (1998). ‘Context creation in discourse under-
standing.’ In Malmkjaer K & Williams J (eds.) Context
in language learning and language understanding.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G & Yule G (1983a). Discourse analysis.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G & Yule G (1983b). Teaching the spoken language.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G, Anderson A, Shillcock R & Yule G (1984).
Teaching talk: strategies for production and assessment.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown G, Currie K & Kenworthy J (1980). Questions of
intonation. London: Croom Helm.
Brown G, Malmkjaer K, Pollitt A & Williams J (eds.)
(1994). Language and understanding. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
136 Brown, Roger William (1925–1997)
Brown, Roger William (1925–1997)
M Thomas, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Roger Brown was a social psychologist trained at the
University of Michigan. During a 40-year-long career
teaching at Harvard University and, briefly, MIT, he
made at least three substantial contributions to late
twentieth-century American linguistics.
First, Brown is probably best known for his 1973
study of the acquisition of English by three pre-
schoolers. Capitalizing on the recent invention of
the portable tape recorder, Brown or his graduate
students visited the homes of ‘Adam,’ ‘Eve,’ and
‘Sarah’ weekly or every other week to record at least
two hours a month of spontaneous speech. Data were
collected from Eve for eleven months; from Adam
and Sarah, for five years. The recordings were then
transcribed and meticulously analyzed. Brown devel-
oped the technique of calculating a child’s Mean
Length of Utterance, measured in morphemes. Using
MLU as a basis for calibrating the three children’s
emerging grammars, he found commonalities in
how they expressed semantic relations, and in their
gradual building up of grammatical and morphologi-
cal complexity. Brown’s transcripts and tapes were
later deposited in the CHILDES online database,
where they have had lasting influence on the study
of child language acquisition.
Second, Brown was extraordinarily effective as a
teacher. He trained a cohort of students who have
had distinguished careers in diverse subfields of
linguistics and psycholinguistics, including Jean
Berko Gleason, Ursula Bellugi, Melissa Bowerman,
Courtney Cazden, Kenji Hakuta, Howard Gardner,
Michael Maratsos, Steven Pinker, Eleanor Rosch, and
Dan Slobin. Kessel’s (1988) festschrift provides a
fuller list of Brown’s students and showcases their
writings.
A third contribution Brown made is related. Not
all of Brown’s students inherited his distinctive work-
ing style (self-described as ‘‘phenomenon-centered,’’
‘‘low-tech, minimally mathematical’’ with ‘‘an almost
Talmudic taste for poring over data . . . involving
nothing but the free exercise of the principles of in-
duction’’ [1989: 49–50]), but it set a particular tone to
the emerging discipline of psycholinguistics. More-
over, in person and in his best-selling textbooks
(1958, 1965), Brown modeled open-mindedness, in-
tellectual playfulness, and an unfailing sense of won-
der that attracted many to the study of language.
Brown’s work on Adam, Eve, and Sarah achieved
such prominence that it is surprising to learn that he
published nothing on child language after the mid-
point of his career. However, he left behind diverse
work on linguistic relativity, music and language, tip-
of-the-tongue phenomena, and the sociolinguistics of
politeness. He also left behind a painful memoir
(Brown, 1997) that meditates on the afflicted person-
al life of a man celebrated as much for his geniality as
for his professional success.
See also: Language Acquisition Research Methods; Psy-
cholinguistics: Overview.
Bibliography
Brown R (1958). Words and things. Glencoe, IL: The Free
Press.
Brown R (1965). Social psychology. New York: The Free
Press.
Brown R (1973). A first language: the early stages.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Brown R (1989). ‘Roger Brown.’ In Lindzey G (ed.)
A history of psychology in autobiography. Stanford,
CA: Stanford University. 34–60.
Brown R (1997). Against my better judgment: an intimate
memoir of an eminent gay psychologist. Binghamton,
NY: Haworth Press.
Kessel F S (1988). The development of language and lan-
guage researchers: essays in honor of Roger Brown.
Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Relevant Websites
http://childes.psy.cmu.edu – CHILDES online database.

Brücke, Ernst (1819–1891)
P C Sutcliffe, Colgate University, Hamilton, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Ernst Wilhelm Ritter von Brücke (b. June 6, 1819, d.
January 7, 1892), not to be confused with his grandson
and biographer, Ernst Theodor Brücke, was a physiol-
ogist who taught for 46 years, 41 of them as Professor
of Physiology at the University of Vienna (1849–1890).
Brücke was classically educated, which gave him a
thorough foundation in Greek and Latin and a broad
humanistic interest in languages and learning. Then he
studied medicine, primarily in Berlin with physiologist
Johannes Müller, who encouraged him to apply his
physiological expertise to developing a natural system
of speech sounds with which all the world’s languages
could be described (Jankowsky, 1999: 247). It is
his groundbreaking works in this field, most espe-
cially Grundzüge der Physiologie und Systematik der
Sprachlaute für Linguisten und Taubstummenlehrer
(1856), for which he is remembered in linguistic, and
particularly phonetic, history, although he had 140
publications in all.
In his first work on speech physiology, Untersu-
chungen über die Lautbildung und das natürliche
System der Sprachlaute (1849), Brücke laid the foun-
dation for Grundzüge, painstakingly describing vari-
ous pronunciations of all the vowels and consonants
and arranging them in a system according to genetic
criteria, introducing terms such as alveolar and dental
still in use today. Apparently, Brücke was unaware of
Ellis’s Essentials of phonetics (1848) as he wrote
it (see Ellis, Alexander John (né Sharpe) (1814–
1890)), so he essentially developed a natural system
of speech sounds with no help from predecessors,
except for some observations by Kempelen (see
Kempelen, Wolfgang von (1734–1804)). In the 7
years between Untersuchungen and Grundzüge,
Brücke deepened his observation of languages with
help from colleagues in Vienna, including Miklosich
Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919)
K R Jankowsky, Georgetown University,
Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Karl Friedrich Christian Brugmann (see Figure 1) was
born on March 16, 1849 in Wiesbaden. He graduated
from high school in his home town in 1867, studied
Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919) 137
(see Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891)) for Slavic and
Anton Hassan for Arabic languages. He also realized
a further practical application for his now ‘fine-
tuned’ system: as a tool for teachers of the hearing-
impaired (Jankowsky, 1999: 246).
Although Brücke’s Grundzüge was superseded
by Sievers’s Grundzüge der Lautphysiologie in 1876
(see Sievers, Eduard (1850–1932)), Brücke’s work
provided the physiological description linguists had
lacked and laid the foundation for this later work. He
was extremely influential on Sievers and his genera-
tion, and also on Sigmund Freud. Scherer (see Scherer,
Wilhelm (1841–1886)) and Sweet (see Sweet, Henry
(1845–1912)) are among those who used and praised
his work.
See also: Ellis, Alexander John (né Sharpe) (1814–1890);
Freud, Sigmund (1856–1939); Kempelen, Wolfgang von
(1734–1804); Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891); Scherer, Wil-
helm (1841–1886); Sievers, Eduard (1850–1932); Sweet,
Henry (1845–1912).
Bibliography
Brücke E W (1849). ‘Untersuchungen über die Lautbildung
and das Natürliche System der Sprachlaute.’ Sitzungsber-
ichte der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften
Wien, Math.-Naturwiss. Klasse. 2, 181–208.
Brücke E W (1856). Grundzüge der Physiologie und Sys-
tematik der Sprachlaute für Linguisten und Taubstum-
menlehrer. Vienna: C. Gerold & Sohn (2nd rev. edn.,
1876).
Brücke E T (1928). Ernst Brücke. Vienna: Julius Springer.
Jankowsky K (1999). ‘The works of Ernst Wilhelm Brücke
(1819–1892) and Johann N Czermak (1828–1873):
Landmarks in the history of phonetics.’ In Cram D et al.
(eds.) History of linguistics 1996, vol. II: From classical
to contemporary linguistics. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
241–255.
philology for one year in Jena, then decided to move on
to Leipzig, where he selected as his major subject com-
parative philology, with Georg Curtius (see Curtius,
Georg (1820–1885)) becoming his principal teacher.
His doctoral thesis of 1871, entitled De Graecae lin-
guae productione suppletoria, was followed in 1877 by
his Habilitationsschrift, Zur Geschichte der Nominal-
suffixe -as-, -jas- und -vas- (published in Zeitschrift für

Brücke, Ernst (1819–1891)
P C Sutcliffe, Colgate University, Hamilton, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Ernst Wilhelm Ritter von Brücke (b. June 6, 1819, d.
January 7, 1892), not to be confused with his grandson
and biographer, Ernst Theodor Brücke, was a physiol-
ogist who taught for 46 years, 41 of them as Professor
of Physiology at the University of Vienna (1849–1890).
Brücke was classically educated, which gave him a
thorough foundation in Greek and Latin and a broad
humanistic interest in languages and learning. Then he
studied medicine, primarily in Berlin with physiologist
Johannes Müller, who encouraged him to apply his
physiological expertise to developing a natural system
of speech sounds with which all the world’s languages
could be described (Jankowsky, 1999: 247). It is
his groundbreaking works in this field, most espe-
cially Grundzüge der Physiologie und Systematik der
Sprachlaute für Linguisten und Taubstummenlehrer
(1856), for which he is remembered in linguistic, and
particularly phonetic, history, although he had 140
publications in all.
In his first work on speech physiology, Untersu-
chungen über die Lautbildung und das natürliche
System der Sprachlaute (1849), Brücke laid the foun-
dation for Grundzüge, painstakingly describing vari-
ous pronunciations of all the vowels and consonants
and arranging them in a system according to genetic
criteria, introducing terms such as alveolar and dental
still in use today. Apparently, Brücke was unaware of
Ellis’s Essentials of phonetics (1848) as he wrote
it (see Ellis, Alexander John (né Sharpe) (1814–
1890)), so he essentially developed a natural system
of speech sounds with no help from predecessors,
except for some observations by Kempelen (see
Kempelen, Wolfgang von (1734–1804)). In the 7
years between Untersuchungen and Grundzüge,
Brücke deepened his observation of languages with
help from colleagues in Vienna, including Miklosich
Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919)
K R Jankowsky, Georgetown University,
Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Karl Friedrich Christian Brugmann (see Figure 1) was
born on March 16, 1849 in Wiesbaden. He graduated
from high school in his home town in 1867, studied
Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919) 137
(see Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891)) for Slavic and
Anton Hassan for Arabic languages. He also realized
a further practical application for his now ‘fine-
tuned’ system: as a tool for teachers of the hearing-
impaired (Jankowsky, 1999: 246).
Although Brücke’s Grundzüge was superseded
by Sievers’s Grundzüge der Lautphysiologie in 1876
(see Sievers, Eduard (1850–1932)), Brücke’s work
provided the physiological description linguists had
lacked and laid the foundation for this later work. He
was extremely influential on Sievers and his genera-
tion, and also on Sigmund Freud. Scherer (see Scherer,
Wilhelm (1841–1886)) and Sweet (see Sweet, Henry
(1845–1912)) are among those who used and praised
his work.
See also: Ellis, Alexander John (né Sharpe) (1814–1890);
Freud, Sigmund (1856–1939); Kempelen, Wolfgang von
(1734–1804); Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891); Scherer, Wil-
helm (1841–1886); Sievers, Eduard (1850–1932); Sweet,
Henry (1845–1912).
Bibliography
Brücke E W (1849). ‘Untersuchungen über die Lautbildung
and das Natürliche System der Sprachlaute.’ Sitzungsber-
ichte der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften
Wien, Math.-Naturwiss. Klasse. 2, 181–208.
Brücke E W (1856). Grundzüge der Physiologie und Sys-
tematik der Sprachlaute für Linguisten und Taubstum-
menlehrer. Vienna: C. Gerold & Sohn (2nd rev. edn.,
1876).
Brücke E T (1928). Ernst Brücke. Vienna: Julius Springer.
Jankowsky K (1999). ‘The works of Ernst Wilhelm Brücke
(1819–1892) and Johann N Czermak (1828–1873):
Landmarks in the history of phonetics.’ In Cram D et al.
(eds.) History of linguistics 1996, vol. II: From classical
to contemporary linguistics. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
241–255.
philology for one year in Jena, then decided to move on
to Leipzig, where he selected as his major subject com-
parative philology, with Georg Curtius (see Curtius,
Georg (1820–1885)) becoming his principal teacher.
His doctoral thesis of 1871, entitled De Graecae lin-
guae productione suppletoria, was followed in 1877 by
his Habilitationsschrift, Zur Geschichte der Nominal-
suffixe -as-, -jas- und -vas- (published in Zeitschrift für
138 Brugmann, Karl (1849–1919)
Figure 1 Photograph of Karl Brugmann from ldg. Jahrbuch IV
(1918). Retrieved from http://titus.uni-frankfurt.de/personal/
galeria/brugmann.htm.
vergleichende Sprachforschung 24: 1–99), qualifying
him as a university teacher. Before that he had obtained
his Staatsexamen in 1872 and taught high school, for
one year in Wiesbaden, then at the Nicolai-Schule in
Leipzig. In 1877 he started his university career, first
lecturing on Sanskrit and comparative philology in
Leipzig, where he was appointed associate professor
(Extra-Ordinarius) in 1882. Two years later he went to
Freiburg as full professor (Ordinarius) and stayed there
for three years, only to return to Leipzig for good in
1887 to occupy the newly established chair for Indo-
European philology. He died in Leipzig on June 29,
1919.
Brugmann was the most productive of the Neo-
grammarians and undoubtedly also the one who com-
manded the greatest influence on language students
who streamed to Leipzig from all over the world.
Apart from the enormous impact through the sub-
stance of his writings, his unparalleled success was
to a large extent also due to his unique personal style
and courage. As a young man of 27, he broke with
his mentor Curtius, who could not approve of
Brugmann’s impatient zest for exploring even less
conventional avenues if he thought that it furthered
the advancement of his science. And from then on he
embarked on a course of quiet but determined con-
frontation. This frame of mind was the basis for the
second feature that aided his climb to unprecedented
prominence. Within a short time after he entered the
teaching profession, Brugmann managed to establish
himself as an arbiter of what should be acceptable as
solid linguistic achievement and what would have to
be discarded as insignificant.
When he sat in judgment, his criteria were derived
from solid research that he and his Neogrammarian
comrades-in-arms kept supplying in abundance.
Even before Brugmann had started teaching at the
university level, his first two major studies, written
in 1876, brought him recognition and fame that
continued to grow rapidly with every work he pro-
duced. Of the approximately 400 titles in his list
of publications, two above all others were instru-
mental in solidifying his reputation as the unchal-
lenged leader in the field, and even today those
works remain achievements that need to be con-
sulted. The first is the Griechische Grammatik of
1885, a model treatment of all components of gram-
mar from a comparative point of view; the second,
his Grundriss der vergleichenden Grammatik der
indogermanischen Sprachen (vols. 1, 2, 6). Following
Franz Bopp (see Bopp, Franz (1791–1867)) and Au-
gust Schleicher (see Schleicher, August (1821–1868)),
he was the third scholar to attempt a comprehensive
documentation of what comparative linguistics had
accomplished at his particular time. To achieve this
monumental task, he had to restrict himself to phonol-
ogy and morphology of the eight principal Indo-Euro-
pean languages, leaving it to Berthold Delbrück (see
Delbrück, Berthold (1842–1922)) to deal with syntax
(vols 3–5).
As was characteristic of all Neogrammarian schol-
ars, Brugmann was truly fascinated by discovering
and securing as many relevant linguistic facts as he
possibly could. But he, as did most of his Neogram-
marian friends, went far beyond the mere amassing of
facts in that he successfully attempted to arrive at the
formulation of the basic principles that govern those
facts and place them within a coherent system.
See also: Bopp, Franz (1791–1867); Curtius, Georg (1820–
1885); Delbrück, Berthold (1842–1922); Neogrammarians;
Schleicher, August (1821–1868).
Bibliography
Brugmann K (1876). Nasalis sonans in der indogerma-
nischen Grundsprache. In Curtius G (ed.) Studien zur
griechischen und lateinischen Grammatik 9. Leipzig: S.
Hirzel. 285–338.
Brugmann K (1876). Zur Geschichte der stammabstu-
fenden Deklinationen. In Curtius G (ed.) Studien zur
griechischen und lateinischen Grammatik 9. Leipzig: S.
Hirzel. 361–406.
Brugmann K (1885). Zum heutigen Stand der Sprachwis-
senschaft. Strasbourg: Triibner.

Brugmann K (1885). Griechische Grammatik (Lautlehre,
Flexionslehre und Syntax). In Müller I (ed.) Handbuch
der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft 2. 1–126.
Brugmann K (1886–1893). Grundriss der vergleichenden
Grammatik der indogermanischen Sprachen, vol. 1: Ein-
leitung und Lautlehre, vol. 2: Wortbildungslehre, vols 3–5:
(1893–1900). Vergleichende Syntax der indogermanischen
Sprachen, Parts 1–3. 6. Indices (Wort-, Sach- und Auto-
renindex). Strasbourg: Trübner.
Brugmann K (1894). Die Ausdrücke für den Begriff
der Totalität in den indogermanischen Sprachen, eine
semasiologisch-etymologische Untersuchung. Leipzig:
Edelmann.
Brugmann K (1902–1904). Kurze vergleichende Gramma-
tik der indogermanischen Sprachen. Auf Grund des fünf-
bändigen Grundrisses der vergleichenden Grammatik der
indogermanischen Sprachen von Karl Brugmann und
Berthold Delbrück, verfasst von Karl Brugmann (3 vols).
Strasbourg: Trübner.
Brugmann K & Osthoff H (1878–1910). Morphologische
Untersuchungen auf dem Gebiete der indogermanischen
Sprachen (6 vols). Leipzig: S. Hirzel.
Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969)
D Candel, CNRS and University of Paris, Paris 7,
France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Charles Bruneau graduated from the Sorbonne and
then followed Gilliéron’s classes on dialectology at
Ecole des Hautes Etudes. He received a position at
the University of Nancy in 1913 and at the Sorbonne
in 1933. In 1934 he succeeded his former professor,
Ferdinand Brunot, as chair of History of French Lan-
guage and remained there until 1954. Born in the
French Ardennes, Bruneau focused his thesis on the
local dialects in 93 villages of this region (Etude
phonétique des patois d’Ardenne). In 1912 he was
called by Ferdinand Brunot to participate in the
‘Archives de la parole,’ the first institutional oral
survey. This was based on using a Pathé phonograph
to collect phonograms. An automobile to transport
their 500 kilograms of recording equipment was even
made available to them, quite an innovation at that
time.
Bruneau first used the method of questionnaires
learned from Edmont and Gilliéron for the Atlas
linguistique de la France, asking for translations of
words and sentences into the local dialect. This gave a
large amount of speech facts. As he explained in
several letters written to Brunot (available at the
Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969) 139
Brugmann K & Streitberg W (eds.) (1891–). Indogerma-
nische Forschungen. Zeitschrift far indogermanische
Sprach- und Altertumskunde. Strasbourg: Trübner.
Förster M (1919). ‘Worte der Erinnerung an Karl Brug-
mann.’ Indogermanisches Jahrbuch [für 1918] 6, vii–x.
Jankowsky K R (1972). The Neogrammarians: a re-evalua-
tion of their place in the development of linguistic sci-
ence. The Hague: Mouton.
Sommer F (1955). ‘Karl Friedrich Christian Brugmann’. In
Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 2. Berlin: Duncker and
Humblot. 667.
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmanns Schriften, 1871–
1909.’ Indogermanische Forschungen 26, 425–440.
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmann.’ Indogermanisches
Jahrbuch 7, 143–148. (Repr. in: In Sebeok T A (ed.)
Portraits of linguists, vol. 1. Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Press).
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmanns Schriften, 1909–
1919.’ Indogermanisches Jahrbuch 7, 148–152.
Archives du département de l’audiovisuel from the
Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris) he then changed
his method, preferring to analyze his speakers’ free
speech and accents, instead of comparing the words
or phrases he solicitated from them. Brunot and
Bruneau finally gathered 166 recordings that they
filed following the Viennese ‘Phonogrammarchiv,’
marking the geographical particularities of the sam-
ples, as well as some biographical data describing
the speakers, and giving a phonetical transcription
of the records.
After he settled in Paris, Bruneau contributed to
Ferdinand Brunot’s monumental Histoire de la langue
française des origines à nos jours by writing ‘L’Epo-
que romantique’ (covering the period 1815 to 1852)
and ‘L’Epoque réaliste’ (covering the period 1852 to
1886). These two volumes mostly describe the history
of literary language through stylistic monographies,
different from the rest of Ferdinand Brunot’s work.
Around 1952 Bruneau, arguing against Spitzer’s sty-
listic criticism, made a distinction between pure
(or scientific) stylistics, and stylistics applied to litera-
ture (or authors’ stylistics), the former being part of
language science.
See also: Brunot, Ferdinand (1860–1938); Dialect Atlases;
Gilliéron, Jules (1854–1926); Spitzer, Leo (1887–1960).

Brugmann K (1885). Griechische Grammatik (Lautlehre,
Flexionslehre und Syntax). In Müller I (ed.) Handbuch
der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft 2. 1–126.
Brugmann K (1886–1893). Grundriss der vergleichenden
Grammatik der indogermanischen Sprachen, vol. 1: Ein-
leitung und Lautlehre, vol. 2: Wortbildungslehre, vols 3–5:
(1893–1900). Vergleichende Syntax der indogermanischen
Sprachen, Parts 1–3. 6. Indices (Wort-, Sach- und Auto-
renindex). Strasbourg: Trübner.
Brugmann K (1894). Die Ausdrücke für den Begriff
der Totalität in den indogermanischen Sprachen, eine
semasiologisch-etymologische Untersuchung. Leipzig:
Edelmann.
Brugmann K (1902–1904). Kurze vergleichende Gramma-
tik der indogermanischen Sprachen. Auf Grund des fünf-
bändigen Grundrisses der vergleichenden Grammatik der
indogermanischen Sprachen von Karl Brugmann und
Berthold Delbrück, verfasst von Karl Brugmann (3 vols).
Strasbourg: Trübner.
Brugmann K & Osthoff H (1878–1910). Morphologische
Untersuchungen auf dem Gebiete der indogermanischen
Sprachen (6 vols). Leipzig: S. Hirzel.
Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969)
D Candel, CNRS and University of Paris, Paris 7,
France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Charles Bruneau graduated from the Sorbonne and
then followed Gilliéron’s classes on dialectology at
Ecole des Hautes Etudes. He received a position at
the University of Nancy in 1913 and at the Sorbonne
in 1933. In 1934 he succeeded his former professor,
Ferdinand Brunot, as chair of History of French Lan-
guage and remained there until 1954. Born in the
French Ardennes, Bruneau focused his thesis on the
local dialects in 93 villages of this region (Etude
phonétique des patois d’Ardenne). In 1912 he was
called by Ferdinand Brunot to participate in the
‘Archives de la parole,’ the first institutional oral
survey. This was based on using a Pathé phonograph
to collect phonograms. An automobile to transport
their 500 kilograms of recording equipment was even
made available to them, quite an innovation at that
time.
Bruneau first used the method of questionnaires
learned from Edmont and Gilliéron for the Atlas
linguistique de la France, asking for translations of
words and sentences into the local dialect. This gave a
large amount of speech facts. As he explained in
several letters written to Brunot (available at the
Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969) 139
Brugmann K & Streitberg W (eds.) (1891–). Indogerma-
nische Forschungen. Zeitschrift far indogermanische
Sprach- und Altertumskunde. Strasbourg: Trübner.
Förster M (1919). ‘Worte der Erinnerung an Karl Brug-
mann.’ Indogermanisches Jahrbuch [für 1918] 6, vii–x.
Jankowsky K R (1972). The Neogrammarians: a re-evalua-
tion of their place in the development of linguistic sci-
ence. The Hague: Mouton.
Sommer F (1955). ‘Karl Friedrich Christian Brugmann’. In
Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 2. Berlin: Duncker and
Humblot. 667.
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmanns Schriften, 1871–
1909.’ Indogermanische Forschungen 26, 425–440.
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmann.’ Indogermanisches
Jahrbuch 7, 143–148. (Repr. in: In Sebeok T A (ed.)
Portraits of linguists, vol. 1. Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Press).
Streitberg W (1919). ‘Karl Brugmanns Schriften, 1909–
1919.’ Indogermanisches Jahrbuch 7, 148–152.
Archives du département de l’audiovisuel from the
Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris) he then changed
his method, preferring to analyze his speakers’ free
speech and accents, instead of comparing the words
or phrases he solicitated from them. Brunot and
Bruneau finally gathered 166 recordings that they
filed following the Viennese ‘Phonogrammarchiv,’
marking the geographical particularities of the sam-
ples, as well as some biographical data describing
the speakers, and giving a phonetical transcription
of the records.
After he settled in Paris, Bruneau contributed to
Ferdinand Brunot’s monumental Histoire de la langue
française des origines à nos jours by writing ‘L’Epo-
que romantique’ (covering the period 1815 to 1852)
and ‘L’Epoque réaliste’ (covering the period 1852 to
1886). These two volumes mostly describe the history
of literary language through stylistic monographies,
different from the rest of Ferdinand Brunot’s work.
Around 1952 Bruneau, arguing against Spitzer’s sty-
listic criticism, made a distinction between pure
(or scientific) stylistics, and stylistics applied to litera-
ture (or authors’ stylistics), the former being part of
language science.
See also: Brunot, Ferdinand (1860–1938); Dialect Atlases;
Gilliéron, Jules (1854–1926); Spitzer, Leo (1887–1960).
140 Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969)
Bibliography
Bruneau C (1912). La Conservation des patois ardennais.
Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1913). Etude phonétique des patois d’Ardenne.
Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1914–1926). Enquête linguistique sur les patois
d’Ardenne (2 vols). Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1948). ‘L’Epoque romantique (1815–1852).’ In
Brunot F (ed.) Histoire de la langue française des origines
à 1900, part 12. Paris: Armand Colin.
Brunei Darussalam: Language Situation
C H Gallop
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
pp. 419–420, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Brunei Darussalam is an independent sultanate on the
northwest coast of Borneo. There are four districts:
Brunei Muara (where the capital is situated), Belait,
Tutong, and Temburong (an enclave in the adjoining
Malaysian state of Sarawak). The population is 75%
Malay, with the largest minority group being Chinese
(15%).
The official language is Bahasa Melayu (Standard
Malay), the variety jointly accepted by Malaysia,
Indonesia, and Brunei Darussalam. It is widely used
in all areas of public life, including government, the
printed media, and broadcasting. English is also un-
derstood and spoken in various domains of public
and private life.
The education system is bilingual, with academic
subjects, including the sciences, taught in English,
while culturally based subjects and Islamic religion
are in Malay. Malay is now written in romanized
form, but learning of the original Jawi script, an
adaptation from Arabic, is currently being revived
in schools. Three Islamic religious institutions use
a combination of Arabic, Malay, and English.
The majority of students at the University of Brunei
Darussalam (opened in 1985) study in English.
Seven communities are accepted by the 1959 con-
stitution as being indigenous groups of the Malay
Bruneau C (1951). ‘La Stylistique.’ Romance Philology V–1,
1–14.
Bruneau C (1953). ‘L’Epoque réaliste (1852–1886).’ In
Brunot F (ed.) Histoire de la langue française des origines
à 1900, part 13. Paris: Armand Colin.
Bruneau C (1955–1958). Petite histoire de la langue fran-
çaise (2 vols). Paris: Armand Colin.
Chevalier J-C (1994). ‘F. Brunot (1860–1937), la fabri-
cation d’une mémoire de la langue.’ Langages 114,
54–68.
race. Brunei Malay is the dialect of the numerically
and politically dominant people of that name who
have traditionally lived on water. Kedayan is the dia-
lect of the land-dwelling farmers. These two variant
dialects of the Brunei Muara district are each about
80% cognate with Standard Malay. The other five
communities, the Tutong, Belait, Dusun, Bisaya, and
Murut, speak the languages of their names. The
Bisaya and Murut reside only in Temburong. All five
languages are less than 40% cognate with Brunei
Malay. Their use is declining in favor of Brunei
Malay due to population mobility, intermarriage,
and, for Dusun, Bisaya, and Murut, conversion to
Islam. Iban, Penan, and Mukah are Sarawak lan-
guages spoken only by small groups of settled immi-
grants. The urban Chinese use mainly the Hokkien,
Cantonese, and Hakka dialects.
A national ideology, the Malay Islamic Monarchy
concept, is being promoted in education and public
life. It characterizes Brunei Darussalam as a mono-
cultural, Malay-speaking, Islamic society, and is
contributing to the decline of minority languages.
See also: Malay.
Bibliography
Jones G Martin P & Ożóg, C (in press). Bilingualism
and national development in Brunei Darussalam. In
Jones G & Ożóg C (eds.) Bilingualism and national de-
velopment. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters.
Nothofer B (1991). The languages of Brunei Darussalam.
Pacific Linguistics.
140 Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969)
Bibliography
Bruneau C (1912). La Conservation des patois ardennais.
Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1913). Etude phonétique des patois d’Ardenne.
Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1914–1926). Enquête linguistique sur les patois
d’Ardenne (2 vols). Paris: Champion.
Bruneau C (1948). ‘L’Epoque romantique (1815–1852).’ In
Brunot F (ed.) Histoire de la langue française des origines
à 1900, part 12. Paris: Armand Colin.
Brunei Darussalam: Language Situation
C H Gallop
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
pp. 419–420, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Brunei Darussalam is an independent sultanate on the
northwest coast of Borneo. There are four districts:
Brunei Muara (where the capital is situated), Belait,
Tutong, and Temburong (an enclave in the adjoining
Malaysian state of Sarawak). The population is 75%
Malay, with the largest minority group being Chinese
(15%).
The official language is Bahasa Melayu (Standard
Malay), the variety jointly accepted by Malaysia,
Indonesia, and Brunei Darussalam. It is widely used
in all areas of public life, including government, the
printed media, and broadcasting. English is also un-
derstood and spoken in various domains of public
and private life.
The education system is bilingual, with academic
subjects, including the sciences, taught in English,
while culturally based subjects and Islamic religion
are in Malay. Malay is now written in romanized
form, but learning of the original Jawi script, an
adaptation from Arabic, is currently being revived
in schools. Three Islamic religious institutions use
a combination of Arabic, Malay, and English.
The majority of students at the University of Brunei
Darussalam (opened in 1985) study in English.
Seven communities are accepted by the 1959 con-
stitution as being indigenous groups of the Malay
Bruneau C (1951). ‘La Stylistique.’ Romance Philology V–1,
1–14.
Bruneau C (1953). ‘L’Epoque réaliste (1852–1886).’ In
Brunot F (ed.) Histoire de la langue française des origines
à 1900, part 13. Paris: Armand Colin.
Bruneau C (1955–1958). Petite histoire de la langue fran-
çaise (2 vols). Paris: Armand Colin.
Chevalier J-C (1994). ‘F. Brunot (1860–1937), la fabri-
cation d’une mémoire de la langue.’ Langages 114,
54–68.
race. Brunei Malay is the dialect of the numerically
and politically dominant people of that name who
have traditionally lived on water. Kedayan is the dia-
lect of the land-dwelling farmers. These two variant
dialects of the Brunei Muara district are each about
80% cognate with Standard Malay. The other five
communities, the Tutong, Belait, Dusun, Bisaya, and
Murut, speak the languages of their names. The
Bisaya and Murut reside only in Temburong. All five
languages are less than 40% cognate with Brunei
Malay. Their use is declining in favor of Brunei
Malay due to population mobility, intermarriage,
and, for Dusun, Bisaya, and Murut, conversion to
Islam. Iban, Penan, and Mukah are Sarawak lan-
guages spoken only by small groups of settled immi-
grants. The urban Chinese use mainly the Hokkien,
Cantonese, and Hakka dialects.
A national ideology, the Malay Islamic Monarchy
concept, is being promoted in education and public
life. It characterizes Brunei Darussalam as a mono-
cultural, Malay-speaking, Islamic society, and is
contributing to the decline of minority languages.
See also: Malay.
Bibliography
Jones G Martin P & Ożóg, C (in press). Bilingualism
and national development in Brunei Darussalam. In
Jones G & Ożóg C (eds.) Bilingualism and national de-
velopment. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters.
Nothofer B (1991). The languages of Brunei Darussalam.
Pacific Linguistics.

Bruner, Jerome Seymour (b. 1915)
W A Hass, St Peter, MN, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Jerome Bruner is a pre-eminent, powerfully influen-
tial, and multiply pioneering psychologist whose
studies have touched on language in many ways.
Born in New York City of nominally observant
Jewish parents, he was blind for the first two years
of life. His father, a watchmaker, died when he was
12, after which his family moved about, and he
developed his interest in sailing. He attended Duke
University (B.A., 1937), and went to Harvard for
graduate study in psychology (Ph.D., 1941). He
served in the U.S. Army Intelligence Corps in World
War II, applying his knowledge of propaganda and
public opinion. He then joined the Harvard
faculty, doing experimental psychological research
on the dependence of perception on motivation (the
‘New Look’ studies). He carried out an enormously
influential series of studies on the acquisition of
structured cognitive categories, involving the group-
ing of instances on the basis of values of defining
attributes. He founded and directed the Center for
Cognitive Studies in the 1960s, leading the way
toward the field’s mentally realistic engagement with
information processing. He left Harvard for the
Watts Professorship of Experimental Psychology, at
Wolfson College, Oxford University, in 1972,
personally sailing across the Atlantic to assume his
new role, and then returning to the United States in
1979. He has subsequently taught at the New School
for Social Research (New York City) and the New
York University School of Law. His research
interests progressed from cognitive to developmental
and educational psychology, where his thinking has
galvanized our understanding of pedagogical prac-
tice, and then on to cultural and narrative psychology,
providing specimen studies exemplifying another
novel and productive paradigm for human studies.
His abiding interest in language began with his
work on wartime propaganda and public opinion,
more or less by-passed his perceptual experiments,
and continued with his analyses of conceptual
categorization. Despite personal contacts with
George A. Miller, Noam Chomsky, Roman Jakobson,
and Roger Brown, he never became enamored of the
structural properties of syntactic or phonological
grammars. For instance, it was Brown who added a
65-page appendix to A study of thinking, indicating
how attributes and categorizations are involved in
speech and linguistic meaning.
He became interested in language development, as
epitomizing a symbolic, in contrast to iconic or enac-
Bruner, Jerome Seymour (b. 1915) 141
tive, system of representation and cultural ‘amplifier’
of reflective, in contrast to sensory or motoric, capa-
cities. From language as an instrument of thought,
based on semantic representation, he went on to treat
language development in terms of communicative (or
pragmatic) function. This perspective allowed him
to combine prior American pragmatic and generative
influences, with Oxfordian ‘ordinary language’ work
on Austinian illocutionary acts, as well as Tinbergen’s
ethology – in his delineation of the ontogenesis of
speech acts. He went on to the formulation of
the Language Acquisition Support System, through
which speakers became participants with particular
linguistic communities or subcommunities. In this
way, he could emphasize not only cultural influences,
but also narrative structures and processes. He based
his account of stories on Kenneth Burke’s pentad
(Agents, Actions, Goals, Instruments, Settings – plus
Trouble!), as well as other structural accounts and
hermeneutic modes of human intentionality. Narra-
tives, thus conceived, have properties that allow con-
struction of personal selves/identities, as well as
human institutions (such as schools and legal sys-
tems), and provide for the dynamics of individual
development/aging and or human history (the passing
forward of culture).
His prolific career has provided contributions suf-
ficient to suggest several approaches to the role of
language in the human sciences, but reflects a general
trend from the application of his original experimen-
tal psychology to his more recent anthropological/
interpretive stance. He has managed to combine an
engagement in current political, educational, and
legal issues, as they have become crucial over the
decades, with a principled perspective stemming
from meaning-based psychological research and
theory – which he has helped shape and vitalize. His
has not been a ‘school of psycholinguistics,’ but
rather a schooling of psychological engagement in
human language.
See also: Brown, Roger William (b. 1925); Chomsky, Noam
(b. 1928); Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982); Psycholinguis-
tics: Overview; Tinbergen, Niko (1917–1988).
Bibliography
Bruner J (1964). ‘The course of cognitive growth.’
American Psychologist 19, 1–15.
Bruner J (1975). ‘From communication to language: a
psychological perspective.’ Cognition 3, 255–287.
Bruner J (1983). Child’s talk: learning to use language. New
York: Norton.
142 Bruner, Jerome Seymour (b. 1915)
Bruner J (1986). Actual minds, possible worlds. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (1991a). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (1991b). ‘The narrative construction of reality.’
Critical Inquiry 18, 1–21.
Brunot, Ferdinand (1860–1938)
D Candel, CNRS and University of Paris 7, Paris,
France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Alumnus of Ecole Normale Supérieure (1879),
Ferdinand Brunot ranked first in the ‘Agrégation
de grammaire’ competition of 1882, got his doctorate
in 1891, and a tenured position at the Sorbonne in
1900, in a new chair in ‘History of French Language’
specifically created for him. At Ecole Normale he
was trained by the philologists Gaston Paris and
Arsène Darmesteter. Under the influence of Clédat
he worked on ‘patois’ and on spelling. His friends
were Baudrillart, Bergson, Jaurès, and the sociologist
Durkheim. Brunot became politically engaged and
was a convinced ‘republican.’ He was on the side of
Dreyfus, helped found the Human Rights League and
later became a mayor of Paris.
He created the monumental Histoire de la langue
française. He wrote the first 10 parts in 18 volumes,
over 10 000 pages: the emphasis is placed on language
as a human and social phenomenon, on historical
philology, and on both the internal history and the
external geography of language, while proposing the
first steps of a social lexicology. This work reached 26
volumes, the latest ones, covering the period 1870 to
2000, were published by CNRS. Brunot’s other sub-
stantial work is La Pensée et la langue (1922), a French
grammar including oral usages that are based on a
classification of ideas more than of signs, forms, and
grammatical categories.
This well-recognized philologist, who was a mem-
ber of the ‘Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres’
and of the ‘Académie Royale de Belgique,’ and who
also inspired the teaching of stylistics in France, got
some fresh reactions from linguists: Bourciez and
Bruner J (1996). The culture of education. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (2002). Making stories: law, literature, life. New
York: Farrar, Strauss & Giroux.
Bruner J, Goodnow J J & Austin G A (1956). A study of
thinking. New York: Wiley.
Meillet criticized the large number of facts and the
absence of a system; Meillet and Bally, the process of
starting from concepts to get to the language; Bally,
the mixing of syntagm and paradigm, and of syn-
chrony and diachrony. As a polemist, Brunot pub-
lished a critique of the 1932 French Grammar of the
Académie Française. As an innovator, he strongly
encouraged spelling reform. He also became involved
in training teachers of French as a foreign language.
Brunot created the Institut de Phonétique of the
University of Paris and the ‘Archives de la parole’
(1911), in order to record and store samples of
‘patois’ (from Ardennes, with Bruneau, and from
Berry Limousin). He also recorded and stored sam-
ples of average Parisians’ speech and politicians’,
poets’, and actors’ voices (Barrès, Dreyfus, and Apol-
linaire). This was the beginning of the Département
de l’audiovisuel at the Bibliothèque Nationale de
France.
See also: Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969); Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936).
Bibliography
Brunot F (1905–1968). Histoire de la langue française des
origines à nos jours (13 parts, 23 vols). Paris: Armand
Colin (1985–2000) 3 vols. Paris: CNRS Editions.
Brunot F (1922). La Pensée et la langue. Paris: Masson.
Brunot F (1932). Observations sur la grammaire de l’Aca-
démie française. Paris: Droz.
Chevalier J-C (1992). ‘L’Histoire de la langue française de
F. Brunot.’ In Nora P (ed.) Les Lieux de mémoire. Paris:
Gallimard. 420–459.
Chevalier J-C (1994). ‘F. Brunot (1860–1937), la fabrica-
tion d’une mémoire de la langue.’ Langages 114, 54–68.
142 Bruner, Jerome Seymour (b. 1915)
Bruner J (1986). Actual minds, possible worlds. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (1991a). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (1991b). ‘The narrative construction of reality.’
Critical Inquiry 18, 1–21.
Brunot, Ferdinand (1860–1938)
D Candel, CNRS and University of Paris 7, Paris,
France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Alumnus of Ecole Normale Supérieure (1879),
Ferdinand Brunot ranked first in the ‘Agrégation
de grammaire’ competition of 1882, got his doctorate
in 1891, and a tenured position at the Sorbonne in
1900, in a new chair in ‘History of French Language’
specifically created for him. At Ecole Normale he
was trained by the philologists Gaston Paris and
Arsène Darmesteter. Under the influence of Clédat
he worked on ‘patois’ and on spelling. His friends
were Baudrillart, Bergson, Jaurès, and the sociologist
Durkheim. Brunot became politically engaged and
was a convinced ‘republican.’ He was on the side of
Dreyfus, helped found the Human Rights League and
later became a mayor of Paris.
He created the monumental Histoire de la langue
française. He wrote the first 10 parts in 18 volumes,
over 10 000 pages: the emphasis is placed on language
as a human and social phenomenon, on historical
philology, and on both the internal history and the
external geography of language, while proposing the
first steps of a social lexicology. This work reached 26
volumes, the latest ones, covering the period 1870 to
2000, were published by CNRS. Brunot’s other sub-
stantial work is La Pensée et la langue (1922), a French
grammar including oral usages that are based on a
classification of ideas more than of signs, forms, and
grammatical categories.
This well-recognized philologist, who was a mem-
ber of the ‘Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres’
and of the ‘Académie Royale de Belgique,’ and who
also inspired the teaching of stylistics in France, got
some fresh reactions from linguists: Bourciez and
Bruner J (1996). The culture of education. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Bruner J (2002). Making stories: law, literature, life. New
York: Farrar, Strauss & Giroux.
Bruner J, Goodnow J J & Austin G A (1956). A study of
thinking. New York: Wiley.
Meillet criticized the large number of facts and the
absence of a system; Meillet and Bally, the process of
starting from concepts to get to the language; Bally,
the mixing of syntagm and paradigm, and of syn-
chrony and diachrony. As a polemist, Brunot pub-
lished a critique of the 1932 French Grammar of the
Académie Française. As an innovator, he strongly
encouraged spelling reform. He also became involved
in training teachers of French as a foreign language.
Brunot created the Institut de Phonétique of the
University of Paris and the ‘Archives de la parole’
(1911), in order to record and store samples of
‘patois’ (from Ardennes, with Bruneau, and from
Berry Limousin). He also recorded and stored sam-
ples of average Parisians’ speech and politicians’,
poets’, and actors’ voices (Barrès, Dreyfus, and Apol-
linaire). This was the beginning of the Département
de l’audiovisuel at the Bibliothèque Nationale de
France.
See also: Bruneau, Charles (1883–1969); Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936).
Bibliography
Brunot F (1905–1968). Histoire de la langue française des
origines à nos jours (13 parts, 23 vols). Paris: Armand
Colin (1985–2000) 3 vols. Paris: CNRS Editions.
Brunot F (1922). La Pensée et la langue. Paris: Masson.
Brunot F (1932). Observations sur la grammaire de l’Aca-
démie française. Paris: Droz.
Chevalier J-C (1992). ‘L’Histoire de la langue française de
F. Brunot.’ In Nora P (ed.) Les Lieux de mémoire. Paris:
Gallimard. 420–459.
Chevalier J-C (1994). ‘F. Brunot (1860–1937), la fabrica-
tion d’une mémoire de la langue.’ Langages 114, 54–68.

Buck, Carl Darling (1866–1955)
R D Greenberg, Yale University, New Haven, CT, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born in Bucksport, Maine in 1866, Carl Darling Buck
was an expert in historical linguistics, especially the
history of the Italic branch of Indo–European. Having
completed his undergraduate studies at Yale in 1886,
he continued his graduate studies there for another
3 years. He then moved to Europe, where he stud-
ied classical languages in Athens (1887–1889) and
Leipzig (1889–1892). Buck joined the University of
Chicago in the year of its founding, 1892, as a profes-
sor of Sanskrit and Indo-European comparative phi-
lology. He remained at this post until his retirement in
1933, when he became professor emeritus. In his
retirement, Buck remained active in his scholarship,
working on his reverse dictionary of Greek nouns
and adjectives co-authored with Walter Petersen
(1945) and his dictionary of synonyms in the Indo–
European languages (1949). In 1954, the University
of Chicago honored him as one of three surviving
individuals who had been at the University since its
founding. Buck died the following year.
During his remarkable career, Buck made signifi-
cant contributions in the areas of the Oscan and
Umbrian languages, including a study of these lan-
guages’ vocalic systems (1892) and verbal forms
(1895). Together with William Gardner Hale, he pro-
duced a grammar of Latin (1903), and in the next
year his grammar of Oscan and Umbrian appeared.
Before the end of the first decade of the 20th century,
Buck had also produced studies of ancient Greek dia-
lects. However, many students of Indo–European
Buddhism, Japanese
I Reader
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
p. 423–424. ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Buddhism has had major linguistic influences in
Japan, ranging from the development of classical Jap-
anese literary forms and new syllabaries to the use of
a wide vocabulary that has, in the course of time,
become part of standard Japanese usage. It entered
Japan along with many other facets of continental
Asiatic culture from the 6th century onward. Along
with Buddhism, the most significant cultural influ-
ence that entered Japan in this period was the Chinese
Buddhism, Japanese 143
linguistics may know Buck best through his compar-
ative grammar of Greek and Latin (1933) and his
dictionary of Indo–European synonyms (1949).
These works have endured as classic reference books
in historical linguistics.
See also: Greek, Ancient; Indo–European Languages;
Proto-Indo–European Syntax.
Bibliography
Buck C D (1892). Der Vocalismus der oskischen Sprache.
Leipzig: K. F. Koehler’s Antiquarium.
Buck C D (1895). The Oscan-Umbrian verb-system.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1903). A sketch of the linguistic conditions of
Chicago. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1904). Grammar of Oscan and Umbrian.
Boston: Ginn and Company.
Buck C D (1905). Elemenatarbuch der oskisch-umbrischen
Dialekte. Heidelberg: C. Winter.
Buck C D (1910). Introduction to the study of the Greek
dialects: grammar, selected inscriptions, glossary. Boston:
Ginn and Company.
Buck C D (1933). Comparative grammar of Greek and
Latin. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1949). A dictionary of selected synonyms in the
principal Indo–European languages: a contribution to the
history of ideas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D & Hale W G (1903). A Latin grammar. New
York: Mentzer, Bush.
Buck C D & Petersen W (1945). A reverse index of Greek
nouns and adjectives, arranged by terminations with brief
historical introductions. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
writing system, which the Japanese adopted. It was
through the medium of Buddhist texts written in
Chinese that the Japanese originally encountered
and studied Buddhist thought. This Chinese orienta-
tion provided the predominant lens through which
the Japanese viewed and learned about Buddhism.
Until the 19th century, no systematic attempts were
made to study such root languages of Buddhism as
Sanskrit or Pali or to study early pre-Chinese Bud-
dhist texts. There was, however, in the work of the
18th century writer Tominaga Nakamoto, a recogni-
tion of the conditional nature of language, dependent
on the time in which it was used, the form of expres-
sion used, and the intent of the user. Tominaga’s
studies of Buddhist texts and of the varying ways

Buck, Carl Darling (1866–1955)
R D Greenberg, Yale University, New Haven, CT, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born in Bucksport, Maine in 1866, Carl Darling Buck
was an expert in historical linguistics, especially the
history of the Italic branch of Indo–European. Having
completed his undergraduate studies at Yale in 1886,
he continued his graduate studies there for another
3 years. He then moved to Europe, where he stud-
ied classical languages in Athens (1887–1889) and
Leipzig (1889–1892). Buck joined the University of
Chicago in the year of its founding, 1892, as a profes-
sor of Sanskrit and Indo-European comparative phi-
lology. He remained at this post until his retirement in
1933, when he became professor emeritus. In his
retirement, Buck remained active in his scholarship,
working on his reverse dictionary of Greek nouns
and adjectives co-authored with Walter Petersen
(1945) and his dictionary of synonyms in the Indo–
European languages (1949). In 1954, the University
of Chicago honored him as one of three surviving
individuals who had been at the University since its
founding. Buck died the following year.
During his remarkable career, Buck made signifi-
cant contributions in the areas of the Oscan and
Umbrian languages, including a study of these lan-
guages’ vocalic systems (1892) and verbal forms
(1895). Together with William Gardner Hale, he pro-
duced a grammar of Latin (1903), and in the next
year his grammar of Oscan and Umbrian appeared.
Before the end of the first decade of the 20th century,
Buck had also produced studies of ancient Greek dia-
lects. However, many students of Indo–European
Buddhism, Japanese
I Reader
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
p. 423–424. ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Buddhism has had major linguistic influences in
Japan, ranging from the development of classical Jap-
anese literary forms and new syllabaries to the use of
a wide vocabulary that has, in the course of time,
become part of standard Japanese usage. It entered
Japan along with many other facets of continental
Asiatic culture from the 6th century onward. Along
with Buddhism, the most significant cultural influ-
ence that entered Japan in this period was the Chinese
Buddhism, Japanese 143
linguistics may know Buck best through his compar-
ative grammar of Greek and Latin (1933) and his
dictionary of Indo–European synonyms (1949).
These works have endured as classic reference books
in historical linguistics.
See also: Greek, Ancient; Indo–European Languages;
Proto-Indo–European Syntax.
Bibliography
Buck C D (1892). Der Vocalismus der oskischen Sprache.
Leipzig: K. F. Koehler’s Antiquarium.
Buck C D (1895). The Oscan-Umbrian verb-system.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1903). A sketch of the linguistic conditions of
Chicago. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1904). Grammar of Oscan and Umbrian.
Boston: Ginn and Company.
Buck C D (1905). Elemenatarbuch der oskisch-umbrischen
Dialekte. Heidelberg: C. Winter.
Buck C D (1910). Introduction to the study of the Greek
dialects: grammar, selected inscriptions, glossary. Boston:
Ginn and Company.
Buck C D (1933). Comparative grammar of Greek and
Latin. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D (1949). A dictionary of selected synonyms in the
principal Indo–European languages: a contribution to the
history of ideas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Buck C D & Hale W G (1903). A Latin grammar. New
York: Mentzer, Bush.
Buck C D & Petersen W (1945). A reverse index of Greek
nouns and adjectives, arranged by terminations with brief
historical introductions. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
writing system, which the Japanese adopted. It was
through the medium of Buddhist texts written in
Chinese that the Japanese originally encountered
and studied Buddhist thought. This Chinese orienta-
tion provided the predominant lens through which
the Japanese viewed and learned about Buddhism.
Until the 19th century, no systematic attempts were
made to study such root languages of Buddhism as
Sanskrit or Pali or to study early pre-Chinese Bud-
dhist texts. There was, however, in the work of the
18th century writer Tominaga Nakamoto, a recogni-
tion of the conditional nature of language, dependent
on the time in which it was used, the form of expres-
sion used, and the intent of the user. Tominaga’s
studies of Buddhist texts and of the varying ways
144 Buddhism, Japanese
that Sanskrit terms had been translated, in different
eras and by different authors, into Chinese enabled
him to come to an understanding of the relative na-
ture of language and of religious forms and to develop
the foundations of a critical scholarship of religion
and of Buddhist texts.
The entry of Buddhism into Japan led the Japanese
to study Chinese culture in depth and, especially, to
embark on an intensive study of the Chinese language
and its writing system so as to facilitate study of the
new religion. Consequently, the entry of Buddhism
was a powerful spur toward the Japanese adoption of
the Chinese writing system. It also proved to be a
major medium for its gradual transformation into a
Japanese system, for in order to make the texts more
readily comprehensible they were read in a Japanese
syntactical style that applied Japanese pronunciations
to the ideograms. Even in the early 1990s, Japanese
Buddhist priests intoned, with Japanese pronuncia-
tions, texts written in Chinese. Because few understand
Buddhist Chinese, this has led to a situation in which
most priests and worshippers do not understand
the meanings of the texts they recite. Large numbers
of contemporary Japanese translations and commen-
taries on Buddhist texts are, however, available to
explain such texts.
Buddhism played a major part in the development
and use of the phonetic syllabary katakana, which
forms an intrinsic part of the written language along
with Chinese ideograms. Katakana developed as a
mnemonic device for providing Japanese readings
and pronunciations of Chinese Buddhist texts and
was widely used in the temples of Nara, the ancient
capital, by the 8th century. Its use was subsequently
diversified into the world of literature and eventually
into general use. Although the earliest usages and
development of the other phonetic syllabary, hiraga-
na, occurred outside of Buddhist temples, it is
clear that this syllabary was also widely used in the
Buddhism, Tibetan
J Powers, Australian National University, Canberra,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
During the 7th century, Tibet was an expanding
military power. Its armies conquered large parts of
China’s Central Asian territories, but as it came into
contact with more advanced civilizations, Tibet
became increasingly aware of its cultural backward-
ness. One consequence of this was the decision by
Buddhist world by the 10th century, and this further
stimulated the emergence of an authentic written
language combining ideograms and phonetic script.
Many Buddhistic words still in use in the late 20th
century (e.g., the term issai shujô, ‘all sentient beings’)
derive from the earliest wave of assimilation in the
6th century: although changes in the dominant form
of Chinese in the 7th century affected the ways that
the Japanese pronounced most Chinese ideograms,
the Buddhist temples resisted this change and
continued for the most part to preserve the earlier
forms. For example, the ideogram meaning ‘being,
existence’ is more commonly pronounced sei, but in
Buddhist contexts generally retains the earlier pro-
nunciation jô. To this extent, Buddhist Japanese as
used in rituals has a rather archaic feeling compared
to standard Japanese. Nonetheless, many standard
Buddhist terms based on these earlier forms of pro-
nunciation, for example, jigoku (‘hell’) and gokuraku
(‘heaven’), have become everyday terms still extant in
contemporary Japanese and not limited to Buddhistic
usage. Because of its close relationship with the Chi-
nese language, which formed the basis of the Japanese
writing system and which added immeasurably to the
Japanese vocabulary of the time, Buddhism has thus
played an instrumental role in the evolution of the
Japanese language and in augmenting its scope, both
orally and in written forms.
See also: Buddhism, Tibetan; South Asia: Religions.
Bibliography
Matsunaga D & Matsunaga A (1978). Foundation of Japa-
nese Buddhism (2 vols). Los Angeles: Buddhist Books
International.
Miller R A (1967). The Japanese language. Tokyo: Charles
Tuttle.
Nakamoto T (1990). Emerging from meditation, trans.
with an introduction by Pye M. London: Duckworth.
King Songtsen Gampo (ca. 618–650) to send his
advisor Tönmi Sambhota to India to develop a
written script for the Tibetan language. With the
help of Indian pandits, he developed a script based
on north Indian models that is still used today.
Although Tibetan histories written centuries later
by Buddhist clerics present Songtsen Gampo as an
emanation of the Buddha Avalokiteśvara whose pri-
mary goal in life was to spread Buddhism, there is
little evidence that he had any real interest in the
religion. Some of his successors, however, became
144 Buddhism, Japanese
that Sanskrit terms had been translated, in different
eras and by different authors, into Chinese enabled
him to come to an understanding of the relative na-
ture of language and of religious forms and to develop
the foundations of a critical scholarship of religion
and of Buddhist texts.
The entry of Buddhism into Japan led the Japanese
to study Chinese culture in depth and, especially, to
embark on an intensive study of the Chinese language
and its writing system so as to facilitate study of the
new religion. Consequently, the entry of Buddhism
was a powerful spur toward the Japanese adoption of
the Chinese writing system. It also proved to be a
major medium for its gradual transformation into a
Japanese system, for in order to make the texts more
readily comprehensible they were read in a Japanese
syntactical style that applied Japanese pronunciations
to the ideograms. Even in the early 1990s, Japanese
Buddhist priests intoned, with Japanese pronuncia-
tions, texts written in Chinese. Because few understand
Buddhist Chinese, this has led to a situation in which
most priests and worshippers do not understand
the meanings of the texts they recite. Large numbers
of contemporary Japanese translations and commen-
taries on Buddhist texts are, however, available to
explain such texts.
Buddhism played a major part in the development
and use of the phonetic syllabary katakana, which
forms an intrinsic part of the written language along
with Chinese ideograms. Katakana developed as a
mnemonic device for providing Japanese readings
and pronunciations of Chinese Buddhist texts and
was widely used in the temples of Nara, the ancient
capital, by the 8th century. Its use was subsequently
diversified into the world of literature and eventually
into general use. Although the earliest usages and
development of the other phonetic syllabary, hiraga-
na, occurred outside of Buddhist temples, it is
clear that this syllabary was also widely used in the
Buddhism, Tibetan
J Powers, Australian National University, Canberra,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
During the 7th century, Tibet was an expanding
military power. Its armies conquered large parts of
China’s Central Asian territories, but as it came into
contact with more advanced civilizations, Tibet
became increasingly aware of its cultural backward-
ness. One consequence of this was the decision by
Buddhist world by the 10th century, and this further
stimulated the emergence of an authentic written
language combining ideograms and phonetic script.
Many Buddhistic words still in use in the late 20th
century (e.g., the term issai shujô, ‘all sentient beings’)
derive from the earliest wave of assimilation in the
6th century: although changes in the dominant form
of Chinese in the 7th century affected the ways that
the Japanese pronounced most Chinese ideograms,
the Buddhist temples resisted this change and
continued for the most part to preserve the earlier
forms. For example, the ideogram meaning ‘being,
existence’ is more commonly pronounced sei, but in
Buddhist contexts generally retains the earlier pro-
nunciation jô. To this extent, Buddhist Japanese as
used in rituals has a rather archaic feeling compared
to standard Japanese. Nonetheless, many standard
Buddhist terms based on these earlier forms of pro-
nunciation, for example, jigoku (‘hell’) and gokuraku
(‘heaven’), have become everyday terms still extant in
contemporary Japanese and not limited to Buddhistic
usage. Because of its close relationship with the Chi-
nese language, which formed the basis of the Japanese
writing system and which added immeasurably to the
Japanese vocabulary of the time, Buddhism has thus
played an instrumental role in the evolution of the
Japanese language and in augmenting its scope, both
orally and in written forms.
See also: Buddhism, Tibetan; South Asia: Religions.
Bibliography
Matsunaga D & Matsunaga A (1978). Foundation of Japa-
nese Buddhism (2 vols). Los Angeles: Buddhist Books
International.
Miller R A (1967). The Japanese language. Tokyo: Charles
Tuttle.
Nakamoto T (1990). Emerging from meditation, trans.
with an introduction by Pye M. London: Duckworth.
King Songtsen Gampo (ca. 618–650) to send his
advisor Tönmi Sambhota to India to develop a
written script for the Tibetan language. With the
help of Indian pandits, he developed a script based
on north Indian models that is still used today.
Although Tibetan histories written centuries later
by Buddhist clerics present Songtsen Gampo as an
emanation of the Buddha Avalokiteśvara whose pri-
mary goal in life was to spread Buddhism, there is
little evidence that he had any real interest in the
religion. Some of his successors, however, became

devout Buddhists, and they began the process of
translating the Indian Buddhist canon into Tibetan.
The Tibetan language is part of the Tibeto-Burman
language family, and aside from the codifications of
Tönmi Sambhota (who adopted case endings and
other features of Sanskrit), there is no linguistic simi-
larity between it and Indic languages. As a result,
Tibetan translators of Sanskrit texts decided to create
a specialized vocabulary, which was codified in stan-
dard lexicons, as well as an artificial grammar and
sentence structure for their translations that reflected
those of Sanskrit Buddhist texts.
Contemporary Tibetan scholars make a distinction
between two forms of Tibetan: (1) ‘dharma language’
(chos skad), which is the canonical language devised
for scriptural translation, and (2) ‘colloquial lan-
guage’ (phal skad), which is used for day-to-
day conversation among Tibetans. Both share the
same grammar and syntax, but differ in their vocabu-
lary. Largely due to the sponsorship of Tibetan gov-
ernments, a vast corpus of Indic Buddhist texts
was translated into Tibetan, and in the 14th century
the scholar–monk Pudön (1290–1364) compiled a
standard canon, which is still normative today.
The ‘first dissemination’ (snga dar) of Buddhism to
Tibet began in the 7th century under the patronage of
Tibet’s kings, but stalled after the early dynasty fell. In
the 11th century, the Indian master Atiśa (982–1054)
traveled to Tibet and initiated the ‘second dissemina-
tion’ (phyi dar) of Buddhism. His mission was so
successful that from this point forward, Buddhism
became the dominant religion in the region.
Bühler, Karl (1879–1963)
M Bednarek, University of Augsburg, Augsburg,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Karl Bühler (see Figure 1) was born in Germany
(Meckesheim) in 1879 and, after gaining a doctorate
in philosophy and medicine, started work as an assis-
tant to Oswald Külpe, a psychologist in Würzburg.
Later he worked as a professor of psychology in
Dresden and Vienna (1922–1938), before having to
emigrate to the United States in 1938, where he lived
in Los Angeles from 1945 until his death in 1963.
In linguistics Bühler is most famous for his work
on deixis and on language function, but he also
Bühler, Karl (1879–1963) 145
Tibetan Buddhism historically derived from two
primary sources: (1) the monastic universities of
northern India and (2) tantric lineages based mainly
in Bengal and Bihar. One of the most important
Tibetan innovations was the system of reincarnating
lamas (sprul sku), the most important of which is
the Dalai Lama lineage. This began in the 16th centu-
ry, when Sönam Gyatso (1543–1588) was given the
title ‘‘Ta le’’ (‘Ocean’) by the Mongol chieftain
Altan Khan. The fifth Dalai Lama, Ngawang Losang
Gyatso (1617–1682), was made ruler of Tibet in 1642
with the help of Mongol supporters, and his succes-
sors remained the temporal and religious leaders of
the country until 1950, when troops of the Chinese
People’s Liberation Army invaded the country. In
1959, the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso (1935–),
fled into exile in India. Since that time, Chinese con-
trol over religion has intensified, and currently there
is no real religious freedom in Tibet. Buddhism has
been revived in exile, however, and study and practice
thrive in Tibetan exile communities in South Asia.
See also: Buddhism, Japanese; Sanskrit; South Asia: Re-
ligions; Tibetan.
Bibliography
Powers J (1995). Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism. Ithaca:
Snow Lion.
Smith E G (2001). Among Tibetan texts: History and liter-
ature of the Himalayan Plateau. Boston: Wisdom.
Wilson J B (1992). Translating Buddhism from Tibetan.
Ithaca: Snow Lion.
published work on developmental psychology, lan-
guage comprehension, and human cognition as well
as on other linguistic phenomena such as phonology,
syntax, morphology, and stylistics.
Bühler postulated four axioms for linguistics,
which were concerned with (1) the organon model
of language, (2) the sign status of language (by virtue
of abstract features), (3) the field structure of lan-
guage (Bühler united von Humboldt’s dichotomy of
ergon and energeia and de Saussure’s distinction be-
tween langue and parole in his Vierfelderschema of
language as Sprechhandlung, Sprachwerk, Sprechakt,
and Sprachgebilde), and (4) the fact that language is a
system of two ‘classes’ (Zweiklassensystem), namely
semantics and syntax. Of these four axioms, it was
especially the organon model that was influential.

devout Buddhists, and they began the process of
translating the Indian Buddhist canon into Tibetan.
The Tibetan language is part of the Tibeto-Burman
language family, and aside from the codifications of
Tönmi Sambhota (who adopted case endings and
other features of Sanskrit), there is no linguistic simi-
larity between it and Indic languages. As a result,
Tibetan translators of Sanskrit texts decided to create
a specialized vocabulary, which was codified in stan-
dard lexicons, as well as an artificial grammar and
sentence structure for their translations that reflected
those of Sanskrit Buddhist texts.
Contemporary Tibetan scholars make a distinction
between two forms of Tibetan: (1) ‘dharma language’
(chos skad), which is the canonical language devised
for scriptural translation, and (2) ‘colloquial lan-
guage’ (phal skad), which is used for day-to-
day conversation among Tibetans. Both share the
same grammar and syntax, but differ in their vocabu-
lary. Largely due to the sponsorship of Tibetan gov-
ernments, a vast corpus of Indic Buddhist texts
was translated into Tibetan, and in the 14th century
the scholar–monk Pudön (1290–1364) compiled a
standard canon, which is still normative today.
The ‘first dissemination’ (snga dar) of Buddhism to
Tibet began in the 7th century under the patronage of
Tibet’s kings, but stalled after the early dynasty fell. In
the 11th century, the Indian master Atiśa (982–1054)
traveled to Tibet and initiated the ‘second dissemina-
tion’ (phyi dar) of Buddhism. His mission was so
successful that from this point forward, Buddhism
became the dominant religion in the region.
Bühler, Karl (1879–1963)
M Bednarek, University of Augsburg, Augsburg,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Karl Bühler (see Figure 1) was born in Germany
(Meckesheim) in 1879 and, after gaining a doctorate
in philosophy and medicine, started work as an assis-
tant to Oswald Külpe, a psychologist in Würzburg.
Later he worked as a professor of psychology in
Dresden and Vienna (1922–1938), before having to
emigrate to the United States in 1938, where he lived
in Los Angeles from 1945 until his death in 1963.
In linguistics Bühler is most famous for his work
on deixis and on language function, but he also
Bühler, Karl (1879–1963) 145
Tibetan Buddhism historically derived from two
primary sources: (1) the monastic universities of
northern India and (2) tantric lineages based mainly
in Bengal and Bihar. One of the most important
Tibetan innovations was the system of reincarnating
lamas (sprul sku), the most important of which is
the Dalai Lama lineage. This began in the 16th centu-
ry, when Sönam Gyatso (1543–1588) was given the
title ‘‘Ta le’’ (‘Ocean’) by the Mongol chieftain
Altan Khan. The fifth Dalai Lama, Ngawang Losang
Gyatso (1617–1682), was made ruler of Tibet in 1642
with the help of Mongol supporters, and his succes-
sors remained the temporal and religious leaders of
the country until 1950, when troops of the Chinese
People’s Liberation Army invaded the country. In
1959, the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso (1935–),
fled into exile in India. Since that time, Chinese con-
trol over religion has intensified, and currently there
is no real religious freedom in Tibet. Buddhism has
been revived in exile, however, and study and practice
thrive in Tibetan exile communities in South Asia.
See also: Buddhism, Japanese; Sanskrit; South Asia: Re-
ligions; Tibetan.
Bibliography
Powers J (1995). Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism. Ithaca:
Snow Lion.
Smith E G (2001). Among Tibetan texts: History and liter-
ature of the Himalayan Plateau. Boston: Wisdom.
Wilson J B (1992). Translating Buddhism from Tibetan.
Ithaca: Snow Lion.
published work on developmental psychology, lan-
guage comprehension, and human cognition as well
as on other linguistic phenomena such as phonology,
syntax, morphology, and stylistics.
Bühler postulated four axioms for linguistics,
which were concerned with (1) the organon model
of language, (2) the sign status of language (by virtue
of abstract features), (3) the field structure of lan-
guage (Bühler united von Humboldt’s dichotomy of
ergon and energeia and de Saussure’s distinction be-
tween langue and parole in his Vierfelderschema of
language as Sprechhandlung, Sprachwerk, Sprechakt,
and Sprachgebilde), and (4) the fact that language is a
system of two ‘classes’ (Zweiklassensystem), namely
semantics and syntax. Of these four axioms, it was
especially the organon model that was influential.
146 Bühler, Karl (1879–1963)
Figure 1 Karl Bühler. With permission of the Archiv der
Universität Wien.
The Organon Model
In his Organonmodell Bühler took up Plato’s pro-
posal to explain language by virtue of the metaphor
of language as a tool (Greek órganon) that serves
distinct functions in society. He distinguished be-
tween three functions: Darstellung (‘representation’),
Ausdruck (‘expression’), and Appell (‘vocative’, ‘ap-
pellative’). In very simple terms, language may be
used for the representation of things (Dinge: Darstel-
lung), for the expression of the speaker’s inner feel-
ings/states (Sender: Ausdruck), and for influencing
the hearer’s behavior (Empfänger: Appell). The lin-
guistic sign is hence functionally very complex: it is a
symbol by virtue of its representational function, a
symptom (sign, index) by virtue of its dependence on
the sender, and a signal by virtue of its appeal to the
hearer. In a given instance, one of these functions may
dominate the others: Darstellung dominates in scien-
tific language, Ausdruck in poetic language, and
Appell in military language, but this does not
mean that the other functions are not present as well
(Bühler speaks of Dominanzphänomene). Thus, an
expression such as es regnet (‘it’s raining’) denotes a
meteorological event (Darstellung). But by uttering
it with different intonations, the speaker can also
express his/her feelings (Ausdruck) or appeal to some-
one not to forget to bring an umbrella (Appell)
(1982: 46). Because of Bühler’s occasionally imprecise
style of writing, aspects of this model remain much-
discussed in European linguistics. For instance, it is
not clear to what extent means of Ausdruck are
employed intentionally or subconsciously and to what
extent they are conventionalized. Although some of his
examples include conventional and intentional expres-
sions, Ausdruck is defined by him as ‘‘freie oder
gehemmte Entladung von Affekten’’ (1982: 352), i.e.,
the free or inhibited discharge of emotions, which seems
to more or less subconsciously ‘mirror’ the speaker’s
mental state or personality traits (Auer, 1999: 33). From
a strict viewpoint, this function thus does not concern
linguistics (Konstantinidou, 1997: 36; cf. also Péter,
1984: 245; Stankiewicz, 1964: 239f.); however, Bühler’s
expressive function has also been interpreted as refer-
ring to intentional linguistic communication.
The ‘Field Theory’ of Language
Bühler also developed his own contextual language
theory, the Zweifelderlehre (‘two-field theory’).
Signs, he said, are not isolated entities but always
occur in context, in a ‘field’ that can be deictic (Zeig-
feld) or symbolic (Symbolfeld). As such, linguistic
signs function as Feldgeräte. Representational sym-
bols can be interpreted solely with the help of the
Symbolfeld, but in order to assign meaning to utter-
ances containing deictic signals (Zeigwörter), hearers
need the extralinguistic context (the Zeigfeld). What
is designated by expressions such as here, there, I, you
changes according to the position of the speaker.
Thus, it is the I, now, and here that establishes the
deictic center (Bühler calls it the Ich-jetzt-hier-Origo).
The matter is more complicated because there are
several modi of pointing toward the context of utter-
ance: ad oculos (reference to components of the cur-
rent context), anaphorisch (reference to textual
components), and am Phantasma (reference to fic-
tional worlds).
Bühler’s contribution to linguistics is enormous:
apart from crucially influencing linguistic research
(especially the Prague School) before World War II,
his work has been of great importance in linguistics
since the ‘pragmatic turn’ in the 1970s, although
he failed to gain the deserved attention upon his
emigration to the United States. His Organonmodell
has been immensely significant in that it influenc-
ed the establishment of derived functional models
from Roman Jakobson to Dell Hymes and M.A.K.
Halliday. He is still being reinterpreted and analyzed
within modern linguistics (e.g., Kubczak, 1984; Péter,
1984; Auer, 1999). Similarly, his comments on deixis,
morphology, and metaphor have provided a stepping
stone for modern approaches in these fields. His
estate is currently being reorganized by the FDÖP
(Forschungsstelle und Dokumentationszentrum für
österreichische Philosophie).

See also: Functionalist Theories of Language; Halliday,
Michael A. K. (b. 1925); Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982);
Prague School.
Bibliography
Auer P (1999). Sprachliche Interaktion. Eine Einführung
anhand von 22 Klassikern. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Bühler K (1918). Die Geistige Entwicklung des Kindes.
Jena: Fischer.
Bühler K (1933). Ausdruckstheorie. Das System an der
Geschichte aufgezeigt. Jena: Fischer.
Bühler K (1969). Die Axiomatik der Sprachwissenschaften.
Frankfurt a. M.: Vittorio Klostermann (shortened version
of the original contribution to Kant-Studien 38, 1933).
Bühler K (1982). ‘The axiomatization of the language
sciences.’ In Innis R E (ed.) Karl Bühler. Semiotic founda-
tions of language theory. New York/London: Plenum.
91–164.
Bühler K (1982). Sprachtheorie. Die Darstellungs-
funktion der Sprache (1st edn.: Jena, 1934). Stuttgart:
Fischer.
Bulgaria: Language Situation
A G Angelov, University of Sofia, Sofia, Bulgaria
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Bulgarian language is spoken mainly in the cen-
tral and eastern Balkans. There are also Bulgarian-
speaking minorities or language islands in the regions
of Banat (Catholic settlers on the territory northwest
of the Balkans, cf. Stojkov, 1967), Bessarabia and
Tavria (emigrants in Moldova and Ukraine, Stoja-
nova, 1997), Albania (Hristova, 2003), northern
Greece (Shklifov and Shklivova, 2003), and Turkey
(Bojadzhiev, 1991). If, to this population, which iden-
tifies itself as Bulgarian, one adds the speakers of the
Macedonian language – the majority of whom also
considered themselves Bulgarians until 1944, when
the Macedonian language was created (cf. Kočev
et al., 1994; Bozhinov and Panayotov, 1978; Angelov,
2000) – the number of Bulgarian speakers may reach
10.5 million.
Bulgarian is also used as a first language for educa-
tional purposes by various minorities in Bulgaria:
Turks, Roma, Russians, Armenians, and Jews (Ange-
lov and Marshall, 2005), although after signing the
European Framework Convention for the Protection
of National Minorities in 1999, the Bulgarian Minis-
try of Education started to include some minority
languages in its educational programs. According to
Bulgaria: Language Situation 147
Bühler K (1990). Theory of language: the representational
function of language. (Foundations of semiotics 25)
(Goodwin D F, trans.). Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Eschbach A (ed.) (1988). Karl Bühler’s theory of language.
Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Konstantinidou M (1997). Sprache und Gefühl. Hamburg:
Helmut Buske Verlag.
Kubczak H (1984). ‘Bühlers ‘‘Symptomfunktion’’.’ Zeit-
schrift für Romanische Philologie 100, 1–25.
Musolff A (1990). Kommunikative Kreativität. Karl Büh-
lers Zweifelderlehre als Ansatz zu einer Theorie innova-
tiven Sprachgebrauchs. Aachen: Alano.
Péter M (1984). ‘Das Problem des sprachlichen Gefühlsaus-
drucks in besonderem Hinblick auf das Bühlersche Orga-
non-Modell.’ In Eschbach A (ed.) Bühler-Studien, vol. 1.
Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp. 239–260.
Stankiewicz E (1964). ‘Problems of emotive language.’ In
Sebok T A (ed.) Approaches to semiotics. The Hague:
Mouton. 239–264.
the last census (March 2001) Turks are the largest
minority in Bulgaria (758 000 or 9.5% of the whole
population). They are mainly rural (63%), concen-
trated in northeast and southeast of the country,
speaking Turkish dialects, probably different from
Standard Turkish. During the last 15 years, after the
democratic changes, Turks have their own media and
role in the public administration. Roma (last census
records 365 797, but other sources 650 000) are
heterogeneous, differing by origin, religion, language,
and dialects. Some Roma are Christians, other are
Muslims (part of them speakers of Turkish); they
live across the country in urban ghettoes or village
neighborhoods. They have a huge number of non-
government organizations (NGOs), but lack co-
ordination, and do not have their own media, as the
Turks do. Russians (30 000), Armenians (14 000), and
Jews (3000) are mainly urban populations, each of
them with specific cultural traditions and religious
institutions.
The sociolinguistic situation in the country presents
also some alleged, smaller minority groups and
confessional communities. The Pomaks, called also
Bulgarian Mohammedans (Muslim Bulgarians) are
located in Rhodopi Mountains. They speak archaic
Bulgarian dialect, although they started to learn Turk-
ish in the 1990s as a step-mother tongue. Gagaouz
(few villages in north-east Bulgaria), counter to the

See also: Functionalist Theories of Language; Halliday,
Michael A. K. (b. 1925); Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982);
Prague School.
Bibliography
Auer P (1999). Sprachliche Interaktion. Eine Einführung
anhand von 22 Klassikern. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Bühler K (1918). Die Geistige Entwicklung des Kindes.
Jena: Fischer.
Bühler K (1933). Ausdruckstheorie. Das System an der
Geschichte aufgezeigt. Jena: Fischer.
Bühler K (1969). Die Axiomatik der Sprachwissenschaften.
Frankfurt a. M.: Vittorio Klostermann (shortened version
of the original contribution to Kant-Studien 38, 1933).
Bühler K (1982). ‘The axiomatization of the language
sciences.’ In Innis R E (ed.) Karl Bühler. Semiotic founda-
tions of language theory. New York/London: Plenum.
91–164.
Bühler K (1982). Sprachtheorie. Die Darstellungs-
funktion der Sprache (1st edn.: Jena, 1934). Stuttgart:
Fischer.
Bulgaria: Language Situation
A G Angelov, University of Sofia, Sofia, Bulgaria
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Bulgarian language is spoken mainly in the cen-
tral and eastern Balkans. There are also Bulgarian-
speaking minorities or language islands in the regions
of Banat (Catholic settlers on the territory northwest
of the Balkans, cf. Stojkov, 1967), Bessarabia and
Tavria (emigrants in Moldova and Ukraine, Stoja-
nova, 1997), Albania (Hristova, 2003), northern
Greece (Shklifov and Shklivova, 2003), and Turkey
(Bojadzhiev, 1991). If, to this population, which iden-
tifies itself as Bulgarian, one adds the speakers of the
Macedonian language – the majority of whom also
considered themselves Bulgarians until 1944, when
the Macedonian language was created (cf. Kočev
et al., 1994; Bozhinov and Panayotov, 1978; Angelov,
2000) – the number of Bulgarian speakers may reach
10.5 million.
Bulgarian is also used as a first language for educa-
tional purposes by various minorities in Bulgaria:
Turks, Roma, Russians, Armenians, and Jews (Ange-
lov and Marshall, 2005), although after signing the
European Framework Convention for the Protection
of National Minorities in 1999, the Bulgarian Minis-
try of Education started to include some minority
languages in its educational programs. According to
Bulgaria: Language Situation 147
Bühler K (1990). Theory of language: the representational
function of language. (Foundations of semiotics 25)
(Goodwin D F, trans.). Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Eschbach A (ed.) (1988). Karl Bühler’s theory of language.
Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Konstantinidou M (1997). Sprache und Gefühl. Hamburg:
Helmut Buske Verlag.
Kubczak H (1984). ‘Bühlers ‘‘Symptomfunktion’’.’ Zeit-
schrift für Romanische Philologie 100, 1–25.
Musolff A (1990). Kommunikative Kreativität. Karl Büh-
lers Zweifelderlehre als Ansatz zu einer Theorie innova-
tiven Sprachgebrauchs. Aachen: Alano.
Péter M (1984). ‘Das Problem des sprachlichen Gefühlsaus-
drucks in besonderem Hinblick auf das Bühlersche Orga-
non-Modell.’ In Eschbach A (ed.) Bühler-Studien, vol. 1.
Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp. 239–260.
Stankiewicz E (1964). ‘Problems of emotive language.’ In
Sebok T A (ed.) Approaches to semiotics. The Hague:
Mouton. 239–264.
the last census (March 2001) Turks are the largest
minority in Bulgaria (758 000 or 9.5% of the whole
population). They are mainly rural (63%), concen-
trated in northeast and southeast of the country,
speaking Turkish dialects, probably different from
Standard Turkish. During the last 15 years, after the
democratic changes, Turks have their own media and
role in the public administration. Roma (last census
records 365 797, but other sources 650 000) are
heterogeneous, differing by origin, religion, language,
and dialects. Some Roma are Christians, other are
Muslims (part of them speakers of Turkish); they
live across the country in urban ghettoes or village
neighborhoods. They have a huge number of non-
government organizations (NGOs), but lack co-
ordination, and do not have their own media, as the
Turks do. Russians (30 000), Armenians (14 000), and
Jews (3000) are mainly urban populations, each of
them with specific cultural traditions and religious
institutions.
The sociolinguistic situation in the country presents
also some alleged, smaller minority groups and
confessional communities. The Pomaks, called also
Bulgarian Mohammedans (Muslim Bulgarians) are
located in Rhodopi Mountains. They speak archaic
Bulgarian dialect, although they started to learn Turk-
ish in the 1990s as a step-mother tongue. Gagaouz
(few villages in north-east Bulgaria), counter to the
148 Bulgaria: Language Situation
Pomaks, are Christians who speak a Turkish dialect.
Catholics (found in small towns and villages as Chi-
provtsi, Rakovski, and Bardarski Geran) are related
with the Bulgarian minority of Banat in Roma-
nia.They use specific archaic Bulgarian, which has a
written norm, based on Latin alphabet and influenced
by Croatian liturgical tradition.
Modern Bulgarian, spoken by 99% of the popula-
tion of the country, including the bilingual minorities
(10–15%), is a South Slavic language which stems
from Old Church Slavonic (Old Bulgarian, according
to Leskien, 1919; Mladenov, 1929; Vaillant, 1948;
Duridanov, 1993). The beginning of the Bulgarian
literary tradition was laid by the brothers SS Cyril
and Methodius, who are now recognized as the inven-
tors of the Glagolitic, an alphabet that corresponds
accurately to the phonetic peculiarities of the Slavic
languages. The New Testament was translated into
this new literary language as early as the 9th century,
along with a number of other liturgical books and
mediaeval ecclesiastical writings. The Cyrillic was
named after St. Constantine-Cyril the Philosopher,
and its invention is ascribed to St. Clement of Ohrid
(c. 830–916), the most prominent disciple of the
two brothers, who was ordained by Bulgaria’s Tsar
Simeon (893–927) ‘first bishop of the Bulgarian
language’ in 893. Today the Cyrillic is used in
Bulgaria as well as Russia, Ukraine, and Serbia; it
was also used until recently in Mongolia and some
other ex-Soviet republics.
In the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries the Bulgarian
language changed significantly (Mirchev, 1963), al-
though it preserved its rich vocabulary (Gerov, 1995)
and script. Modern Bulgarian has a somewhat differ-
ent grammar (Weigand, 1907; Beaulieux, 1933; Scat-
ton, 1984; Hauge, 1999; Kotova and Yanakiev, 2001)
and an analytic structure. Bulgarian has nine tenses, a
developed system of aspect and moods, intensive use
of prepositions and impersonal constructions, but no
case declension in the noun; the three main cases are
preserved in the personal pronouns. Thus the gram-
matical structure of Bulgarian differs from that of the
other Slavic languages (Ivanchev, 1988).
There were probably significant dialectal differ-
ences on Bulgarian language territory as early as the
Middle Ages, but the varied relief of the Balkans
produced a considerable number of dialects within a
comparatively small geographical region (Stojkov,
1993). There are two main spoken variants in Bulgar-
ian—Eastern and Western, which can be traced along
the northeast axis from the Danube River to the
Aegean, i.e., parallel to the Black Sea coast but
around 300 to 350 km inland on the central Balkans.
Bulgarian dialects are still used in the highland vil-
lages of the Rhodopi Mountains and the Central
Balkan Range, as well as in the Rila, Pirin, and
Strandja mountains. In urban conditions the tradi-
tional dialects have evolved into interdialects, influ-
enced by the urban social environment and Standard
Bulgarian (Videnov, 1990; Videnov and Angelov,
1999; Dimitrova, 2004).
The modern Bulgarian literary standard was estab-
lished in the late 19th century (Gyllin, 1991; Hill,
1992; Georgieva et al., 1989) on the basis of the
Northeastern Bulgarian dialects, although the capital
city, Sofia, lies in the western part of the country. This
gap has resulted in some cultural and linguistic dis-
proportions; however, they do not disrupt the contin-
uum in communication. Actually there are no
language barriers between the Slavic peoples even
on a far larger geographical territory that covers the
South and East Slavic languages. Various genres of
fiction and poetry have developed in Modern Bulgar-
ian, especially in the 19th and 20th centuries, as well
as stylistic registers used in public administration,
science, and education. Specific urban slang, profes-
sional jargons, and sociolects have also emerged nat-
urally; e.g., ‘tarikatski jargon’ of Sofia (Armjanov,
1993) is still typical of the young generation, in the
same way it was used in some urban folksongs during
the 1920s.
See also: Analytic/Synthetic, Necessary/Contingent, and a
priori/a posteriori; Balkans as a Linguistic Area; Bulgari-
an Lexicography; Bulgarian; Europe as a Linguistic Area;
Language and Dialect: Linguistic Varieties; Language
Education Policy in Europe; Leskien, August (1840–
1916); Lingua Francas as Second Languages; Macedonia:
Language Situation; Migration and Language; Minorities
and Language; Moldova: Language Situation; National-
ism and Linguistics; Old Church Slavonic; Proto-Indo-
European Morphology; Proto-Indo–European Phonology;
Proto-Indo–European Syntax; Romania: Language Situa-
tion; Slavic Languages; Standard and Dialect Vocabu-
lary; Teaching of Minority Languages; Ukraine:
Language Situation.
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language Divergence.’ In Zybatov L N (ed.) Sprachwan-
del in der Slavia. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang.
611–633.
Angelov A G & Marshall D F (eds.) (2005). ‘Overcoming
minority language policy failure: The case for Bulgaria
and the Balkans.’ International journal of the sociology
of language (special issue, forthcoming).
Armjanov G L (1993). Rechnik na bâlgarskija zhargon.
Sofia: 7MþLogis.
Beaulieux L (1933). Grammaire de la langue bulgare. Paris:
Libraireie ancienne honoré champion.

Bozhinov V & Panayotov L (eds.) (1978). Macedonia.
Documents and Material. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bâlgars-
kata akademija na naukite.
Bojadzhiev T A (1991). Bâlgarskite govori v Zapadna
(Belomorska) i Iztochna (Odrinska) Trakija. Sofia: Uni-
versitetsko izdatelstvo ‘‘Sv. Kliment Ohridski’’.
Dimitrova E (2004). Diglosijata v grad Krivodol. Sofia:
Heron Press.
Duridanov I (ed.) (1993). Gramatika na starobâlgarskija ezik.
Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Georgieva E, Zherev St & Stankov V (eds.) (1989). Istorija
na novobâlgarskija knizhoven ezik. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na
bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Gerov N (1895). Rechnikâ na Blâgarskyj jazykâ. Plovdiv:
Druzhestvena Pechjatnica ‘‘Sâglasie.’’
Gyllin R (1991). The genesis of the modern Bulgarian liter-
ary language. Uppsala: Uppsala University.
Hauge K R (1999). A short grammar of contemporary
Bulgarian. Bloomington: Slavica.
Hill P (1992). ‘Language standardization in the South
Slavonic area.’ In Ammon U, Mattheier K J, Nelde P H
(eds. of Sociolinguistica 6), Mattheier K J & Panzer B
(eds. of the special issue, ‘The Rise of National Languages
in Eastern Europe’). Sociolinguistica, 6. Tuebingen: Max
Niemeyer Verlag. 108–150.
Hristova E (2003). Bâlgarska rech ot Albanija. Govorât na
selo Vrâbnik. Blagoevgrad: Universitetsko Izdatelstvo
‘‘Neofit Rilski.’’
Ivanchev Sv T (1988). Bâlgarskijat ezik – klasicheski i
ekzotichen. Sofia: Narodna prosveta.
Kočev I, Kronshteiner O & Alexandrov I (1994). The fa-
thering of the what is known as the Macedonian literary
language. Sofia: Macedonian Scientific Institute.
Bulgarian
J Miller, University of Auckland, Auckland,
New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bulgarian is a South Slavic language, along with
Slovene (Slovenian), Macedonian, and the Serb-
Croatian linguistic complex. Geographically Bulgari-
an is also a Balkan language and shares a number of
phonetic, grammatical, and lexical features with
Rumanian (Romanian), Greek, and Albanian. For
instance, Rumanian and Albanian have schwa in
stressed syllables and so does Bulgarian, the only
Slav language with this property.
Bulgarian has two sets of dialects, Eastern and
Western (further subdivisions are recognized). A major
difference is in the reflexes of the Common Slavic jat
vowel, roughly equivalent to ‘ye’ as in English yet. In
Bulgarian 149
Kotova N & Yanakiev M (2001). Grammatika bolgarskogo
jazyka. Moscow: Izdateljstvo Moskovskogo Universiteta.
Leskien A (1919). Grammatik der altbulgarischen (alt-
kirchenslavischen) Sprache. Heidelberg, Germany: Carl
Winter’s Universitätsbuchhandlung.
Mirchev K (1963). Istoricheska gramatika na bâlgarskija
ezik. Sofia: Nauka i iskustvo.
Mladenov St (1929). Geschichte der bulgarischen Sprache.
Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co.
Scatton E A (1984). A reference grammar of modern Bul-
garian. Columbus, OH: Slavica.
Shklifov Bl & Shklivova E (2003). Bâlgarski dialektni tek-
stove ot Egejska Makedonija. Sofia: Akademichno izda-
telstvo ‘‘Marin Drinov.’’
Stojanova E P (1997). Istorija odnogo jazykovogo ostrova.
Sofia, Veliko Tarnovo: Znak’94.
Stojkov St (1967). Banatskijat govor. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na
Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Stojkov St (1993). Bâlgarska dialektologija. Sofia: Izda-
telstvo na Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Vaillant A (1948). Manuel du vieux slave. Paris: Institut
d’études slaves.
Videnov M G (1990). Savremennata balgarska gradska
ezikova situacija. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo ‘‘Sv.
Kliment Ohridski.’’
Videnov M G & Angelov A G (eds.) (1999). ‘Sociolinguis-
tics in Bulgaria.’ International Journal of the Sociology of
Language (special issue, 135).
Weigand G (1907). Bulgarische Grammatik. Leipzig,
Germany: Johann Ambrosius Barth.
the North Eastern dialects the jat vowel became ‘ja’ in a
stressed syllable and followed by a syllable with a back
vowel. Elsewhere it became ‘e.’ Standard Bulgarian,
based on the North Eastern dialects, has the ‘ja’ – ‘e’
alternation, in, e.g., adjectives: bjalo ‘white’ (neuter
singular) versus beli (plural).
The Common Slavic ‘l’ and ‘r’ plus jer (extra-short
vowel) and syllabic ‘l’ and ‘r’ became ‘ǔr’ and ‘ǔl’ in
polysyllabic words before two consonants and ‘rǔ’ and
‘lǔ’ elsewhere: skǔrben ‘sorrowful’; ‘prǔv’ (first-person
masculine) versus ‘pǔrva’ (first-person feminine). Con-
sonants are palatalized or non-palatalized, as in other
Slav languages.
Bulgarian has lost the Slavic case-suffixes but has
developed definite articles, attached to the first word
in noun phrases: Bulgarian knigata ‘the book,’ kniga
‘a book,’ novata kniga ‘the new book,’ nova kniga ‘a
new book.’ In written Bulgarian masculine nouns

Bozhinov V & Panayotov L (eds.) (1978). Macedonia.
Documents and Material. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bâlgars-
kata akademija na naukite.
Bojadzhiev T A (1991). Bâlgarskite govori v Zapadna
(Belomorska) i Iztochna (Odrinska) Trakija. Sofia: Uni-
versitetsko izdatelstvo ‘‘Sv. Kliment Ohridski’’.
Dimitrova E (2004). Diglosijata v grad Krivodol. Sofia:
Heron Press.
Duridanov I (ed.) (1993). Gramatika na starobâlgarskija ezik.
Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Georgieva E, Zherev St & Stankov V (eds.) (1989). Istorija
na novobâlgarskija knizhoven ezik. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na
bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Gerov N (1895). Rechnikâ na Blâgarskyj jazykâ. Plovdiv:
Druzhestvena Pechjatnica ‘‘Sâglasie.’’
Gyllin R (1991). The genesis of the modern Bulgarian liter-
ary language. Uppsala: Uppsala University.
Hauge K R (1999). A short grammar of contemporary
Bulgarian. Bloomington: Slavica.
Hill P (1992). ‘Language standardization in the South
Slavonic area.’ In Ammon U, Mattheier K J, Nelde P H
(eds. of Sociolinguistica 6), Mattheier K J & Panzer B
(eds. of the special issue, ‘The Rise of National Languages
in Eastern Europe’). Sociolinguistica, 6. Tuebingen: Max
Niemeyer Verlag. 108–150.
Hristova E (2003). Bâlgarska rech ot Albanija. Govorât na
selo Vrâbnik. Blagoevgrad: Universitetsko Izdatelstvo
‘‘Neofit Rilski.’’
Ivanchev Sv T (1988). Bâlgarskijat ezik – klasicheski i
ekzotichen. Sofia: Narodna prosveta.
Kočev I, Kronshteiner O & Alexandrov I (1994). The fa-
thering of the what is known as the Macedonian literary
language. Sofia: Macedonian Scientific Institute.
Bulgarian
J Miller, University of Auckland, Auckland,
New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bulgarian is a South Slavic language, along with
Slovene (Slovenian), Macedonian, and the Serb-
Croatian linguistic complex. Geographically Bulgari-
an is also a Balkan language and shares a number of
phonetic, grammatical, and lexical features with
Rumanian (Romanian), Greek, and Albanian. For
instance, Rumanian and Albanian have schwa in
stressed syllables and so does Bulgarian, the only
Slav language with this property.
Bulgarian has two sets of dialects, Eastern and
Western (further subdivisions are recognized). A major
difference is in the reflexes of the Common Slavic jat
vowel, roughly equivalent to ‘ye’ as in English yet. In
Bulgarian 149
Kotova N & Yanakiev M (2001). Grammatika bolgarskogo
jazyka. Moscow: Izdateljstvo Moskovskogo Universiteta.
Leskien A (1919). Grammatik der altbulgarischen (alt-
kirchenslavischen) Sprache. Heidelberg, Germany: Carl
Winter’s Universitätsbuchhandlung.
Mirchev K (1963). Istoricheska gramatika na bâlgarskija
ezik. Sofia: Nauka i iskustvo.
Mladenov St (1929). Geschichte der bulgarischen Sprache.
Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co.
Scatton E A (1984). A reference grammar of modern Bul-
garian. Columbus, OH: Slavica.
Shklifov Bl & Shklivova E (2003). Bâlgarski dialektni tek-
stove ot Egejska Makedonija. Sofia: Akademichno izda-
telstvo ‘‘Marin Drinov.’’
Stojanova E P (1997). Istorija odnogo jazykovogo ostrova.
Sofia, Veliko Tarnovo: Znak’94.
Stojkov St (1967). Banatskijat govor. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na
Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Stojkov St (1993). Bâlgarska dialektologija. Sofia: Izda-
telstvo na Bâlgarskata akademija na naukite.
Vaillant A (1948). Manuel du vieux slave. Paris: Institut
d’études slaves.
Videnov M G (1990). Savremennata balgarska gradska
ezikova situacija. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo ‘‘Sv.
Kliment Ohridski.’’
Videnov M G & Angelov A G (eds.) (1999). ‘Sociolinguis-
tics in Bulgaria.’ International Journal of the Sociology of
Language (special issue, 135).
Weigand G (1907). Bulgarische Grammatik. Leipzig,
Germany: Johann Ambrosius Barth.
the North Eastern dialects the jat vowel became ‘ja’ in a
stressed syllable and followed by a syllable with a back
vowel. Elsewhere it became ‘e.’ Standard Bulgarian,
based on the North Eastern dialects, has the ‘ja’ – ‘e’
alternation, in, e.g., adjectives: bjalo ‘white’ (neuter
singular) versus beli (plural).
The Common Slavic ‘l’ and ‘r’ plus jer (extra-short
vowel) and syllabic ‘l’ and ‘r’ became ‘ǔr’ and ‘ǔl’ in
polysyllabic words before two consonants and ‘rǔ’ and
‘lǔ’ elsewhere: skǔrben ‘sorrowful’; ‘prǔv’ (first-person
masculine) versus ‘pǔrva’ (first-person feminine). Con-
sonants are palatalized or non-palatalized, as in other
Slav languages.
Bulgarian has lost the Slavic case-suffixes but has
developed definite articles, attached to the first word
in noun phrases: Bulgarian knigata ‘the book,’ kniga
‘a book,’ novata kniga ‘the new book,’ nova kniga ‘a
new book.’ In written Bulgarian masculine nouns
150 Bulgarian

take different subject and oblique forms of the article: resultative) and sǔm is the copula. Both Bulgarian and
(j)at and (j)a. In spoken Bulgarian (j)at is typically not Macedonian have developed another perfect, with a
used. passive (resultative) participle and imam ‘I have’: com-
Bulgarian has preserved the Indo-European tense- pare angazhiral sǔm masa ‘I have booked a table,’
aspect system of imperfect and aorist alongside the where angazhiral expresses a property of the speaker,
newer perfective-imperfective system. Typically, im- and imam angazhirana masa ‘I-have booked a-table,’
perfect suffixes are added to imperfective stems and where angazhirana expresses a property of table.
aorist suffixes to perfective stems. Bulgarian does Bulgarian has what Bulgarian linguists call a renar-
offer examples of perfective stems with imperfect rative construction. It is based on the perfect and
suffixes in subordinate clauses introduced by, e.g., past perfect. De Bray (1980: 123) talks of the past
shtom ‘as soon as’ and in main clauses; they express perfect as used in renarration; Feuillet talks of the use
a completed action that is repeated. The following of the perfect and past perfect to signal distance
example (1) is from Feuillet (1995: 36). or inference. That is, neither recognizes a separate
renarrative tense. Examples are in (5); see Feuillet
(1) Vecher sedneshe na chardaka
(1995: 41).
Evening sit-down–3SG on verandah-DO
‘In the evening he would sit down on the 5(a) Kazal na Bozhura, che
verandah’ He-supposedly-said to Bozhura that
shtjal da se vurne
Sedn is perfective and -eshe is imperfect.
he-would conjunction self return
There are two future constructions, one for asser- ‘He is supposed to have told Bozhura that he would
tions and the other for denials. The former structure return’
uses the particle shte, derived from the verb xoshtõ 5(b) Kaza na Bozhura, che
‘I want/wish.’ The meaning ‘want’ is now expressed He-said to Bozhura that
by iskam, cognate with the Russian iskat’ ‘search for’. shtjal da se vurne
he-would conjunction self return
Compare (2) and (3).
‘He told Bozhura that he would return’
(2a) Dimo shte dojde utre
(3a) demonstrates a Balkan feature, a lack of infi-
Dimo particle come-PERF-3SG tomorrow
‘Dimo will come tomorrow’ nitives. Where Russian, for example, has an infinitive,
(2b) azshte dojda utre Bulgarian has a finite clause. Bulgarian has two prin-
I particle come-PERF-1SG tomorrow cipal subordinating conjunctions, da and che. Da is
‘I will come tomorrow’ used for irrealis clauses; in (4a) the event of Donka
(3) az iskam da dojda coming is not a fact but a possibility. In (6) (from
I want-IMPERF- conjunction come-PERF- Feuillet, 1995) the event of his looking at the traffic
1SG 1SG is irrealis; he is not doing it. In (7), in contrast, the
‘I want to come’
event of Donka coming is presented as fact, and the
The future-conditional still consists of a verb (orig- clause is introduced by che.
inally the imperfect of xoshtõ) plus a da complement (6) Toj varveshe, bez da
clause: shtjax da dojda ‘I would come,’ shteshe da He was-walking without conjunction
dojdesh ‘you would come.’ obrashta vnimanie na dvizhenie-to
The negative future construction consists of the turns attention to traffic-the
invariable njama, originally a negative form of ‘He was walking without paying attention to the
imam ‘have,’ plus a da clause, as in (4). traffic’

(7) Tja kaza, che Donka shte dojde

(4a) Donka njama da dojde
‘She said that Donka will come’
Donka not-have-IMPERF- conjunction come-PERF-
3SG 3SG Da was originally a marker of irrealis main clauses,
‘Donka won’t come’
a function which it still has in modern Bulgarian.
(4b) az njama da dojda
not-have-IMPERF- conjunction come-PERF- Bulgarian has a relativizer kojto (masculine),
1SG 1SG kojato (feminine), and koeto (neuter), with the plural
‘I won’t come’ koito. It is used as a free relative: kojto pie tazi rakija
e glupak ‘whoever drinks this rakija is an idiot,’ and
Ne shte occurs, but the njama construction is the
as a relativizer in relative clauses, as in (8).
norm.
Bulgarian has a perfect as well as a perfective: Bul- (8) knigata, kojato kupix
garian chetox ‘I read’ (last week) versus chel sǔm ‘I book-the which I-bought
have read.’ Chel is the perfect participle (originally ‘the book which I bought’

The structure preposition plus relativizer is used:
knigata, v kojato chetox tezi dumi ‘the book in which
I read these words.’ Spoken Bulgarian has a relative
clause introduced by the invariable deto ‘where’:
knigata DETO ja kupikh ‘the book that I bought,’
momcheto deto dojde ‘the boy that came.’ It also has
a relative clause structure with shto (‘what’) and
resumptive pronoun: kniga, shto ja kupikh ‘the-
book that it I-bought.’
Despite the lack of case suffixes Bulgarian has
flexible word order because of clitic personal pro-
nouns (see Feuillet, 1995: 52–55). The personal
pronouns have long and short (clitic) forms: mene
me (me-accusative), mene mi (me-dative), nego go
(him-accusative), and so on. Consider the question–
answer pair in (9).
(9) Chete li ja Dimo novata kniga?
Read Q it Dimo new-the book?
‘Did Dimo read the new book?’
Dimo ja chete novata kniga
Dimo it read new-the book
‘Dimo read the new book’
(9) is neutral; it asks simply if this event took
place, not whether it was Dimo doing it or someone
else, or if it was the new book that was read or
something else. The order novata kniga ja chete
Bulgarian Lexicography
D Stantcheva, Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of
Sciences, Berlin, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bulgarian lexicography began much later than that of
most other European languages. This was largely due
to the decline of the early Bulgarian literary culture,
after the Turkish destruction of the second Bulgarian
empire at the end of the 14th century. The literary
culture did not begin to revive until 1762, the begin-
ning of a period known as the Bulgarian Renaissance
which lasted until 1878 (the end of the Russian–
Turkish war).
Pioneer dictionaries in Bulgarian include a manu-
script of a Bulgarian–Greek word index from
Bogasko, near Kastoria (16th century); Chetiriezi-
chen rechnik, by Daniil of Moschopolis (1802);
Dodatak k Sanktpeterburgskim sravnitel’nim rechnit-
sima sviiu eziki, by Vuk Karadzhich (1822); and
the manuscripts Gr‘‘tsko-b‘‘lgarski razgovornik and
Gr‘‘tsko-b‘‘lgarski rechnik, by Zakhariı̆ Krusha
(1828). However, these works had no influence
Bulgarian Lexicography 151
Dimo highlights ja chete Dimo; the pronoun ja signals
that novata kniga is the direct object of chete. The order
novata kniga, Dimo ja chete, with focal stress on Dimo,
puts contrastive highlighting on Dimo: ‘As for the
book, it was Dimo who read it and not anyone else.’
See also: Balto-Slavic Languages; Bulgaria: Language
Situation; Bulgarian Lexicography; Clitics; Macedonia:
Language Situation; Macedonian; Old Church Slavonic;
Relative Clauses; Spoken Discourse: Word Order; Tense.
Bibliography
Aronson H (1968). Bulgarian inflectional morphophonol-
ogy. The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter.
De Bray R G A (1980). Guide to the Slavonic languages
(3rd edn.). Columbus, OH: Slavica.
Feuillet J (1995). Bulgare. Munich: Lincom Europa.
Holman M & Kovacheva M (1993). Teach yourself
Bulgarian. London: Hodder and Stoughton.
Hubenova M, Dzhumadanova A & Marinova M (1983).
A course in modern Bulgarian, parts 1 and 2. Columbus,
OH: Slavica.
Rudin C (1985). Aspects of Bulgarian syntax: complemen-
tizers and wh constructions. Columbus, OH: Slavica.
on subsequent Bulgarian lexicographical tradition,
which developed as a part of the Bulgarian Renais-
sance, or on the development of New Bulgarian as a
literary language. Works from the Renaissance period
can be classified as follows:
1. Purist compilations: these include the word index-
es in Bolgarska gramatika by Neofit Rilski (1835)
and P‘‘rvichka b‘‘lgarska gramatika by Ivan
Bogorov (1844), and a dictionary entitled Rechnik
na dumi turski i gr‘‘tski v iazika b‘‘lgarskiı̆ (1855)
by Mikhail Pavlev and Aleksandur T. Zhivkov.
2. Dictionaries of foreign words that have enriched
the Bulgarian vocabulary: these include Kratkiı̆
rechnik za chuzhdestrannite rechi, koito sia
nakhozhdat v b‘‘lgarskiı̆ iazik (1863), by Teodor
Khrulev, and thesauri as appendixes to various
books by Anastas Kipilovski, Petko R. Slaveı̆kov,
Sava Radulov, and Mikhail Popovich.
3. Bilingual dictionaries: chief among these are
An English and Bulgarian vocabulary in two
parts (1860) by Charles Morse and Konstantin
Vasiliev, and Frensko-b‘‘lgarski rechnik (1869)

The structure preposition plus relativizer is used:
knigata, v kojato chetox tezi dumi ‘the book in which
I read these words.’ Spoken Bulgarian has a relative
clause introduced by the invariable deto ‘where’:
knigata DETO ja kupikh ‘the book that I bought,’
momcheto deto dojde ‘the boy that came.’ It also has
a relative clause structure with shto (‘what’) and
resumptive pronoun: kniga, shto ja kupikh ‘the-
book that it I-bought.’
Despite the lack of case suffixes Bulgarian has
flexible word order because of clitic personal pro-
nouns (see Feuillet, 1995: 52–55). The personal
pronouns have long and short (clitic) forms: mene
me (me-accusative), mene mi (me-dative), nego go
(him-accusative), and so on. Consider the question–
answer pair in (9).
(9) Chete li ja Dimo novata kniga?
Read Q it Dimo new-the book?
‘Did Dimo read the new book?’
Dimo ja chete novata kniga
Dimo it read new-the book
‘Dimo read the new book’
(9) is neutral; it asks simply if this event took
place, not whether it was Dimo doing it or someone
else, or if it was the new book that was read or
something else. The order novata kniga ja chete
Bulgarian Lexicography
D Stantcheva, Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of
Sciences, Berlin, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bulgarian lexicography began much later than that of
most other European languages. This was largely due
to the decline of the early Bulgarian literary culture,
after the Turkish destruction of the second Bulgarian
empire at the end of the 14th century. The literary
culture did not begin to revive until 1762, the begin-
ning of a period known as the Bulgarian Renaissance
which lasted until 1878 (the end of the Russian–
Turkish war).
Pioneer dictionaries in Bulgarian include a manu-
script of a Bulgarian–Greek word index from
Bogasko, near Kastoria (16th century); Chetiriezi-
chen rechnik, by Daniil of Moschopolis (1802);
Dodatak k Sanktpeterburgskim sravnitel’nim rechnit-
sima sviiu eziki, by Vuk Karadzhich (1822); and
the manuscripts Gr‘‘tsko-b‘‘lgarski razgovornik and
Gr‘‘tsko-b‘‘lgarski rechnik, by Zakhariı̆ Krusha
(1828). However, these works had no influence
Bulgarian Lexicography 151
Dimo highlights ja chete Dimo; the pronoun ja signals
that novata kniga is the direct object of chete. The order
novata kniga, Dimo ja chete, with focal stress on Dimo,
puts contrastive highlighting on Dimo: ‘As for the
book, it was Dimo who read it and not anyone else.’
See also: Balto-Slavic Languages; Bulgaria: Language
Situation; Bulgarian Lexicography; Clitics; Macedonia:
Language Situation; Macedonian; Old Church Slavonic;
Relative Clauses; Spoken Discourse: Word Order; Tense.
Bibliography
Aronson H (1968). Bulgarian inflectional morphophonol-
ogy. The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter.
De Bray R G A (1980). Guide to the Slavonic languages
(3rd edn.). Columbus, OH: Slavica.
Feuillet J (1995). Bulgare. Munich: Lincom Europa.
Holman M & Kovacheva M (1993). Teach yourself
Bulgarian. London: Hodder and Stoughton.
Hubenova M, Dzhumadanova A & Marinova M (1983).
A course in modern Bulgarian, parts 1 and 2. Columbus,
OH: Slavica.
Rudin C (1985). Aspects of Bulgarian syntax: complemen-
tizers and wh constructions. Columbus, OH: Slavica.
on subsequent Bulgarian lexicographical tradition,
which developed as a part of the Bulgarian Renais-
sance, or on the development of New Bulgarian as a
literary language. Works from the Renaissance period
can be classified as follows:
1. Purist compilations: these include the word index-
es in Bolgarska gramatika by Neofit Rilski (1835)
and P‘‘rvichka b‘‘lgarska gramatika by Ivan
Bogorov (1844), and a dictionary entitled Rechnik
na dumi turski i gr‘‘tski v iazika b‘‘lgarskiı̆ (1855)
by Mikhail Pavlev and Aleksandur T. Zhivkov.
2. Dictionaries of foreign words that have enriched
the Bulgarian vocabulary: these include Kratkiı̆
rechnik za chuzhdestrannite rechi, koito sia
nakhozhdat v b‘‘lgarskiı̆ iazik (1863), by Teodor
Khrulev, and thesauri as appendixes to various
books by Anastas Kipilovski, Petko R. Slaveı̆kov,
Sava Radulov, and Mikhail Popovich.
3. Bilingual dictionaries: chief among these are
An English and Bulgarian vocabulary in two
parts (1860) by Charles Morse and Konstantin
Vasiliev, and Frensko-b‘‘lgarski rechnik (1869)
152 Bulgarian Lexicography

Table 1 The main Bulgarian dictionaries from 1945 to the present day

Type of dictionary Title

Dictionary of foreign words
Explanatory monolingual dictionaries;
dictionaries of record
Spelling dictionaries and pronouncing
dictionaries
Frequency dictionaries
Historical dictionaries
Dictionaries of personal names and
place names
Phraseological dictionaries
Dictionaries of archaisms and
neologisms
Paradigmatic dictionaries
Dictionary of acronyms
Valency dictionary
Dictionaries of jargon and slang
Stefan Ilchev et al. (1982): Rechnik na chuzhdite dumi v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Liubomir Andreı̆chin et al. (1st edition 1955, 4th edition 1994 revised and completed by
Dimit‘‘r Popov): B‘‘lgarski t‘‘lkoven rechnik
Stoian Romanski et al. (1955–1959): Rechnik na s‘‘vremenniia b‘‘lgarski knizhoven ezik
Kristalina Cholakova et al. (1977–, 11 volumes published by 2002, up to oiam se): Rechnik na
b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Ivan Khadzhov et al. (1945): Pravopisen i pravogovoren nar‘‘chnik
Liubomir Andreı̆chin et al. (1st edition 1945, 10th edition 1984): Pravopisen rechnik na
b‘‘lgarskiia knizhoven ezik
Stoian Romanski (1951): Pravopisen rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia knizhoven ezik s posochvane izgovora
na dumite i poiasnenie na chuzhdite dumi
Pet‘‘r Pashov/Khristo P‘‘rvev (1975): Pravogovoren rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Elena Georgieva/Valentin Stankov (1983): Pravopisen rechnik na s‘‘vremenniia b‘‘lgarski
knizhoven ezik
Dimit‘‘r Popov et al. (1998): Rechnik za pravogovor, pravopis, punktuatsiia
Valentin Stankov et al. (2002): Nov pravopisen rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Tsvetanka Nikolova (1987): Chestoten rechik na b‘‘lgarskata razgovorna rech
Elena Todorova (1995): Chestoten rechik na b‘‘lgarskata publitsistika 1944–1989g.
Dora Ivanova-Mircheva et al. (1999–, 1 volume published by 1999, up to N ): Starob‘‘lgarski
rechnik
Dora Ivanova-Mircheva/Angel Davidov (2001): Mal‘‘k rechnik na starob‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Vladimir Georgiev et al. (1971–, 6 volumes published by 2002, up to slovar): B‘‘lgarski
etimologichen rechnik
Stefan Ilchev (1969): Rechnik na lichnite i familnite imena u b‘‘lgarite
ı̆ordan Zaimov (1988): B‘‘lgarski imennik
Nikolaı̆ Michev (1989): Rechnik na selishchata i selishchnite imena v B‘‘lgariia: 1878–1987
Keti Nicheva et al. (1974–1975): Frazeologichen rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Keti Nicheva (1993): Nov frazeologichen rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Stefan Ilchev et al. (1974): Rechnik na redki, ostareli i dialektni dumi v literaturata ni ot XIX i XX vek
Diana Blagoeva et al. (2001): Rechnik na novite dumi i znacheniia
Liubomir Andreı̆chin et al. (1975): Obraten rechnik na s‘‘vremenniia b‘‘lgarski ezik
Stefka Vasileva (1988): Rechnik na paronimite v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Emiliia Pernishka/Stefka Vasileva (1998): Rechnik na antonimite v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Liuben Nanov (1st edition 1950, 2nd revised edition 1968): B‘‘lgarski sinonimen rechnik
Milka Dimitrova/Ana Spasova (1980): Sinonimen rechnik na s‘‘vremenniia b‘‘lgarski knizhoven
ezik
Ani Nanova/Liuben Nanov (1987): B‘‘lgarski sinonimen rechnik
Lidiia Krumova/Mariia Choroleeva (1983): Rechnik na s‘‘krashcheniiata v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Mariia Popova (1987): Krat‘‘k valenten rechnik na glagolite v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik
Georgi Armianov (1993): Rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia zhargon
Gancho Ganchev/Albena Georgieva (1994): Rechnik na obidnite dumi i izrazi v b‘‘lgarskiia ezik

and B‘‘lgarsko-frenski rechnik (1871), both by rechnik s t‘‘lkuvanea i primeri (1871) by Ivan
Ivan Bogorov. Bogorov (only part A–vdl‘‘bnat was published);
4. Unfinished projects of monolingual explana- and a manuscript of a monolingual explanatory
tory dictionaries: these include Bulgarski rechnik dictionary by Petko R. Slaveı̆kov (1827–1895), in
(1856) by Naı̆den Gerov, with a Russian transla- which only parts of the letters A, B, V, and G are
tion section (only part A–vleka was completed); preserved.
Slovar na b‘‘lgarskiia ezik, izt‘‘lkuvan na cherkov-
Two pioneering monolingual dictionaries with
noslavianski i gr‘‘tski ezik (1875) by Neofit Rilski,
Russian translation sections appeared at the end
with a Greek translation section (only letters A–B
of the 19th century: Slovar’ bolgarskogo iazyka
were published); B‘‘lgarski rechnik. S‘‘birane sich-
po pamiatnikam’ narodnoı̆ slovesnosti i proizvede-
kite nashi dumi, posreshchnati s frenski i ist‘‘lku-
niiam’ noveı̆seı̆ pechati (1885–1889) by Aleksand‘‘r
vani d‘‘lgo i shiroko b‘‘lgarski (1881) by Ivan
Diuvernua, and the five-volume Rechnik na b‘‘lgar-
Bogorov, with a French translation section (only
skyı̆ ezyk’ s’ t‘‘lkuvanie rechi-ty na b‘‘lgarsky i na
the first five letters were completed); B‘‘lgarski

russky (1895–1904) by Naı̆den Gerov, with a supple-
mentary volume (1908) by Todor Panchev (a facsimi-
le of the six volumes was published in 1978). Both
works concentrate on colloquial vocabulary and
are important lexicographical records of the forma-
tion of New Bulgarian. Based on these two diction-
aries is the unfinished B‘‘lgarski t‘‘lkoven rechnik
(1927–1951) founded by Stoian Argirov, Stefan
Mladenov, Aleksand‘‘r Teodorov-Balan, and Ben’o
Tsonev; this work was continued by Stefan Mladenov
and renamed B‘‘lgarski t‘‘lkoven rechnik s ogled k‘‘m
narodnite govori. Only letters A–K were completed.
A number of monolingual dictionaries were pub-
lished in the early 20th century; these include the
first dictionary of synonyms by Mariana Dabeva
(1930–1934); Entsiklopedichen rechnik na chuzhdite
dumi (1939) by Georgi Bakalov, a dictionary of for-
eign words; and Stefan Mladenov’s Etimologicheski i
pravopisen rechnik na b‘‘lgarskiia knizhoven ezik
(1941), the first etymological dictionary and the first
codification of Bulgarian orthography. In the second
half of the 20th century, Bulgarian lexicography
began to expand rapidly and is currently thriving,
supported by the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences
(BAS) in Sofia and by the universities of Sofia, Veliko
Turnovo, Plovdiv, and Shumen. During the past 60
years, a great number of modern dictionaries have
appeared, each with a different linguistic approach
and editorial aim (see Table 1). The major scholarly
record of the Bulgarian language is Rechnik na
b‘‘lgarskiia ezik by Kristalina Cholakova et al.
(this work, in progress since 1977, had 11 volumes
published by 2002, up to oiam se).
Since 1998, the BAS has worked to create an elec-
tronic corpus of the Bulgarian language. The corpus is
representative of all major registers of the Bulgarian
language and is being continually enlarged and
updated. It can be expected to have an important
effect on the future of Bulgarian lexicography.
In addition to practical dictionary making, numer-
ous theoretical metalexicographical works have been
published (the most important of which are included
in the following bibliography), in which lexicography
is generally viewed as a branch of lexicology. The
Department for Bulgarian Lexicology and Lexicogra-
phy at BAS is an institutional member of European
Association of Lexicography (Euralex) and publishes
the lexicographic journal Leksikograficheski pregled.
See also: Bilingual Lexicography; Bulgarian; Bulgaria:
Language Situation; Dictionaries; Lexicography: Over-
view; Lexicology; Macedonian; Old Church Slavonic;
Slavic Languages.
Bulgarian Lexicography 153
Bibliography
Boiadzhiev T (1986). B‘‘lgarska leksikologiia. Sofia: Nauka
i izkustvo.
Cholakova K (1972). ‘Trideset godini b‘‘lgarska leksikogra-
fiia v Instituta za b‘‘lgarski ezik.’ In B‘‘lgarski ezik 5.
Sofia: Izdatelstvo na B‘‘lgarskata akademiia na naukite.
456–458.
Cholakova K (1978). ‘B‘‘lgarskata leksikografiia v minaloto
i dnes.’ In Pashov P (ed.) V‘‘prosi na b‘‘lgarskata leksiko-
logiia. Sofia: D‘‘rzhavno izdatelstvo ‘Narodna prosveta.’
159–179.
Cholakova K (1984). ‘S‘‘vremenna b‘‘lgarska leksikogra-
fiia.’ In S‘‘vremenna B‘‘lgariia, vol. 5. Sofia: Izdatelstvo
na B‘‘lgarskata akademiia na naukite. 78–83.
Cholakova K (1985). ‘Chetirideset godini b‘‘lgarska leksi-
kografiia i leksikologiia.’ In B‘‘lgarski ezik 1. Sofia: Izda-
telstvo na B‘‘lgarskata akademiia na naukite. 21–25.
Cholakova K (ed.) (1986). V‘‘prosi na s‘‘vremennata
b‘‘lgarska leksikologiia i leksikografiia. Sofia: Izdatelstvo
na B‘‘lgarskata akademiia na naukite.
Dimova A & Pavlova M (1973). ‘Pogled v‘‘rkhu razvoia na
nashata leksikografiia (t‘‘lkovni rechnitsi).’ In B‘‘lgarski
ezik 6. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na B‘‘lgarskata akademiia na
naukite. 583–589.
Kiuvlieva-Mishaı̆kova V (1997). B‘‘lgarskoto rechnikovo
delo prez V‘‘zrazhdaneto. Sofia: Akademichno izda-
telstvo, ‘Prof. Marin Drinov.’
Kiuvlieva-Mishaı̆kova V (ed.) (2002). Problemi na b‘‘lgar-
skata leksikologiia, frazeologiia i leksikografiia. Sofia:
Akademichno izdatelstvo, ‘Prof. Marin Drinov.’
[B‘‘lgarsko ezikoznanie 3.]
Lewanski R C (1973). A bibliography of Slavic dictionaries.
(vol. II) (2nd edn.). Bologna: Editrice Compositori.
Rusinov R & Georgiev S (1996). Leksikologiia na b‘‘lgar-
skiia knizhoven ezik. Veliko T‘‘rnovo: Abagar.
Stankiewicz E (1984). Grammars and dictionaries of
the Slavic languages from the Middle Ages up to 1850.
Includes indexes. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.
Steinke K (1990). ‘Bulgarische Lexikographie.’ In
Hausmann F J, Reichmann O, Wiegand H E & Zgusta
L (eds.) Wörterbücher: Ein internationales Handbuch zur
Lexikographie, vol. 2. Berlin and New York: Walter de
Gruyter. 2304–2308.
V‘‘tov V (1995). Fonetika i leksikologiia na b‘‘lgarskiia
ezik. Veliko T‘‘rnovo: Abagar.
Zidarova V (1998). Ocherk po b‘‘lgarska leksikologiia.
Plovdiv: Plovdivsko universitetsko izdatelstvo, ‘Paisiı̆
Khilendarski.’
Relevant Website
http://www.ibl.bas.bg – electronic corpuas of the Bulgarian
language.
154 Bullokar, William (c. 1531–1609)
Bullokar, William (c. 1531–1609)
W Viereck, Universität Bamberg, Bamberg, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
William Bullokar was a persistent spelling reformer
who provided evidence about the pronunciation of
English toward the end of the 16th century. From his
books we can glean some information about his life.
Born of a Sussex family about 1530, he spent at least
one period of military service abroad, namely in Le
Havre, which had been occupied by the English in
1562 and 1563. Several years earlier, Bullokar had
been a teacher. In 1570 he married the daughter of an
alderman of Chichester and, 4 years later, moved to
the Chichester parish of St. Andrews, where he died in
early 1609. His son John was the author of the 1616
book An English expositor: teaching the interpreta-
tion of the hardest words used in our language (rep-
rinted in 1971). In 1585 his father had published for
John the book The short sentences of the wyz Cate in
his spelling system.
About 1574, Bullokar started to devise a remedy
for the state of English orthography. He did not try to
substitute traditional spelling for a phonetic one.
Rather, he essentially kept the historical orthography
and attempted to indicate the pronunciation by
means of diacritical marks above and below the gra-
phemes. However, he did not completely succeed in
this and often allowed himself to be influenced by the
traditional writing system. He laid down his ortho-
graphic system of 37 letters in his Amendment of
orthographie for English speech of 1580. Bullokar
had several of his books printed in his script, namely
a collection of fables (Aesopś fablź, 1585), as well as
his grammatical treatises. His system was, however,
too complex to be adopted for English generally. The
pronunciation mirrored in his works seems basically
to have been that of the London middle class, that is,
of Standard English, which lower-class people strove
for. On the other hand, Bullokar retained a good
Burji See: Highland East Cushitic Languages.
many dialectisms and vulgarisms, some of which
were imported into the standard language during
the 17th century. Bullokar also wrote the first English
grammar in English. However, he followed William
Lily’s Grammatica Latina very closely. Still, some of
his observations are noteworthy, such as those on
phrasal verbs.
See also: English, Early Modern; Spelling Reform.
Bibliography
Bullokar W (1580–1581). The works, vol. 1: a short intro-
duction or guiding to print, write, and reade Inglish
speech. [Reprinted in 1966 by Danielsson, B. & Alston,
R. C. (eds.). Leeds, UK: University, School of English,
Texts and Monographs N.S.]
Bullokar W (1586). The works, vol. 2: pamphlet for
grammar. [Reprinted in 1980 by Turner, J. R. (ed.).
Leeds, UK: University, School of English, Texts and
Monographs N.S.]
Bullokar W (1580). The works, vol. 3: booke at large,
for the amendment of orthographie for English speech.
[Reprinted in 1970 by Turner, J. R. (ed.). Leeds, UK:
University, School of English, Texts and Monographs
N.S.]
Bullokar W (1585). The works, vol. 4: Aesopś fablź.
[Reprinted in 1969 by Turner, J. R. (ed.). Leeds, UK:
University, School of English, Texts and Monographs
N. S.]
Bullokar W (1580, 1586). Booke at large: and bref
grammar for English. [Reprinted in 1977, with an intro-
duction by Diane Borstein. Delmar, NY: Scholars’
Facsimiles and Reprints.]
Dobson E J (1968). William Bullokar, in English pronunci-
ation, 1500–1700, vol. I: survey of the sources (2nd
edn.). Oxford: Clarendon Press. 93–117.
Poldauf I (1948). ‘On the history of some problems of
English grammar before 1800.’ Prague Studies in
English 7.

Burkina Faso: Language Situation
B Coulibaly
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 1,
pp. 430–432, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Burkina Faso is a multilingual and multiethnic coun-
try. A distinction must be made between the official
language, French, and the national languages. Indeed,
the constitution of the Fourth Republic stipulates
under Section II, article 35: ‘French is the official
language. The methods by which the national lan-
guages are to be promoted shall be laid down by
law.’ Among the national languages, there is a distinc-
tion between majority languages, which are used as
lingua francas, and local, minority languages.
French
French, as stated, is the official language of adminis-
tration, foreign affairs, the judicial system (Supreme
Court and High Court of Justice, etc.), and of formal
education (both primary and secondary schools and
universities).
French is also the language that allows further
access to other foreign languages (mainly English,
with German in second place). French is even the
means of access to other national languages. It is the
‘Strait Gate’ through which all desirous of state em-
ployment must pass. Thus, French is the language of
initial education for most of those who are literate.
According to the 1985 census, 73.37% of literate
people (i.e., 12.1% of the population) are literate in
French.
All this demonstrates just how privileged a position
the French language occupies, and it doubtless
explains why the national languages are flooded by
French expressions. In this respect, no area of lexis is
immune. But this influence only concerns lexis: the
syntax, phonology, and morphology of the respective
languages are not, or hardly, affected. Thus, those
who attain mastery of the French language are limited
in number. At a rough estimate they make up some
10% of the population. They live mainly in the large
towns. The remaining 90% use only the national
languages as their means of expression.
The National Languages
The main issues to be considered are the number of
national languages, their geographical distribution,
Burkina Faso: Language Situation 155
the division into language families, and the extent to
which people are bi- or multilingual.
How Many National Languages Are There?
Tiedrebeogo and Yago (1983) speak of 60 languages
used by a population then estimated at 5 600 000
people. Of these 60 languages, only 36 have been
studied linguistically, and 18 are the object of Nation-
al Subcommissions. The aim of these Subcommis-
sions, under the general direction of the National
Commission (set up on January 17, 1969), is to un-
dertake, carry out, and promote the study of the
various national languages and to teach adult literacy
in them.
The languages concerned are, in alphabetical order:
Bisa (Lala: Bisa), Bobo, Bwamu, Cerma, Dagara (Da-
gara Northern), Fulfulde, Gulmancema (Gourman-
céma), Jula, Kar (Karaboro, Eastern), Kasem, Lobiri
(Lobi), Lyele (Lyélé), Moore (Mòoré), Nuni, San,
Senufo (Sénufo, Senara), Songhai (Songhay), and
Tamasheq (Tamasheq, Kidal).
Language Families and Geographical Distribution
The languages found in Burkina Faso mostly belong to
three main groups: the Gur languages group or Voltaic
group (Moore, Gulmancema, Kasem, Dagara, etc.);
the Mande group (Jula, Dafing (also known as
Marka), Bobo, San, Bisa) and the West Atlantic
group represented by Fulfulde. These three groups
correspond to the three language types accepted by
Houis as representing the totality of African lan-
guages, i.e., the ‘economic’ type, the type with differ-
entiated morphology, and the intermediate type. The
Mande languages are examples of the first type, with
their open syllable (CV) structure, productive com-
pound word morphology, lack of nominal classes,
etc.; the languages with differentiated morphology
are represented by the only West Atlantic language,
namely Fulfulde, which has closed syllable structure,
nonproductive compound word morphology, exten-
sive nominal classes, etc., and, finally, there are the
Gur or Voltaic languages that represent the interme-
diate type with both open and closed syllable struc-
ture, fairly extensive nominal classes, etc.
Tiedrebeogo and Yago (1983) list the following as
languages used for interethnic communication:
Moore, Jula, and Fulfulde. In general terms, Moore
is used in the center of the country, Jula in the west,
and Fulfulde in the northeast, but each of the three
languages extends well beyond these areas and they
thus behave, given their general use, as true lingua
francas.
156 Burkina Faso: Language Situation

Bilingual and Multilingual Areas relevant languages, and to give lessons in transcrip-
tion through courses organized by the officials of
According to I. Nacro (Plurilingualism and education
the INA.
in Africa: a sociolinguistic approach to the situation
in Upper Volta, 1984), there are four bilingual areas
On radio Some 20 national languages have access
in Burkina Faso:
to the radio where they are given generous time allo-
1. The west is notable for the existence of a whole cations. They use these to broadcast news and to
host of minority languages. Indeed, 71.42% of the organize programs containing folktales, proverbs,
national languages are located in this area. This and riddles, thus encouraging oral literature.
state of affairs has benefited Jula, which is used as
a second language by several ethnic groups, such In written and oral literature Oral literature exists
as the Bobo, Bwaba (Bwamu), Senufo, Dagara, in all the languages. It has its own means of preserva-
Lobiri, Samo, Gouin (Cerma), Turka, Toussian, tion and is not dependent on being written down.
Siamu (Siamou), etc. Each of these groups auto- Written literature is practically nonexistent, however,
matically uses Jula when unable to communicate being limited to a few INA publications, to essays by
with anyone in their native language. some authors in the context in the national Grand
2. The central southern area where Moore is used as Prix for Art and Literature (GPNAL), and to religious
a second language by the Bisa. writings. Nonetheless, it is worth noting the existence
3. The central northern area where Moore is used as of some newspapers that appear at irregular intervals
a second language by the Peul. in four of the country’s languages, namely Moore,
4. Finally, the north where the Tamasheq and the Jula, Fulfulde, and Gulmancema.
Bela use Fulfulde as their second language.
In the courts of first instance In these courts, and
The large towns, and especially Ouagadougou and
especially in local arbitration and reconciliation tri-
Bobo-Dioulasso, form multilingual areas. Apart from
the three languages listed above, French and Bobo (in bunals, all the national languages are used. However,
in the large towns, the three majority languages enjoy
Bobo-Dioulasso), are spoken there.
a privileged position, with the other languages being
For What Purposes Are the Various Languages mainly employed in the villages.
Used?
In religious services This area is where the national
Despite the low prestige they enjoy, the national lan-
languages are used the most. The Christians teach
guages are the subject of some attention on the part of
their congregations to read and write in these lan-
the government authorities. Since 1969, a certain
guages. In this context, the SIL (Summer Institute of
number of official measures have been taken and
Linguistics) organizes literacy courses.
instructions issued in their support. It is worth men-
tioning the successive setting-up of the DAFS, the
ONEPAFS, the INAFA, and the INA; the translation Conclusion
of the national anthem into some 10 languages in
In Burkina Faso, several so-called national languages
1985; the fact that civil servants are taught to read
live peacefully side by side with the official language,
and write in national languages; the publication of a
French. Briefly, the use that the typical citizen of the
circular obliging ministers and senior managers to use
country makes of languages may be described as fol-
the national languages for preference when addres-
lows: the official language is used to communicate
sing the people at large; the ‘Commando’ literacy
with the outside world, while the national languages
program and the ‘Bantaré’ program aimed at making
are devoted to internal purposes.
10 000 women literate; and so on.
All these measures will be given concrete expres-
sion by the use of the national languages on television Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 2.
and radio, in written materials of all types, in the
courts of first instance, and in religious services.

On television The three most widely used languages Bibliography

are employed daily to broadcast news that has al- Tiedrebeogo G & Yago Z (1983). The language situation
ready been broadcast in French, to debate certain in Upper Volta. Ouagadougou: National Council for
problems in magazine programs broadcast in the Scientific and Technical Research.

Burma: Language Situation
J Watkins, University of London, London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
First, a note on alternative names. The names of places,
ethnolinguistic groups and their languages may in some
cases be rendered in English in two ways: one introduced
by the Burmese government in 1989 and one in use
before then that may still have general currency. Such
pairs are separated with an oblique stroke, the older
name preceding the newer one, thus: Burma/Myanmar.
Burma, like the entire Southeast Asian region, is an area
of extreme linguistic diversity. Most languages indige-
nous to the territory of the Union of Myanmar
(here referred to simply as Burma) belong to the
Tibeto-Burman, Tai-Kadai, and Mon-Khmer language
families. The task of enumerating the languages spo-
ken in Burma is confounded by three factors that may
cause the number of languages to be overestimated or
underestimated.
Firstly, there is a general dearth of accurate and up-
to-date demographic data describing the population
of Burma and the languages they speak. There has
never been a formal linguistic survey of the country,
and many of the data available are patchy and unreli-
able, and the speaker numbers presented here include
provisional and rough estimates. Secondly, languages
and dialects spoken in Burma may be referred to by
multiple names, which may be ethnonyms and/or
language names, both autonymic and exonymic. Con-
versely, one name may be used to refer to multiple
languages and dialects. Lastly, the perennial prob-
lem of how to define distinct languages as opposed
to dialects of the same language is frequently
encountered in Burma.
The geographical distribution of Burma’s lan-
guages is obviously a complex affair. In general, the
Burmese-speaking Burman/Bamar majority live in
the central plains, occupying about half the area of
the country, with other languages found in the
more mountainous areas nearer the borders in all
directions. These areas coincide mostly with the area
of the administrative non-Burman States: Arakan/
Rakhine, Chin, Kachin, Shan, Karenni/Kayah, Karen/
Kayin, and Mon.
The most comprehensive reliable listings of the
languages spoken in Burma are Bradley’s map of
the country in the Atlas of the world’s languages
(Bradley, 1994) and SIL International’s Ethnologue.
The total number of languages spoken in Burma is
put at 107 by SIL International. The population of the
country has recently been estimated to be approxi-
Burma: Language Situation 157
mately 53 million, some 20% more than the figures
used by SIL.
In official Burmese government sources, the num-
ber of ‘national races’ in Burma is put at 135. The
ethnic groups in this list are often categorized geo-
graphically according to the state in which they re-
side, with no regard for their linguistic relationships.
This tally appears to stem from the 1931 British
Census of India, and bears little resemblance to the
actual ethnolinguistic situation.
Tibeto-Burman Languages
Tibeto-Burman languages are spoken by about four-
fifths of the population of Burma.
Burmese is the Tibeto-Burman language with more
speakers than all the rest of the Tibeto-Burman lan-
guages combined. It is the first language of about
two-thirds of the population and is spoken non-
natively by several million speakers of other lan-
guages. The dialects Arakanese (Arakan/Rakhine
State), Tavoyan (Tenasserim/Tanintharyi Division),
and Intha (Shan State) may be argued to be separate
languages. Other closely related Burmish languages/
dialects include Taungyo, Yaw, Hpun, Achang, Lashi,
Maru, and Danu.
Languages of the Loloish branch of Tibeto-Burman
are spoken in the eastern part of Shan State, includ-
ing Lisu (roughly 125 000 speakers), Lahu (approxi-
mately 125 000 speakers), and Akha (approximately
200 000 speakers).
The western side of Burma is home to the languages
in the diverse Kuki-Chin branch of Tibeto-Burman. In
northern Arakan/Rakhine State and in Chin State,
some two dozen Chin languages are spoken, typically
with thousands or tens of thousands of speakers at
most: Southern Chin (including Daai, Khumi, Mro,
and Asho), Mro, Central Chin (including Haka/Lai
and Lushai/Mizo), and Northern Chin (including
Tedim, Falam, and Thado).
The languages of northern Burma’s Kachin State
include languages for which the classification within
Tibeto-Burman is disputed or unclear. The half-dozen
Nungish languages include Nung and Rawang; the
Sal group (comprising Baric and Luish languages and
Jinghpaw, or classified alternatively as Jinghpaw-
Konyak-Garo) includes languages such as Jinghpaw,
Kado, Khienmungan, Chang, and Tase.
About 20 languages of the Karen branch of Tibeto-
Burman are found in the areas of eastern Burma
bordering Thailand, in Karen/Kayin and Karenni/
Kayah States, spoken by 3–4 million people. The larger
158 Burma: Language Situation
languages include Sgaw and Pwo (Pho) (approximate-
ly 1.25 million speakers each), Padaung (Kayah)
(roughly 300 000 speakers) and Pa’O (approximately
500 000 speakers). Other Karen languages include
Yintale, Yinbaw, Paku, Geko, Geba, and Manu.
Mon-Khmer Languages
Mon-Khmer languages account for only about 7% of
the population. The major Mon-Khmer language
spoken in Burma is Mon, a literary language with a
rich history, spoken by some 800 000 in the Mon
State in southeastern Burma. Palaungic languages, a
part of the Northern branch of Mon-Khmer, are spo-
ken by scattered communities in Shan State and in
northern central Burma. The larger of these include
Wa, a diverse group of several dozen dialects includ-
ing Paraok, En, Son, Va, and Vo. Wa and the closely
related language Plang are spoken in Shan State by
perhaps 600 000–700 000 people. About half that
number speak other Palaungic languages: Palaung
(Pale, Shwe, and Rumai), Riang, Loi, Samtao, and
related dialects.
Tai-Kadai Languages
Burma’s Tai-Kadai languages are spoken in the north-
eastern part of Shan State, with speakers of Shan
found also some areas of Kachin State. Tai-Kadai
languages account for about one-tenth of the popula-
tion. The major Tai languages spoken in Shan State
are Shan (approximately 6% of the population, over
3 million speakers) and the smaller Tai languages
Khamti, Khün, Lü, and Tai Nüa.
Other Languages
As a result of Burma’s colonization by the British,
some South-Asian Indo-Aryan languages not indige-
nous to Burma – principally Hindi/Urdu, Bengali, and
Panjabi – are spoken, mainly in urban centers. They
are the descendants of people brought to Burma as
part of the colonial administration established by the
British. Chinese is spoken both natively and used as a
major lingua franca in areas near the Chinese border,
in particular the Kokang area.
In Arakan/Rakhine State, a variety of the Chitta-
gonian dialect of Bengali is spoken by the Muslim
Rohingya population, numbering in the hundreds
of thousands. The Rohingya’s status as Burmese
nationals has been problematic; in recent years refu-
gees from Burma have fled to Bangladesh, from
where a number have been repatriated to Burma.
There are a few thousand speakers of Hmong Njua,
a Hmong-Mien language, in the northeast of the
country.
Burmese is the official and national language. It is
the sole language of all the official business and ad-
ministration of the military government, including
all broadcast media and state education, though
there is a state-run University for the Development
of National Races, established in 1990, with the
aim of training teachers in Kachin, Karenni/Kayah,
Sgaw and Po Karen/Kayin, Shan, Mon, Arakanese/
Rakhine, and Kachin (possibly meaning Jinghpaw),
and Chin (possibly meaning Haka/Lai Chin).
Other languages may be taught as part of politi-
cal movements associated with a particular ethnic
group, for example the Mon-language education sys-
tem promoted by the New Mon State Party in the
1990s.
The use of English in Burma has been a contentious
issue over the last century, when at times Burmese
took second place in the education system developed
under British Colonial Rule. The status of Burmese
was reasserted in the 1930s in connection with na-
tionalist anticolonialist political movements such as
the Dobama a-Si a-Youn. The status of English was
drastically reduced under all-Burmese education poli-
cies of the U Ne Win socialist government established
in 1962, though the teaching of English has resumed
and flourished in the last two decades.
At present, private schools, typically the reserve of
relatively wealthy city-dwellers, may provide part of
their curriculum in English or in Chinese. Such
schools may be a popular choice for parents who
want to equip their children for commercial success
in the future.
While Burmese remains the language of com-
munication at the national level, a number of lan-
guages function as regional lingua francas, such as
Arakanese in Arakan/Rakhine State and southern
Chin State. Shan, Chinese, and Lahu are all used
between speakers of other languages in various parts
of Shan State.
It is relatively rare for ethnic Burmans/Bamar to
speak languages other than Burmese, but most people
whose first language is a language other than Burmese
speak Burmese to some degree, and frequently other
languages besides. A simple straw poll revealed that a
quarter of a group of about 25 speakers of the Mon-
Khmer language Wa in Shan State spoke five or more
languages in their everyday lives.
Pāli, no longer a living language, remains culturally
prominent in Burma as the language of the Buddhist
scriptures, which are routinely studied and chanted as
part of Buddhist religious practice. Pāli is also an
important source of loanwords – typically learned
and religious vocabulary – in the written languages
with predominantly Buddhist speaker populations,
namely Burmese, Mon, and Shan.

Languages spoken in Burma have also borrowed
vocabulary from English and from the major lan-
guages spoken in the countries neighboring Burma:
Chinese, Thai, Bengali, and Hindi.
Of course, many of the languages spoken in areas
near Burma’s borders with neighboring countries are
spoken on both sides of the border by speech com-
munities that may have a common sense of identity
despite the political divisions imposed by the border.
Examples of such communities are Wa in Burma and
China, Karen/Kayin in Burma and Thailand, and
Naga in Burma and India.
The general lack of research on Burma’s linguistic
landscape means that there is an incomplete picture
of the extent and scope of language endangerment in
Burma. Undoubtedly, certain languages may be losing
ground to Burmese or regional languages, or may be
losing internal dialectal diversity.
There is a critical need for a systematic language
survey of Burma.
See also: Burmese; Endangered Languages; Mon; Multi-
lingualism: Pragmatic Aspects; Wa.
Bibliography
Allott A (1985). ‘Language policy and language planning
in Burma.’ In Bradley D (ed.) Papers in Southeast
Asian linguistics: language policy, language planning
and sociolinguistics in Southeast Asia. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics. 131–154.
Bradley D (1994). ‘East and South-East Asia.’ In Moseley C
& Asher R (eds.) Atlas of the world’s languages. London:
Routledge.
Bradley D (1995). Papers in South Asian linguistics No. 13:
Studies in Burmese languages. Canberra: Pacific Linguis-
tics, Australian National University.
Callahan M P (2003). ‘Language policy in modern Burma.’
In Brown M & Ganguly Š (eds.) Fighting words: lan-
guage policy and ethnic relations in Asia. Cambridge:
MIT Press.
Lintner B (1990). Land of jade: a journey through insurgent
Burma. Edinburgh: Kiscadale/Bangkok: White Lotus.
Myanmar Language Commission (1993). Myanmar-
English dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar Lan-
guage Commission.
Burma: Language Situation 159
Myanmar Language Commission (2001). English-Myanmar
dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar Language
Commission.
Okell J (1969). A reference grammar of colloquial Burmese.
London: Oxford University Press.
Okell J (1995). ‘Three Burmese dialects.’ In Bradley D (ed.)
Papers in Southeast Asian linguistics No. 13: studies in
Burmese languages. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics, Re-
search School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian
National University.
Rajah A (1990). ‘Ethnicity, nationalism and the Nation-state:
the Karen in Burma and Thailand.’ In Wijeyewardene G
(ed.) Ethnic groups across national boundaries in main-
land Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast
Asian Studies. 102–133.
Sakhong L H (2003). In search of Chin identity: a study
on religion, politics and ethnic identity in Burma.
Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies Press.
SIL International (2002). Ethnologue: languages of Myanmar.
http://www.ethnologue.com/show_country.asp? name ¼
Myanmar accessed 27 November 2004.
Smith M (1991). Burma: insurgency and the politics of
ethnicity. London: Zed Books.
Smith M (1994). Ethnic groups in Burma: development,
democracy and human rights. London: Anti-Slavery
International.
South A (2003). Mon nationalism and civil war in Burma:
the golden Sheldrake. London: Routledge Curzon.
Taylor R H (1982). ‘Perception of ethnicity in the politics of
Burma.’ Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science 10(1),
7–22.
Thein Lwin (2000). The teaching of ethnic language and the
role of education in the Context of Mon ethnic nationality
in Burma. http://www/mrc-usa.org/school-research.htm
accessed 27 November 2004.
Tin Htway (1972). ‘The role of literature in nation building
in Burma.’ In Grossmann B (ed.) Southeast Asia in
the Modern World. Wiesbaden: Otto Harassowitz.
35–60.
Wheatley J K (1990). ‘Burmese.’ In Comrie B (ed.) The
major languages of East and Southeast Asia. London:
Routledge. 106–126.
Wheatley J K (2003). ‘Burmese.’ In Thurgood G & LaPolla
R J (eds.) The Sino-Tibetan languages. London, New
York: Routledge. 195–207.
Yêkhaung M L (1966). Modernisation of Burmese. Prague:
Oriental Institute, Czechoslovak Academy of Sciences.
160 Burmese
Burmese
J Watkins, School of Oriental and African Studies,
London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Burmese is the national language of Burma/Myanmar
and is the mother tongue of the Burman (Bamar)
ethnic majority, who make up approximately two-
thirds of Burma’s population of slightly over 50 mil-
lion. The rest of the country’s indigenous population
is diverse, speaking between 60 and 100 other lan-
guages among them, depending on the criteria used to
distinguish languages from one another. Most non-
Burmans live in the areas near Burma’s borders with
Thailand, Laos, China, India, and Bangladesh, al-
though many live interspersed with Burmans and
speak Burmese and other languages in addition to
their native language. Burmese is little spoken outside
Burma, but widely dispersed and fragmented commu-
nities of Burmese expatriates may be found in Asia
and around the world.
Burmese belongs to the Tibeto-Burman language
family, which comprises approximately 350 lan-
guages spoken across a vast territory stretching from
the Himalayas to mainland Southeast Asia. Burmese
has by far the largest number of speakers of any of
the Tibeto-Burman languages, most of which have
only a few thousand speakers and many of which
may disappear during the 21st century.
Most of the other languages spoken in Burma also
belong to the Tibeto-Burman language family. Some,
such as Arakanese (Rakhine), Intha, and Danu, are so
similar to Burmese as to be considered by some to be
dialects of Burmese rather than separate languages.
History and Script
The Burmese have been in the area of modern Burma/
Myanmar from approximately 850 C.E. onward,
founding their capital at Pagan (Bagan). Despite ex-
tensive contact over the following two centuries with
the Pyu, the speakers of a now-dead Tibeto-Burman
language that occupied the area, the first inscriptions
in Burmese date from the 11th century, with no extant
examples of Burmese writing before then. Burmese
script is a close cousin of the Mon script, which was
adapted from a southern Indian script, a descendant
of the Brāhmı̄ script that was the ancestor of many
Indic scripts found in South and Southeast Asia. It is
thought that the Burmese adapted the script from
Mon after Mon scribes were brought to the city of
Pagan after the Burmese king Anawratha, in 1057
C.E., defeated the Mon, although this theory has
been disputed in recent research.
Aside from the rounding of the originally square
characters into the distinctive round-shaped letters of
Burmese today, the alphabet has remained largely
unchanged to the present day. It is widely believed
that the round shapes of Burmese letters evolved be-
cause texts were traditionally written on palm leaves,
which would split easily if angled shapes were
scratched on them. Whether or not this is true, Bur-
mese writing retains its distinctive round shapes, and
handwriting with consistent, even circles is praised.
The writing system evolved between the period of
the early inscriptions and the 16th century C.E. when
it assumed a form similar to its present-day state. The
spoken language has changed considerably since that
time, with the result that a faithful transliteration of
written Burmese (such as the one approved by the
American Library Association and the Library of
Congress used here) gives little impression of the
way letters or words are pronounced in the language
today. Sound changes have applied to certain initial
consonants. Final consonants have disappeared.
A glottal stop is all that remains of final stop conso-
nants, whereas the place contrasts of written final
stops are realized as vowel changes in the syllable.
Final nasal consonants have been replaced by a paral-
lel series of nasalized vowels. In general, many com-
binations of symbols are pronounced differently from
the sounds represented by the symbols individually.
The phonetic transcription used here is faithful to
the principles of the IPA, although several others have
been devised. A transliteration and transcription are
compared in the following example.
Burmese script
Transliteration RUP‘MRAṄ‘SAṀKRĀ
Transcription jou .mjı̀N.yàN. á
Gloss picture.see.sound.hear
Translation ‘television’ (more commonly tı̀.vı̀
‘T.V.’)
Burmese script is basically alphabetic. There are sepa-
rate symbols to represent consonants (Table 1) and
vowels (Table 2), but the symbols are organized
in syllabic clusters, which are written from left to
right. Within each cluster, however, the symbols do
not necessarily appear in left-to-right order. For exam-
ple, to write the syllable tı̀ ‘worm,’ the vowel -ı̀ is
placed on top of the consonant t, but to write tù
‘nephew,’ the ù must hang below the initial t.
Certain sounds in Burmese, namely affricates, voice-
less sonorants, and initial consonant clusters, are writ-
ten using medial forms of four consonants, shown
in Table 3.

Table 1 Consonants of Burmese, transliterated and transcribed
Table 2 Burmese word-initial and word-internal vowel
symbols
Burmese script has retained the features and sym-
bols needed for writing the South Asian languages for
which its parent scripts were originally designed, such
as Pāli, the language of the Buddhist scriptures and
the source of many loans in Burmese, which can easily
be identified because of phonological features such as
doubled consonants and retroflex consonants that do
not occur in Burmese words. A Pāli phrase and its
rendition in Burmese are shown next.
Burmese script
Transliteration BUDDHAṀ SARANAṀ GACCHĀMI
h
Transcription bou dàN yerenàN gji s àmi
˜
‘I go to the Buddha for refuge’
Burmese 161
Phonetics and Phonology
Some of the sounds used in Burmese are considered
unusual because they occur relatively rarely in the
world’s languages. These are the so-called voiceless
nasals, which include the sound of air escaping
through the nose. The Burmese word for
jı́N.nı̀. mjou .nàN.mũ ‘investment’ contains examples
˚ ˚such sounds:
of two ˚ ˚ /m / and /n/. The consonants in
˚
Burmese are set out in Table 4.˚
For reasons of historical phonology, vowels in
orthographically open syllables (Table 5), which are
written with no final consonant letter, can be distin-
guished from those found in orthographically closed
syllables (Table 6) namely those ending in a glottal
stop or with a nasal vowel (transcribed here with /N/,
which does not represent a final nasal consonant),
both of which are written as final consonant letters
in the writing system.
Like the majority of the languages spoken in
mainland East and Southeast Asia, Burmese is a
tone language. The tonal contrasts involve not only
the commonly observed differences in pitch and
vowel length but also differences in phonation type
– whether the voice is breathy or sharp in character.
The presence or absence of a glottal stop at the end
of the syllable may also considered to be part of the
tonal system. Table 7 gives a basic description of
the tonal contrasts on a syllable consisting of a bila-
bial nasal and an open vowel.
162 Burmese

Table 3 Medial forms of Burmese consonants

Table 4 The consonants of Burmese

Burmese morphemes in phrases and compounds páN þ hàN > ‘flower’ þ

display varying degrees of phonological juncture, páN àN ‘enclosure’ >
principally voicing assimilation and reduction of the ‘garden’
first syllable, as shown in the following examples. sá þ pwEB > ‘eat’ þ ‘event’ >
sábwEB ‘feast’
. Voicing assimilation on internal morpheme bound- mjı̀N þ tEA > ‘see’ þ REALIS >
aries in compounds. mjı̀NdEA ‘sees/saw’
 Burmese 163

. Reduction of first element in compounds. Morphology

h
k á þ pai > waist þ carry > Morphemes in Burmese are predominantly monosyl-
gebai ‘pocket’ labic. With the exception of Indo-European loans,
sá þ pwEB > eat þ event > typically from Pali or English, compounding is the
zebwEB ‘table’ major source of polymorphemic words. In the televi-
sion example above, four morphemes (N þ V) (N þ
Table 5 Vowels of Burmese in orthographically open syllables V) combine to form a noun.
Derivational morphology by prefixation is com-
mon, in particular noun-formation from verbs using
the prefix - e-.
pjàiNshàiN > compete >
epjàiN competition
eshàiN
jáuN / wEA > sell / buy >
ejáuN trade
ewEA

The verbal complex, typcially occurring at the end

of a Burmese sentence, may comprise one or more
head verbs in series followed by a string of auxiliary
verbs, verbal particles, and markers.
NP NP VP

khi mı̀. zé.dwè hòtEA.dwè phji .pOA . là.

˚
zè.bjàN.bà.dEA

Table 6 Vowels of Burmese in orthographically closed syllables: killed tone or nasal vowel
164 Burmese
Table 7 Burmese tones
a
Syllables with one of these tones may in some contexts become reduced to a short, unstressed schwa which is counted as a fifth tonal
category in some analyses.
modern.market.PL hotel.PL become emerge.begin.
CAUS.also.
POLITE.REALIS
‘. . . caused modern markets and hotels to begin to
appear as well’
Burmese has a system of noun case markers, which
in many contexts are not obligatorily present, and
postpositions, as illustrated next.
ú.ba .ga máNdelé.gò emè.nE ywá.dEA
U Ba.DSUBJ D Mandalay.to D
mother.with go.REALIS
Burmese, like other languages of the region, en-
codes power and solidarity in personal relationships
using a rich system of pronouns and forms of address.
Pronouns may be true pronouns, such as Nà 1SING ‘I’
and nı̀N 2SING ‘you’ (both familiar, not polite), or
grammaticalized from other sources, such as
enOA 1SING (male, polite; literally ‘royal slave’). Other
forms of address include titles, personal relationships,
and names or a combination of all three, such as
shejáma . dOA .khı̀ Nkhı̀N hOB ‘Teach-
er (FEM) Aunt (¼ Mrs.) Khin D Khin Chaw.’
Literacy and Literary Burmese
The literacy rate in Burma has often been said to be
high compared to other countries in the region, but
accurate data are extremely difficult to obtain. One
recent source suggests that nearly 80% of Burmese
people over the age of 15 are literate, but other
sources have put the figure much lower.
The Burmese language exists in a colloquial style
used in spoken informal contexts and a literary style
used in official formal settings. The main difference
between the two is that they have separate sets of
grammar words and some other vocabulary. A collo-
quial-style sentence is compared to its literary-style
equivalent in the next example.
Spoken
ú.ba .ga máNdelé.gò emè.nE là.dEA
D D D
Literary
ú.ba .ðı̀ máNdelé.ðo emè.niN là. i
U Ba.DSUBJ Mandalay.to D mother.with
˚˜ come.˜
REALIS
‘U Ba came to Mandalay with his mother’
Given the large number of speakers of Burmese
and the existence of a large diaspora community scat-
tered around the world, Burmese has an inevitable
presence on the Web, although at the time of writing
standardized encoding has yet to be widely adopted
and so text is usually displayed on the Internet as
graphics. For ease of use, computer users often render
Burmese in romanized form in Internet chat rooms or
e-mail.
See also: Burma: Language Situation; Sino-Tibetan Lan-
guages; Sino-Tibetan Languages; Sino-Tibetan Lan-
guages.
Bibliography
Allott A (1985). ‘Language policy and language planning in
Burma.’ In Bradley D (ed.) Papers in Southeast Asian
linguistics: language policy, language planning and socio-
linguistics in Southeast Asia. Canberra, Australia: Pacific
Linguistics. 131–154.
Armstrong L E & Pe Maung Tin (1925). A Burmese pho-
netic reader. London: University of London Press.
Bradley D (1982). ‘Register in Burmese.’ In Bradley D (ed.)
Pacific Linguistics Series A-62: Tonation. Canberra,
Australia: Pacific Linguistics, Australian National
University.

Bradley D (1995). Papers in South Asian linguistics 13:
Studies in Burmese linguistics. Canberra, Australia:
Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University.
Myanmar Language Commission (1993). Myanmar–
English dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar Lan-
guage Commission.
Myanmar Language Commission (2001). English–
Myanmar dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar
Language Commission.
Okell J (1965). ‘Nissaya Burmese, a case of systematic
adaptation to a foreign grammar and syntax.’ In Milner
G B & Henderson E J A (eds.) Indo–Pacific linguistic
studies, vol. 2: Descriptive linguistics (Lingua 14–15).
Amsterdam: North Holland. 186–230.
Okell J (1969). A reference grammar of colloquial Burmese.
London: Oxford University Press.
Okell J (1984). Burmese: an introduction (4 vols). DeKalb,
IL: Northern Illinois University.
Okell J & Allott A (2001). Burmese/Myanmar: a dictionary
of grammatical forms. Richmond, UK: Curzon Press.
Roop D H (1972). An introduction to the Burmese writing
system. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Sprigg R K (1957). ‘Studies in linguistics analysis.’ Transac-
tions of the Philological Society (Special volume). 104–138.
Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799)
P C Sutcliffe, Colgate University, Hamilton, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
James Burnett, born in Monboddo in Scotland on
October 14, 1714, was a judge, classics scholar, and
a Scottish Enlightenment philosopher. After a classi-
cal education, Burnett studied law and eventually
became a judge, Lord of Session, taking the title
Lord Monboddo, in 1767 and remained in this post
until his death on May 26, 1799. An eccentric and
controversial figure, Monboddo was not afraid to
expound unpopular views, both on the bench and in
his scholarship, especially as a member of the Select
Society of Edinburgh, a group of prominent citizens
that gathered weekly to share ideas that included
David Hume and Adam Smith (see Smith, Adam
(1723–1790)) among others. In his two anonymously
published six-volume works, Of the progress and
origin of language (OPL) (1773–1792) and Antient
metaphysics (AM) (1779–1792), he opposed
Locke’s popular empiricism, favoring the idealist
metaphysics and authority of the ancient Greeks,
especially Aristotle.
Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799) 165
Sprigg R K (1977). ‘Tonal units and tonal classification:
Panjabi, Tibetan and Burmese.’ In Gill H S (ed.) Pàkha
Sanjam 8: Parole and langue. Patiala: Punjabi University.
1–21.
Thurgood G W (1981). Monumenta Serindica 9: Notes on
the origins of Burmese creaky tone. Tokyo: Tōkyō gaiko-
kugo daigaku.
Wheatley J K (1990). ‘Burmese.’ In Comrie B (ed.) The
major languages of East and Southeast Asia. London:
Routledge. 106–126.
Wheatley J K (1996). ‘Burmese writing.’ In Daniels P T &
Bright W (eds.) The world’s writing systems. Oxford:
Oxford University Press. 450–456.
Wheatley J K (2003). ‘Burmese.’ In Thurgood G & LaPolla
R J (eds.) The Sino-Tibetan languages. London & New
York: Routledge. 195–207.
Relevant Websites
Sino-Tibetan etymological dictionary and thesaurus
(STEDT) (2002). University of California at Berkeley.
http://linguistics.berkeley.edu.
SIL International (2002). Ethnologue: Languages of Myan-
mar. http://www.ethnologue.com.
Of the two works, OPL deals more specifically
with language and was the more popular and success-
ful, though the basic arguments are reiterated in Book
III of AM. The first two volumes of OPL are most
frequently discussed. In Monboddo’s own words, the
‘‘three heads’’ of Book I were ‘‘that Language is not
natural to man . . . that it may have been invented . . .
and . . . to show how it was invented’’ (Cloyd, 1972:
45). Though all humans have a faculty for language
founded upon their ability to abstract meaning,
language only arose where humans lived communal-
ly, gradually evolving from animal cries as men
purposefully attached meaning to sounds. That the
natural, primitive state of man is without language,
Monboddo revealed in credulous accounts of trav-
elers’ tales of primitive societies and by maintaining
that orangutans, because of their social behavior,
were actually the lowest form of humans without
language. This notorious claim discredited Monbod-
do’s work to many of his contemporaries as well as to
posterity, even as it classified him as a pre-Darwinian.
Book II is a universal grammar, influenced by the
work of Monboddo’s friend, Harris (see Harris,
James (1709–1780)).

Bradley D (1995). Papers in South Asian linguistics 13:
Studies in Burmese linguistics. Canberra, Australia:
Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University.
Myanmar Language Commission (1993). Myanmar–
English dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar Lan-
guage Commission.
Myanmar Language Commission (2001). English–
Myanmar dictionary. Yangon, Myanmar: Myanmar
Language Commission.
Okell J (1965). ‘Nissaya Burmese, a case of systematic
adaptation to a foreign grammar and syntax.’ In Milner
G B & Henderson E J A (eds.) Indo–Pacific linguistic
studies, vol. 2: Descriptive linguistics (Lingua 14–15).
Amsterdam: North Holland. 186–230.
Okell J (1969). A reference grammar of colloquial Burmese.
London: Oxford University Press.
Okell J (1984). Burmese: an introduction (4 vols). DeKalb,
IL: Northern Illinois University.
Okell J & Allott A (2001). Burmese/Myanmar: a dictionary
of grammatical forms. Richmond, UK: Curzon Press.
Roop D H (1972). An introduction to the Burmese writing
system. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Sprigg R K (1957). ‘Studies in linguistics analysis.’ Transac-
tions of the Philological Society (Special volume). 104–138.
Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799)
P C Sutcliffe, Colgate University, Hamilton, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
James Burnett, born in Monboddo in Scotland on
October 14, 1714, was a judge, classics scholar, and
a Scottish Enlightenment philosopher. After a classi-
cal education, Burnett studied law and eventually
became a judge, Lord of Session, taking the title
Lord Monboddo, in 1767 and remained in this post
until his death on May 26, 1799. An eccentric and
controversial figure, Monboddo was not afraid to
expound unpopular views, both on the bench and in
his scholarship, especially as a member of the Select
Society of Edinburgh, a group of prominent citizens
that gathered weekly to share ideas that included
David Hume and Adam Smith (see Smith, Adam
(1723–1790)) among others. In his two anonymously
published six-volume works, Of the progress and
origin of language (OPL) (1773–1792) and Antient
metaphysics (AM) (1779–1792), he opposed
Locke’s popular empiricism, favoring the idealist
metaphysics and authority of the ancient Greeks,
especially Aristotle.
Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799) 165
Sprigg R K (1977). ‘Tonal units and tonal classification:
Panjabi, Tibetan and Burmese.’ In Gill H S (ed.) Pàkha
Sanjam 8: Parole and langue. Patiala: Punjabi University.
1–21.
Thurgood G W (1981). Monumenta Serindica 9: Notes on
the origins of Burmese creaky tone. Tokyo: Tōkyō gaiko-
kugo daigaku.
Wheatley J K (1990). ‘Burmese.’ In Comrie B (ed.) The
major languages of East and Southeast Asia. London:
Routledge. 106–126.
Wheatley J K (1996). ‘Burmese writing.’ In Daniels P T &
Bright W (eds.) The world’s writing systems. Oxford:
Oxford University Press. 450–456.
Wheatley J K (2003). ‘Burmese.’ In Thurgood G & LaPolla
R J (eds.) The Sino-Tibetan languages. London & New
York: Routledge. 195–207.
Relevant Websites
Sino-Tibetan etymological dictionary and thesaurus
(STEDT) (2002). University of California at Berkeley.
http://linguistics.berkeley.edu.
SIL International (2002). Ethnologue: Languages of Myan-
mar. http://www.ethnologue.com.
Of the two works, OPL deals more specifically
with language and was the more popular and success-
ful, though the basic arguments are reiterated in Book
III of AM. The first two volumes of OPL are most
frequently discussed. In Monboddo’s own words, the
‘‘three heads’’ of Book I were ‘‘that Language is not
natural to man . . . that it may have been invented . . .
and . . . to show how it was invented’’ (Cloyd, 1972:
45). Though all humans have a faculty for language
founded upon their ability to abstract meaning,
language only arose where humans lived communal-
ly, gradually evolving from animal cries as men
purposefully attached meaning to sounds. That the
natural, primitive state of man is without language,
Monboddo revealed in credulous accounts of trav-
elers’ tales of primitive societies and by maintaining
that orangutans, because of their social behavior,
were actually the lowest form of humans without
language. This notorious claim discredited Monbod-
do’s work to many of his contemporaries as well as to
posterity, even as it classified him as a pre-Darwinian.
Book II is a universal grammar, influenced by the
work of Monboddo’s friend, Harris (see Harris,
James (1709–1780)).
166 Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799)
In 1784, parts of the first three volumes of OPL
were translated into German and published with a
foreword by Herder (see Herder, Johann Gottfried
(1744–1803)), who praised Monboddo for his first
attempts to use a comparison of languages and races
to develop a philosophy of mankind. OPL influenced
Herder’s Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der
Menschheit. Monboddo can also be linked to Jones
(see Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794)), with whom he
corresponded. Monboddo postulated a connection
between Greek and Sanskrit in Book I of OPL in
1774, and this, perhaps, deserves to be considered
the starting point of comparative linguistics rather
than Jones’s statement of 1786. Certainly, Monbod-
do’s tremendous influence on his contemporaries
makes him worthy of more consideration than he
has traditionally received.
Burrow, Thomas (1909–1986)
R Chatterjee, Lado International College, Silver
Spring, MD, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Thomas Burrow was born on June 29, 1909 in
the Lancashire village of Leck. He studied classics
at Cambridge University. He became interested in
Sanskrit through a course in comparative philology
and received his Ph.D. for his studies on the Kharosthi
documents from Chinese Turkestan (now Xinjiang,
land of the Uighur people). In 1944 he was appointed
to the Boden Chair in Sanskrit at Oxford. He retired
in 1976 and died 10 years later.
Burrow’s first book on the Kharosthi documents
analyzes them as related to a Prakrit of Northwest
India, now in the Peshawar region. He provides a
grammar of the language and a combined index and
vocabulary. Burrow’s work in Sanskrit itself is
well represented by The Sanskrit language (1955,
1966, 1973). Burrow’s focus here is the description
of Sanskrit in its relation to Indo-European. He
masterfully lays out the Indo-European neighbors of
the language and their overlapping characteristics,
quoting at the beginning the famous words of Sir
William Jones in his address to the Royal Asiatic
Society of Bengal in 1786: ‘‘The Sanscrit language,
whatever be its antiquity, is of wonderful structure;
more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the
Latin, and more exquisitely refined than either . . .’’.
Burrow writes of Sanskrit as ‘‘a form of language
which in most respects is more archaic and less
See also: Harris, James (1709–1780); Herder, Johann Gott-
fried (1744–1803); Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794); Locke,
John (1632–1704); Origin and Evolution of Language;
Smith, Adam (1723–1790).
Bibliography
Arnold G (2002). ‘Monboddo die Palme? Zur Monboddo-
Rezeption J. G. Herders.’ Herder Yearbook 6, 7–19.
Burnett J, Lord Monboddo (1773–1792). Of the origin and
progress of language (6 vols). London and Edinburgh:
AMS Press.
Cloyd E L (1972). James Burnett, Lord Monboddo.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Plank F (1993). ‘Des Lord Monboddo Ansichten von
Ursprung und Entwicklung der Sprache.’ Linguistische
Berichte 144, 154–166.
altered from original Indo-European than any other
member of the family.’’ He emphasizes that the
importance of Sanskrit grammarians is unequalled
anywhere in the world, and that Panini’s work regu-
lated the language of the classical literature in the
language ‘‘to the last detail.’’
In the 1960s, Burrow, with Murray B. Emeneau,
made a signal contribution to the study of the other
great language family of India, Dravidian. Their
Dravidian etymological dictionary (DED) first
appeared in 1961. It has been called a landmark
event in Dravidian linguistics. Data from almost 30
languages are taken into account. The dictionary
itself runs to some 500 pages. There are indexes of
Dravidian, Indo-Aryan, Munda and other languages,
including Hobson-Jobson. There is also an index
of English meanings and of flora. The dictionary
does not contain proto-Dravidian reconstructions –
Burrow and Emeneau decided that the time required
was not warranted by the state of Dravidian studies at
the time.
When the DED was published, the compilers decid-
ed to restrict it to Dravidian material alone. However,
Indo-Aryan material had been collected and was
readied for publication in the University of California
Publications in Linguistics in 1962 under the title
Dravidian borrowings from Indo-Aryan.
In 1968 Burrow published a collection of papers
in India, Collected papers on Dravidian linguis-
tics. Notable here is an excursus into the further
relationships of Dravidian languages to geographically
distant families such as Ural-Altaic, specifically
166 Burnett, James, Monboddo, Lord (1714–1799)
In 1784, parts of the first three volumes of OPL
were translated into German and published with a
foreword by Herder (see Herder, Johann Gottfried
(1744–1803)), who praised Monboddo for his first
attempts to use a comparison of languages and races
to develop a philosophy of mankind. OPL influenced
Herder’s Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der
Menschheit. Monboddo can also be linked to Jones
(see Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794)), with whom he
corresponded. Monboddo postulated a connection
between Greek and Sanskrit in Book I of OPL in
1774, and this, perhaps, deserves to be considered
the starting point of comparative linguistics rather
than Jones’s statement of 1786. Certainly, Monbod-
do’s tremendous influence on his contemporaries
makes him worthy of more consideration than he
has traditionally received.
Burrow, Thomas (1909–1986)
R Chatterjee, Lado International College, Silver
Spring, MD, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Thomas Burrow was born on June 29, 1909 in
the Lancashire village of Leck. He studied classics
at Cambridge University. He became interested in
Sanskrit through a course in comparative philology
and received his Ph.D. for his studies on the Kharosthi
documents from Chinese Turkestan (now Xinjiang,
land of the Uighur people). In 1944 he was appointed
to the Boden Chair in Sanskrit at Oxford. He retired
in 1976 and died 10 years later.
Burrow’s first book on the Kharosthi documents
analyzes them as related to a Prakrit of Northwest
India, now in the Peshawar region. He provides a
grammar of the language and a combined index and
vocabulary. Burrow’s work in Sanskrit itself is
well represented by The Sanskrit language (1955,
1966, 1973). Burrow’s focus here is the description
of Sanskrit in its relation to Indo-European. He
masterfully lays out the Indo-European neighbors of
the language and their overlapping characteristics,
quoting at the beginning the famous words of Sir
William Jones in his address to the Royal Asiatic
Society of Bengal in 1786: ‘‘The Sanscrit language,
whatever be its antiquity, is of wonderful structure;
more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the
Latin, and more exquisitely refined than either . . .’’.
Burrow writes of Sanskrit as ‘‘a form of language
which in most respects is more archaic and less
See also: Harris, James (1709–1780); Herder, Johann Gott-
fried (1744–1803); Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794); Locke,
John (1632–1704); Origin and Evolution of Language;
Smith, Adam (1723–1790).
Bibliography
Arnold G (2002). ‘Monboddo die Palme? Zur Monboddo-
Rezeption J. G. Herders.’ Herder Yearbook 6, 7–19.
Burnett J, Lord Monboddo (1773–1792). Of the origin and
progress of language (6 vols). London and Edinburgh:
AMS Press.
Cloyd E L (1972). James Burnett, Lord Monboddo.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Plank F (1993). ‘Des Lord Monboddo Ansichten von
Ursprung und Entwicklung der Sprache.’ Linguistische
Berichte 144, 154–166.
altered from original Indo-European than any other
member of the family.’’ He emphasizes that the
importance of Sanskrit grammarians is unequalled
anywhere in the world, and that Panini’s work regu-
lated the language of the classical literature in the
language ‘‘to the last detail.’’
In the 1960s, Burrow, with Murray B. Emeneau,
made a signal contribution to the study of the other
great language family of India, Dravidian. Their
Dravidian etymological dictionary (DED) first
appeared in 1961. It has been called a landmark
event in Dravidian linguistics. Data from almost 30
languages are taken into account. The dictionary
itself runs to some 500 pages. There are indexes of
Dravidian, Indo-Aryan, Munda and other languages,
including Hobson-Jobson. There is also an index
of English meanings and of flora. The dictionary
does not contain proto-Dravidian reconstructions –
Burrow and Emeneau decided that the time required
was not warranted by the state of Dravidian studies at
the time.
When the DED was published, the compilers decid-
ed to restrict it to Dravidian material alone. However,
Indo-Aryan material had been collected and was
readied for publication in the University of California
Publications in Linguistics in 1962 under the title
Dravidian borrowings from Indo-Aryan.
In 1968 Burrow published a collection of papers
in India, Collected papers on Dravidian linguis-
tics. Notable here is an excursus into the further
relationships of Dravidian languages to geographically
distant families such as Ural-Altaic, specifically

Finno-Ugric. Burrow reviews previous work
by Caldwell, Schrader, and others and presents ‘‘as a
first instalment of evidence supporting the theory
of Dravidian-Uralian relationship’’ a list of words ap-
plying to the body and its parts.
See also: Caldwell, Robert (1814–1891); Emeneau, Murray
Barnson (b. 1904); Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794); Panini;
Sanskrit.
Bibliography
Burrow T (1937). The language of the Kharosthi documents
from Chinese Turkestan. Cambridge: The University Press.
Burundi: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Burundi lies surrounded by the Democratic Republic
of the Congo in the east, Rwanda in the north, and
Tanzania in the east. In the southwest, Burundi
borders Lake Tanganyika. The comparatively small
country has about 6.2 million inhabitants divided
into three main ethnic groups: Hutus (approx. 85%),
Tutsis (approx. 14%), and Twa (1%). The Twa
pygmies are an original hunter-gatherer community
and are now mainly engaged in hunting, pottery, and
ironworking. They are assumed to be the original
inhabitants of the area, with Hutus and Tutsis
arriving later. The Urundi kingdom became part of
German East Africa in 1890, together with the neigh-
boring Rwanda. After World War I both territories
were administered by Belgium under a League of
Nations mandate. In 1962 Burundi became an inde-
pendent kingdom, and in 1966, after the overthrow
of the monarchy, a republic. Burundi has a long his-
tory of suffering from internal unrest and ethnic vio-
lence brought about by conflicts between Hutus and
Tutsis. Ironically, the country is a counter-example
to the claim that monolingualism brings internal
stability, as all ethnic groups in Burundi speak one
language, Rundi.
Rundi (Kirundi) is a Bantu language closely related
to Kinyarwanda, the language of Rwanda, as well as
Burundi: Language Situation 167
Burrow T (1955, 1966, 1973). The Sanskrit language.
London: Faber.
Burrow T & Emeneau M B (1961, 1984). Dravidian
etymological dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Burrow T & Emeneau M B (1962). Dravidian Borrowings
from Indo-Aryan. University of California Publications
in Linguistics (vol. 27). Berkeley, CA: University of
California Press.
Burrow T (1968). Collected papers on Dravidian linguis-
tics. Annamalainagar: Annamalai University Department
of Linguistics, Publication no. 13.
to Ha of Tanzania. All three are largely mutually
intelligible, although the varieties are distinct enough
to serve for ethnic and national identification. Within
Burundi, Hutus, Tutsis, and Twas speak different
dialects of Rundi. The last two groups are assumed
to be originally speakers of non-Bantu languages, and
to have shifted to Rundi. Communities of Rundi
speakers, including refugees, are also found in
Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania. In addition to
Rundi, the former colonial language, French, is used
in Burundi, especially for formal and official
purposes, in education, and for international commu-
nication. Both Rundi and French are official lan-
guages. The third important language in Burundi is
Swahili, which is spoken by the Muslim, Asian, and
Congolese communities, as well as a contact language
by others, mainly in the capital, Bujumbura, and
along Lake Tanganyika.
See also: Rwanda: Language Situation; Tanzania: Lan-
guage Situation.
Bibliography
Ntahokaja J-B (1994). Grammaire structurale du Kirundi.
Bujumbura: L’Université du Burundi.
Sommers M (2001). Fear in Bongoland: Burundi refugees in
urban Tanzania. New York, Oxford: Berghahn.

Finno-Ugric. Burrow reviews previous work
by Caldwell, Schrader, and others and presents ‘‘as a
first instalment of evidence supporting the theory
of Dravidian-Uralian relationship’’ a list of words ap-
plying to the body and its parts.
See also: Caldwell, Robert (1814–1891); Emeneau, Murray
Barnson (b. 1904); Jones, William, Sir (1746–1794); Panini;
Sanskrit.
Bibliography
Burrow T (1937). The language of the Kharosthi documents
from Chinese Turkestan. Cambridge: The University Press.
Burundi: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Burundi lies surrounded by the Democratic Republic
of the Congo in the east, Rwanda in the north, and
Tanzania in the east. In the southwest, Burundi
borders Lake Tanganyika. The comparatively small
country has about 6.2 million inhabitants divided
into three main ethnic groups: Hutus (approx. 85%),
Tutsis (approx. 14%), and Twa (1%). The Twa
pygmies are an original hunter-gatherer community
and are now mainly engaged in hunting, pottery, and
ironworking. They are assumed to be the original
inhabitants of the area, with Hutus and Tutsis
arriving later. The Urundi kingdom became part of
German East Africa in 1890, together with the neigh-
boring Rwanda. After World War I both territories
were administered by Belgium under a League of
Nations mandate. In 1962 Burundi became an inde-
pendent kingdom, and in 1966, after the overthrow
of the monarchy, a republic. Burundi has a long his-
tory of suffering from internal unrest and ethnic vio-
lence brought about by conflicts between Hutus and
Tutsis. Ironically, the country is a counter-example
to the claim that monolingualism brings internal
stability, as all ethnic groups in Burundi speak one
language, Rundi.
Rundi (Kirundi) is a Bantu language closely related
to Kinyarwanda, the language of Rwanda, as well as
Burundi: Language Situation 167
Burrow T (1955, 1966, 1973). The Sanskrit language.
London: Faber.
Burrow T & Emeneau M B (1961, 1984). Dravidian
etymological dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Burrow T & Emeneau M B (1962). Dravidian Borrowings
from Indo-Aryan. University of California Publications
in Linguistics (vol. 27). Berkeley, CA: University of
California Press.
Burrow T (1968). Collected papers on Dravidian linguis-
tics. Annamalainagar: Annamalai University Department
of Linguistics, Publication no. 13.
to Ha of Tanzania. All three are largely mutually
intelligible, although the varieties are distinct enough
to serve for ethnic and national identification. Within
Burundi, Hutus, Tutsis, and Twas speak different
dialects of Rundi. The last two groups are assumed
to be originally speakers of non-Bantu languages, and
to have shifted to Rundi. Communities of Rundi
speakers, including refugees, are also found in
Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania. In addition to
Rundi, the former colonial language, French, is used
in Burundi, especially for formal and official
purposes, in education, and for international commu-
nication. Both Rundi and French are official lan-
guages. The third important language in Burundi is
Swahili, which is spoken by the Muslim, Asian, and
Congolese communities, as well as a contact language
by others, mainly in the capital, Bujumbura, and
along Lake Tanganyika.
See also: Rwanda: Language Situation; Tanzania: Lan-
guage Situation.
Bibliography
Ntahokaja J-B (1994). Grammaire structurale du Kirundi.
Bujumbura: L’Université du Burundi.
Sommers M (2001). Fear in Bongoland: Burundi refugees in
urban Tanzania. New York, Oxford: Berghahn.
168 Burushaski
Burushaski
G D S Anderson, Salem, OR, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Burushaski is a language isolate spoken in the North-
ern Areas, Pakistan, primarily in the Hunza, Nagar,
and, Yasin valleys. A small enclave of Burushaski
speakers is also found over the border in Kashmir,
India. The Hunza and Nagar varieties differ only min-
orly from each other; both stand at a relative distance
from the Yasin variety of Burushaski, sometimes also
considered to be a close sister language, Werchikwar.
There are approximately 80 000 speakers of
Burushaski, including somewhere in the area of
15 000–20 000 people speaking the Yasin dialect,
with an additional 20 000–30 000 speakers of both
Hunza Burushaski and Nagar Burushaski. In all com-
munities where Burushaski is spoken, the language
remains vital, with many women and children still
monolingual speakers.
The first comprehensive study of Burushaski was
Lorimer (1935–1938). The most recent is Berger’s
three-volume grammar, dictionary, and text collection
(1998).
Bilingualism among Burushaski speakers is com-
mon primarily in the two Dardic Indo–European
languages Shina (Nagar Burushaski speakers) and
Khowar (the Burusho of Yasin valley). In Hunza, es-
pecially in the village of Mominabad, the Indo–Aryan-
speaking Dúumaki (Domaaki) live in close contact
with Burushaski speakers; nearly all Dúumaki speak-
ers appear to be bilingual in Burushaski. Burushaski
itself may have previously been spoken in a wider area
than it is currently found: for example, in Dras, in
Baltistan, there is a group of people known as the
Brokpa or Brusa; also, in Ponjal, there are the
so-called Burushken, who are now Shina speaking.
Burushaski has a basic five-vowel system, with two
series of contrastive long vowels, alternatively bear-
ing stress or higher pitch on the first or second mora,
respectively:
(1) i ı́i iı́ u úu uú
e ée eé o óo oó
a áa aá
There is some dispute among Burushaski specialists
as to the exact nature of these long vowels. Varma
(1941: 133) described the suprasegmental or intona-
tional contrasts of Burushaski long vowels as repre-
senting a rising and falling tone; modern investigators,
however, e.g., Tiffou (1993), Berger (1998), and
Morin and Tiffou (1989), considered this to be a
difference of moraic stress: that is, Burushaski long
vowels may receive stress on either the first mora or
the second, corresponding to Varma’s falling and
rising tones, respectively. These phenomena are pho-
nemic in Burushaski. A comprehensive instrumental
analysis of Burushaski vocalism remains to be done. A
lowered pitch on the first mora is sometimes heard
with the former (initial-mora prominent) forms.
(Note that expressive diminutives are generally asso-
ciated with this intonational pattern, e.g., s̆on ‘blind’
vs. s̆óon ‘somewhat blind’ or .tak ‘attached’ vs. .táak
‘somewhat attached.’) Yasin exhibits the same intona-
tional phenomena as the standard Hunza and Nagar
varieties, although the moraic stress difference seems
to be less pronounced, and in some speakers, this
contrast has been neutralized.
Examples of phonemic vowel contrasts in
Burushaski include bat ‘flat stone’ vs. baát ‘porridge’
(as in bras-e baát ‘cooked rice,’ aalu-e baát ‘mashed
potatoes’); d. ir ‘boundary, water ditch between fields,
small irrigation canal; hostility’ vs. d. ı́ir ‘overhanging
rock’; Xun ‘wooden block in door lock, stocks (for
prisoner)’ vs. Xúun ‘quail’; men ‘who’ vs. meén ‘old,
venerable; fallow field’; gon ‘dawn’ vs. goón ‘like, as.’
Note that these length contrasts only appear in
stressed syllables in Burushaski.
Three-way contrasts between short, first-mora-
prominent, and second-mora-prominent vowels are
found in a small number of lexical items in Burushaski.
Such triplets include bo ‘grain, seed, sperm/semen’ vs.
bóo et- ‘low, bellow’ vs. boó (cf. nupáu ! nupoón in the
converb form) ‘sit down, lower self,’ don ‘large herd’
vs. dóon (!dóon ke) ‘still, yet, nevertheless’ vs. doón
‘woman’s head scarf; open’ (Berger, 1998: vol. 3,
pp. 121–122). Two-way length contrasts, such as
báak ‘punishment, torture’ vs. baák ‘generosity’ are
relatively common.
Burushaski has an extensive system of consonants.
In fact, there are eight different stop/affricate series
attested in the language. This includes labial, dental,
alveolar, retroflex, palatal, palatal-retroflex, velar,
and uvular. All of these series may be found in voice-
less unaspirated, voiceless aspirated, and voiced series
(see Table 1).
Table 1 The consonantal inventory of Burushaski
p t c t. č č. k q
ph th ch t. h čh č. h kh qh
b d z d. g X
(f)a s š š. (x)a h
m n N
w y y.
l r
a
[f] and [x] occur only in loan words, or as a variant of the
aspirated stops [ ] and [ ] or [ ], respectively.
 Burushaski 169

Table 2 Plural formation in Burushaski Numerals agree in class with their nominal comple-
Singular Plural
ment in class in Burushaski (note class-I and class-III
are conflated here; see Table 4). Numbers 20 and
hal hal- ó ‘fox’ above are based on a clear vigesimal system, 30 liter-
iip iip-uc ‘jeep’ ally being ‘20–10’ and 40 being (etymologically)
Xus Xus̆-ono ‘earthen clump’
c̆. onc̆. c̆. onc̆. -in ‘summit, peak’
‘2–20.’ etc.
-Xarum Xarum-in " Xarim-in ‘part’ (3) aalter(an) 20 aalter toorumo 30
gı́rkis girkic̆-o ‘rat’ aaltuwalter 40 aaltuwalter toorumo 50
Xurkun Xurkuy-o ‘frog’ iiski aalter 60 iiski aalter toorumo 70
Xurkuc Xurkuc̆-o ‘frog’ (Nagar) waalti aalter(an) 80 waalti aalter toorumo 90 tha 100
as̆aáto as̆aátu-tin ‘weak(ling)’
Xat-enc̆. Xat-an ‘sword’ The verbal system of Burushaski stands out for its
morphological complexity among south Asian lan-
guages. There are two basic sets of inflections,
depending in part on the stem allomorph. These two
While retroflexion is common throughout the broad categories are as follows:
languages of south Asia, Burushaski has one of the
largest inventories of nonsonorant retroflex (4) I II
sounds among the languages of the region, with no past future
fewer than seven such sounds. In addition, the Hunza perfect present
pluperfect imperfect
and Nagar varieties possess a curious retroflex, a
aorist (conative)
spirantized palatal, symbolized /y. /, with a range of
local or idiolectal realizations. This sound is lacking The maximal template of the Burushaski simplex
in the Yasin Burushaski dialect. verb is given by Tikkanen (1995: 91) as:
Burushaski possesses four noun classes, based p
(5) NEG- D- PERSON/CLASS/NUMBER- CAUS- -
on real-world semantic categorization. Thus, male –4 –3 –2 –1 Ø
humans belong to class I, female humans to class II, PL.SUBJ- DUR- 1SG.SUBJ-
nonhuman animates to class III and inanimates to þ1 þ2 þ3
class IV (2). These classes are formally realized not PRTCPL/OPT/ SUBJ.SFX- Q
in the noun themselves but through the selection of COND/AUX-
case allomorphs and verb agreement morphology. þ4 þ5 þ6
(2) I: male human II: female human Some examples of verbs reflecting this template are
hir ‘man’ dası́n ‘girl’ given in (6). Note the curious and morphologically
III: animate nonhuman IV: inanimate triggered (and phonologically unmotivated) devoic-
haXúr ‘horse’ Xaténc̆. ‘sword’ ing of obstruents following the negative allomorph
Another salient feature of the nominal system of a- (but not oó-).
Burushaski is the wide range of plural formations (6) oó-min-im-i oó-man-um-an
attested in the language. There are literally dozens NEG-drink-AP-I NEG.PL-become-AP-PL
of plural markers in the language, each often found ‘he didn’t drink (it)’ ‘they didn’t become’
with only a small number of nouns. Sometimes these (Berger, 1998: 106) (Berger, 1998: 106)
are found only with nouns of a particular class but a-túru-m-i duróo-m-i
others crosscut this categorization (see Table 2). NEG-work-AP-I work-AP-I
Burushaski has a highly developed system of gram- ‘he didn’t work’ ‘he worked’
matical and instrumental cases as well as an elaborate (Berger, 1998: 105) (Berger, 1998: 105)
a-mı́-kac̆-ic̆-a-i mi-khác̆-ic̆a-i
system of local/directional cases and instrumental/
NEG–1PL-enclose-DUR-AUX-I 1PL-enclose-DUR-AUX-I
comitative cases (see Table 3). The exact number is
‘he doesn’t enclose us’ ‘he encloses us’
difficult to determine as new elements enter this sys- (Berger, 1998: 105) (Berger, 1998: 105)
tem through the grammaticalization (and phonologi- a-tu-ququ-m-i du-qhóqu-m-i
cal fusion) of relational nouns/postpositions. There NEG-D-be.confused-AP-I D-be.confused-AP-I
are at least the following grammatical cases (i.e., ‘he was not confused’ ‘he was confused’
ones assigned by structural position or verbal subcat- (Berger, 1998: 105) (Berger, 1998: 105)
egorization): ergative, genitive, dative, ablative. In the
In addition to subject and direct/indirect objects,
latter two instances with class II nouns, the cases
the Burushaski verb may also optionally encode an
are built off the genitive (or oblique) stem.
170 Burushaski

Table 3 Case forms in Burushaski

‘man’ [I] ‘woman’ [II] ‘horse’ [III] ‘sword’ [IV]

Grammatical cases
NOM/ABS hir gus haXur Xatenc̆.
ERG hir-e gus-e haXur-e Xatenc̆. -e
GEN hir-e gus-mu haXur-e Xatenc̆. -e
OBLQ.stem hir- gusmu- haXur- Xatenc̆. -
DAT hir-ar gusmu-r haXur-ar Xatenc̆. -ar
ABL hir-cum gusmu-cum haXur-cum Xatenc̆. -cum

Local-Directional Cases
gus-mu-t. e
woman-II.OBLQ-SUPERESS
‘on the woman’
akun un-ale bi-m
donkey you-ADESS be-III.AP
‘the donkey was near you’
e-s̆. -at. um
I-neck-SUPERABL
‘from on his neck’
Instrumental/Comitative Cases
uskó yát. -umuc-ane hin jinzaat-an
three head-PL-INSTR.B one.I demon-SG.ART
‘a three-headed demon’
day-o-k d-l
stone-PL-INSTR hit
‘pelt with stones’
-me-ke gat.
tooth-INSTR bite
‘bite with teeth’
mé-k d-l
bow-INSTR hit
‘shoot with bow’
amé-k-at. e bis̆á-
bow-INSTR-SUPERESS throw
‘shoot with bow’

animate possessor of a logical argument as an argu-

ment morphologically in the verb-word (7).
(7a) khakháay-umuc phas̆. Ú mée-t-aa
walnut-PL gobble.up 1PL-AUX-2
‘you gobbled up our walnuts’ (Berger,
1998: 162)
(7b) hiles-e dasin-mo mo-mis̆. moo-skarc-im-i
boy-ERG girl-GEN II-finger II-cut-AP-I
‘the boy cut off the girl’s finger’ (Willson,
1990: 5)
Another characteristic feature of the Burushaski
verbal system is the grammaticalized use of double
argument indexing with intransitive verbs. This single
vs. double marking appears within two separate func-
tional subsystems. In the first one, presence vs. ab-
sence of double marking implies degree of control of
the subject over the action: less control is indexed
through double marking (8a). In the second such
subsystem, class-IV nouns receive single marking
while class-III nouns receive double marking with
the same predicate (8b).
(8a) Xurc-ı́m-i
sink-AP-I
‘he dove under’ (Berger, 1998: 118)
i-Xúrc-im-i
I-sink-AP-I
‘he drowned’ (Berger, 1998: 118)
(8b) ha Xulú-m-i
house burn-AP-IV
‘the house burned’ (Berger, 1998: 118)
hun i-Xúl-im-i
wood III-burn-AP-III
‘the wood burned’ (Berger, 1998: 118)
Syntactically, Burushaski is a fairly rigid SOV lan-
guage. In narrative texts, head-tail linkage, a common
narrative device among south Asian languages, is
frequently found (clauses are linked by rote repetition
of the finite verb of a preceding sentence in a nonfinite
form in an immediately following sentence). Further,
some cases appear only on the leftmost of two (con-
junctively or disjunctively) conjoined nouns, while
others appear on both. There thus appear to be both
phrasal and word-level case forms in Burushaski.
 Burushaski 171

Table 4 Numerals See also: Pakistan: Language Situation.

I/III II IV

1 hin han hi(k) Bibliography

2 aaltan aala/aalto aalti/aalto
3 iisken usko iiski Anderson G D S (1997). ‘Burushaski phonology.’ In Kaye
4 waalto waalto waal(ti) A S & Daniels P T (eds.) Phonologies of Asia and Africa
5 cundo cundo cindi (including the Caucasus). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.
6 mis̆indo mis̆indo mis̆in(di) 1021–1041.
7 talo talo tale
Anderson G D S (2002). ‘Case marked clausal subordina-
8 aaltambo aaltambo aaltam(bi)
tion in Burushaski complex sentence structure.’ Studies in
9 hunc̆o hunc̆o hunti
10 toorumo toorumo toorimi
Language 26(3), 547–571.
11 turma hin turma han turma hik Anderson G D S & Eggert R H (2001). ‘A typology of
verb agreement in Burushaski.’ Linguistics of the
Tibeto-Burman Area 24(2), 235–254.
Anderson G D S, Eggert R H, Zide N H & Ramat F (1998).
Burushaski language materials. Chicago: University of
A further curious aspect of Yasin Burushaski is the Chicago Language Laboratories and Archives.
highly atypical semantic (plural) agreement seen with Bashir E (1985). ‘Towards a semantics of the Burushaski
disjunctively conjoined NPs (Anderson and Eggert, verb.’ In Zide A, Magier R K D & Schiller E (eds.).
2001). Most of these features can be seen in the Proceedings of the Conference on Participant Roles:
following examples. South Asia and Adjacent Areas. Bloomington: Indiana
University Linguistics Club. 1–32.
(9a) gus ya hir-e dasen a-mu-yeec-en Benveniste E (1949). ‘Remarques sur la classification nomi-
woman or man-ERG girl NEG-II-see-PL nale en Burusaski.’ Bulletin de la Société Linguistique de
‘the woman or the man didn’t see the girl’ Paris 44, 64–71.
(Anderson et al., 1998) Berger H (1956). ‘Mittelmeerische Kulturpflanzennamen
(9b) hir ya guse-e dasen a-mu-yeec-en aus dem Burushaski.’ Münchener Studien zur Sprachwis-
man or woman-ERG girl NEG-II-see-PL senschaft 9, 4–33.
‘the man or the woman didn’t see the girl’ Berger H (1959). ‘Die Burushaski-Lehnwörter in der
(Anderson et al., 1998) Zigeunersprache.’ Indo-Iranian Journal 3, 17–43.
Another characteristic feature of Burushaski syntax Berger H (1974). Das Yasin-Burushaski (Werchikwar):
Grammatik, Texte, Wörterbuch. Wiesbaden: Otto
is the extensive use of case forms to mark a wide
Harrassowitz.
range of subordinate clause functions (Anderson, Berger H (1994). ‘Kombinatorischer Lautwandel im
2002). Burushaksi.’ Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 19, 1–9.
(10) ma ma-ı́r-át. e e tan Berger H (1998). Die Burushaski-Sprache von Hunza und
y’all 2PL-die-SUPERESS I sad Nager (3 vols). Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
a-máy-a-m Bleichsteiner R (1930). ‘Die werschikisch-burischkische
1-become.dur-1-AP Sprache im Pamir-Gebiet und ihre Stellung zu den
‘when you all die I will be sad’ Japhetitensprachen des Kaukasus.’ Wiener Beiträge zur
(Berger, 1998: 140) Kulturgeschichte und Linguistik 1, 289–331.
Casule I (1998). Basic Burushaski etymologies: the Indo–
Burushaski includes loans from a range of local European and Paleo–Balkanic affinities of Burushaski.
languages including Urdu, Khowar, Shina, and even Munich: Lincom Europa.
(perhaps indirectly) from Turkic languages as well. In Klimov G A & Edel’man D I (1970). Iazyk burushaski.
some instances, loan affixes may be found as well, Moscow: Akademia Nauk SSSR.
e.g., d. ad. an-ci ‘big-drum drummer’ (Berger, 1998: Leitner G W (1889). The Hunza and Nagyr hand-book:
209). More tenuous lexical connections have been being an introduction to a knowledge of the language,
race, and countries of Hunza, Nagyr, and a part of Yasin.
proposed with Northeast Caucasian languages and
Calcutta.
Paleo–Balkanic Indo–European languages (Casule, Lorimer D L R (1932). ‘A Burushaski text from Hunza.’
1998). Bulletin of the School of Oriental Studies 4, 505–531.
There is a small body of indigenous literature in Lorimer D A (1935–1938). The Burushaski language
Burushaski written in a modified Urdu script. In addi- (3 vols). Oslo: H. Aschehoug.
tion, various texts in transcription have appeared, Morgenstierne G (1945). ‘Notes on Burushaski phonology.’
including Skyhawk et al. (1996), Skyhawk (2003), etc. Norsk Tidsskrift for Sprogvidenskap 13, 59–95.
172 Burushaski
Morgenstierne G, Vogt H & Borstrøm C J (1945). ‘A triplet
of Burushaski studies.’ Norsk Tidsskrift for Sprogvidens-
kap 13, 61–147.
Morin Y-C & Tiffou E (1988). ‘Passive in Burushaski.’ In
Shibatani M (ed.) Passive and voice. Amsterdam: John
Benjamins. 493–525.
Morin Y-C & Tiffou E (1989). Dictionnaire complémen-
taire du Bourouchaski du Yasin. Paris: Peeters/SELAF.
Skyhawk H van (2003). Burushaski-Texte aus Hispar:
Materialien zum Verständnis einer archaischen Bergkul-
tur in Nordpakistan. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Skyhawk H van, Berger H & Jettmar K (1996). Libi Kisar:
ein Volksepos im Burushaski von Nager. Wiesbaden:
Otto Harrassowitz.
Tiffou E (1977). ‘L’Effacement de l’ergatif en bourou-
chaski.’ Studia Linguistica 31, 18–37.
Tiffou E (1993). Hunza proverbs. Calgary: University of
Calgary Press.
Tiffou E & Patry R (1995). ‘La Notion de pluralité verbale:
le cas du bourouchaski du Yasin.’ Journal Asiatique
283(2), 407–444.
Tiffou E & Pesot J (1988). Contes du Yasin. Paris: Peeters.
Tikkanen B (1995). ‘Burushaski converbs in their areal
context.’ In Haspelmath M & König E (eds.) Converbs
in cross-linguistic perspective: structure and meaning of
adverbial verb forms – adverbial participles, gerunds.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 487–528.
Toporov N V (1970). ‘About the phonological typology of
Burushaski.’ In Jakobson R & Kawamoto S (eds.) Studies
in general and Oriental linguistics presented to Shiro
Hattori on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday. Tokyo:
TEC Corporation for Language and Educational
Research. 632–647.
Toporov V N (1971). ‘Burushaski and Yeniseian languages:
some parallels.’ In van Poldauf I (ed.) Etudes de la pho-
nologie, typologie et de la linguistique générale. Prague:
Académie Tchécoslovaque des Sciences. 107–125.
Varma S (1941). ‘Studies in Burushaski dialectology.’
Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal Letters 7,
133–173.
Willson S R (1990). Verb agreement and case marking in
Burushaski. M.A. thesis, University of North Dakota.
C
Çabej, Eqrem (1908–1980)
Z Wasik, Adam Mickiewicz University, Poznań, Poland
(
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Eqrem Çabej was born in Gjirokastra (at that time
Turkey) on August 6, 1908, and died on August 13,
1980, in Tirana (Albania). He received his elementary
education in the place of his birth and then was sent
to Austria to attend a high school at Klagenfurt.
Subsequently, he went to Graz and Vienna to study
comparative Indo-European linguistics and Albanian
philology. In 1933, he defended his doctoral disserta-
tion ‘Italoalbanische Studien’ before the commission
of Paul Kretschmer and Norbert Jokl. After gradua-
ting from Vienna University, he worked as a teacher
of Albanian in secondary schools and other educa-
tional institutions, first in Gjirokastra and then
in Shkodër. Spending the interwar period in Italy,
which occupied Albania, Çabej studied archival
documents from the Albanian past preserved there
in libraries. After the end of World War II, when a
two-year Pedagogical Institute in Gjirokastra had
been created in 1946, he was nominated a ‘peda-
gogue’ in linguistics and Albanology. In 1947, he
became a member of the Institute of Sciences, and in
1957 he was offered a professorial position at Tirana
University. For some years he worked in the Institute
of Language and Literature, and when the Academy
of Sciences was formed, he was elected a member of
its presidium. In 1959, Çabej defended a thesis on
‘Some aspects of historical phonetics of Albanian in
the light of the language of Gjon Buzuku’ [Disa
aspektë të fonetikës historike të shqipes në dritën
e gjuhës së Gjon Buzukut], securing him the degree
‘candidate of philological sciences’; and, in the same
year, he was given the title ‘professor’ for his theoret-
ical and practical achievements. He had also prepared
a dissertation for a doctor’s degree devoted to ‘Ety-
mological studies in the domain of Albanian’ [Stu-
dime etimologjike në fus hë të shqipes], but,
meanwhile, this degree was abolished. Etymology
and history of language were the domains in which
he worked until the last days of his life, taking part in
all professional sessions of national and international
character, in Albania and other research centers of the
Balkans and of central Europe, and publishing in
journals all over the world.
The scientific activity of E. Çabej embraces two
phases. In the first phase, 1929–1945, he was a phi-
lologist, folklorist, dialectologist, and ethnographer;
in the second, 1945–1980, the focus of his interest
shifted to linguistics, etymology and historical pho-
netics, lexicology, and lexicography. Çabej’s first step
in describing his own native language in terms of
comparative linguistics was a dissertation devoted to
Italian and Albanian, a copy of which is available
in Vienna University. He paid particular attention to
the roots and the place of Albanian in the Balkans.
His chrestomathy for high school pupils, ‘Elements of
linguistics and Albanian literature’ [Elemente të gju-
hësisë e të literaturës shqipe] (1936), comprised in
addition to literary texts knowledge related to linguis-
tic classifications and the distribution of Albanian
dialects. In it he defended his hypothesis concerning
the Illyrian ancestry of his native tongue, exploiting
the opinions of philosophers such as G. W. Leibniz,
J. E. Thunmann, and J. P. Fallmerayer, and linguists
such as G. Meyer and F. X. von Miklosic, as well as
P. Kretschmer and N. Jokl. His next monograph, ‘On
the genesis of Albanian literature’ [Për gjenezën e lit-
eraturës shqipe] (1939), is characterized by its etymo-
logical explorations of ethnonyms: Arbën, Arbër,
Arbëresh, and the first historical periodization of Al-
banian literature. Between 1935 and 1942, Çabej
published several works from linguistics, folkloris-
tics, and mythology, chiefly in Revue internationale
des études balkaniques, Knjige o Balkanu, and
Leipziger Vierteljahresschrift für Südosteuropa. In
the 1940s, he collaborated with Hrvatska Enciklope-
dija (1941) and later prepared ‘The linguistic Atlas
of Albanian’ (1943). Decisive for Çabej’s linguistic
reorientation was the study of the ‘Missal of Gjon
Buzuku’ (Meshari i Gjon Buzukut) from 1555, pre-
served in the Vatican Library. The results of his stud-
ies of this translation of the Catholic missal and his
acquaintance with texts of other Albanian authors led
him to write both a series of articles from historical
morphology and phonetics published in the Bulletin
174 Çabej, Eqrem (1908–1980)
for Social Sciences at Tirana and a critical edition of
the work of Gjon Buzuku (1968) with philological
elaboration and explanation throwing light on liter-
ary traditions of earlier times. On the basis of con-
statations included in his earlier works he wrote
a treatise ‘On some basic problems of the ancient
history of Albanian’ which had been translated into
Italian, French, and English. In some other articles
published for international organizations Çabej
pointed to the role of Albanian in relation to histori-
cally cognate and geographically adjacent languages.
The results of his historical studies are reflected in
two monographs edited as textbooks for students of
Albanian language and literature, ‘Introduction to
the history of Albanian’ and ‘Historical phonetics of
Albanian’ (published in one volume in 1970).
The core of numerous publications of the 1960s and
1970s, however, was Çabej’s answers to unresolved
questions: whether Albanians are descendants of
Illyrians and whether they had always lived in the
territories they occupy at present. He provided coun-
terarguments to the claims of G. L. Weigand and other
researchers regarding the non-autochthon character
of Albanians. Çabej’s studies on agricultural termi-
nology beginning in antiquity show the sedentary
character of the Albanian tribes.
Cacaopera See: Misumalpan.
Caddoan Languages
D Rood, University of Colorado, Boulder,
CO, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Caddoan is a family of North American language
consisting of two branches: Caddo, formerly spoken
in Texas and Louisiana, and now spoken only in
Oklahoma; and North Caddoan, found in the central
Plains from Oklahoma to North Dakota. The North
Caddoan languages include Arikara, Pawnee, Kitsai,
and Wichita. Arikara and Pawnee are linguistically
very close, while Kitsai falls between them and
Wichita.
Opus vitae of Çabej are his ‘Etymological studies
in the domain of Albanian’ (Studime etimologjike
në fushë të shqipes), discussed and interpreted
successively in parts between 1969 and 1979. With
his historical experience he has contributed decisively
to the codification and standardization of the
Albanian language while taking part on editorial
boards of practically all dictionaries, both monolin-
gual and multilingual, published in Albania after the
War as well as in working groups concerned with
orthography, including the Congress of 1972.
See also: Albanian; Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646–1716);
Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891).
Bibliography
Blaku M (1980). ‘In memoriam: Prof. Eqrem Çabej, Nestor
i gujhësisë shqiptare.’ Fjala XIII 15/1, 8–9.
Kastrati J (1981). ‘Bibliografia e Prof. Eqrem Çabejt
(1929–1981).’ Studime filologjike 3, 219–254.
Wa˛sik Z (1985). ‘Profesor Dr Eqrem Çabej (1908–1980),
wybitny filolog, twórca współczesnego je( zykoznawstwa
albańskiego.’ Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis 777.
Studia Linguistica IX, 99–114.
Language Structure
The Caddoan languages have extremely small pho-
neme inventories, but complex morphophonemics.
They are morphologically and syntactically proto-
typical examples of polysynthetic structure. The
proposed phoneme inventory for the family is */p, t,
k, c (¼ [ts]), s, w, n, r, y, , h, i, a, u/ (Chafe, 1979:
218–219). Caddo has a somewhat larger set, which
appears to result from relatively recent expansion.
Caddoan verbs consist of 30 or more positional
slots into which bound morphemes may be inserted;
the verb root occurs near the end. In addition to
expected categories like tense, modality, aspect,
174 Çabej, Eqrem (1908–1980)
for Social Sciences at Tirana and a critical edition of
the work of Gjon Buzuku (1968) with philological
elaboration and explanation throwing light on liter-
ary traditions of earlier times. On the basis of con-
statations included in his earlier works he wrote
a treatise ‘On some basic problems of the ancient
history of Albanian’ which had been translated into
Italian, French, and English. In some other articles
published for international organizations Çabej
pointed to the role of Albanian in relation to histori-
cally cognate and geographically adjacent languages.
The results of his historical studies are reflected in
two monographs edited as textbooks for students of
Albanian language and literature, ‘Introduction to
the history of Albanian’ and ‘Historical phonetics of
Albanian’ (published in one volume in 1970).
The core of numerous publications of the 1960s and
1970s, however, was Çabej’s answers to unresolved
questions: whether Albanians are descendants of
Illyrians and whether they had always lived in the
territories they occupy at present. He provided coun-
terarguments to the claims of G. L. Weigand and other
researchers regarding the non-autochthon character
of Albanians. Çabej’s studies on agricultural termi-
nology beginning in antiquity show the sedentary
character of the Albanian tribes.
Cacaopera See: Misumalpan.
Caddoan Languages
D Rood, University of Colorado, Boulder,
CO, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Caddoan is a family of North American language
consisting of two branches: Caddo, formerly spoken
in Texas and Louisiana, and now spoken only in
Oklahoma; and North Caddoan, found in the central
Plains from Oklahoma to North Dakota. The North
Caddoan languages include Arikara, Pawnee, Kitsai,
and Wichita. Arikara and Pawnee are linguistically
very close, while Kitsai falls between them and
Wichita.
Opus vitae of Çabej are his ‘Etymological studies
in the domain of Albanian’ (Studime etimologjike
në fushë të shqipes), discussed and interpreted
successively in parts between 1969 and 1979. With
his historical experience he has contributed decisively
to the codification and standardization of the
Albanian language while taking part on editorial
boards of practically all dictionaries, both monolin-
gual and multilingual, published in Albania after the
War as well as in working groups concerned with
orthography, including the Congress of 1972.
See also: Albanian; Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646–1716);
Miklošič, Franc (1813–1891).
Bibliography
Blaku M (1980). ‘In memoriam: Prof. Eqrem Çabej, Nestor
i gujhësisë shqiptare.’ Fjala XIII 15/1, 8–9.
Kastrati J (1981). ‘Bibliografia e Prof. Eqrem Çabejt
(1929–1981).’ Studime filologjike 3, 219–254.
Wa˛sik Z (1985). ‘Profesor Dr Eqrem Çabej (1908–1980),
wybitny filolog, twórca współczesnego je( zykoznawstwa
albańskiego.’ Acta Universitatis Wratislaviensis 777.
Studia Linguistica IX, 99–114.
Language Structure
The Caddoan languages have extremely small pho-
neme inventories, but complex morphophonemics.
They are morphologically and syntactically proto-
typical examples of polysynthetic structure. The
proposed phoneme inventory for the family is */p, t,
k, c (¼ [ts]), s, w, n, r, y, , h, i, a, u/ (Chafe, 1979:
218–219). Caddo has a somewhat larger set, which
appears to result from relatively recent expansion.
Caddoan verbs consist of 30 or more positional
slots into which bound morphemes may be inserted;
the verb root occurs near the end. In addition to
expected categories like tense, modality, aspect,

pronoun, number, evidential, and verb root, there
are slots for certain adverbs, incorporated objects,
patient definiteness (in Wichita and possibly others),
and derivational stem-forming elements. All the lan-
guages have a bipartite verb stem for many verbs; a
class of ‘preverbs’ occurs separated from the root by
several slots.
Nouns generally may take only one of two or
three suffixes: an ‘absolutive’ (which occurs only
when the noun is used alone), a locative, or, in some
of the languages, an instrumental. Noun compounds
are frequent and productively formed. All the lan-
guages lack adpositions and most adjectives.
Sentential argument structure (subject, object, in-
direct object, possessor) is marked entirely in the
verbal complex; word order in clauses has strictly
pragmatic functions. Intransitive verbs fall into two
classes depending on whether their subjects are
marked by transitive object pronouns or transitive
agent pronouns.
History and Scholarship
Europeans first encountered speakers of Caddoan
languages during the 16th-century Spanish expedi-
tions from Mexico searching for Quivira (the land
supposed to have included El Dorado, a rumored
but non-existent city with streets of gold). Maps from
those expeditions record a few (now largely uninter-
pretable) place names, but beyond that most infor-
mation on the languages has been collected since
the 1960s. Kitsai was recorded as spoken by its last
monolingual speaker in the early 20th century, but
none of the data has been published. The other lan-
guages continued to have a few speakers at the begin-
ning of the 21st century, but all will probably be
extinct by 2025, despite language preservation and
revival efforts.
Large text collections and good grammars are avail-
able for two of the languages, Arikara and Pawnee,
thanks to the work of Douglas R. Parks. Parks has
also coauthored a series of Arikara teaching gram-
mars and a dictionary for elementary school students.
Caddoan Languages 175
Wichita is documented in a grammar, several articles
about grammatical phenomena, and a few texts by
David S. Rood, as well as audio and video docu-
mentation archived at the Max Planck Institute for
Psycholinguistics in Nijmegen, the Netherlands. For
Caddo, see the texts by Wallace L. Chafe and the
detailed description of verb morphology by Lynette
Melnar. Allan R. Taylor and W. L. Chafe have pub-
lished on the history of the Caddoan language family
(see Chafe, 1979, for further reading).
See also: Adpositions; Endangered Languages; Polysyn-
thetic Language: Central Siberian Yupik; United States of
America: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Chafe W L (1979). ‘Caddoan.’ In Campbell L & Mithun M
(eds.) The languages of native America: Historical and
comparative assessment. Austin, TX: University of Texas
Press.
Chafe W L (2005). ‘Caddo.’ In Hardy H K & Scancarelli J
(eds.) The native languages of the southeastern United
States. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.
Melnar L R (2004). Caddo verb morphology. Lincoln, NE:
University of Nebraska Press.
Parks D R (1976). A grammar of Pawnee. New York:
Garland.
Parks D R (ed.) (1977). Native American texts series, vol. 2,
no. 1: Caddoan texts. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Parks D R (1991). Traditional narratives of the Arikara
Indians (4 vols). Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska
Press.
Parks D R (2005). An elementary dictionary of Skiri
Pawnee. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.
Parks D R, Beltran J & Waters E P (1998–2001). An intro-
duction to the Arikara language: Sahni1 Wakuunu’
(2 vols). Roseglen, ND: White Shield School. [Multi-
media versions on CD are available from the American
Indian Research Institute, Bloomington, IN.]
Rood D S (1976). Wichita grammar. New York: Garland.
Rood D S & Lamar D J (1992). Wichita language lessons
(manual and tape recordings). Anadarko, OK: Wichita
and Affiliated Tribes.
176 Caldwell, Robert (1814–1891)
Caldwell, Robert (1814–1891)
J-L Chevillard, CNRS – Université Paris 7, Paris,
France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Among all the Europeans who have studied the lan-
guages of south India, Bishop Caldwell (see Anony-
mous, IJDL XVIII–1, 1989 for his biography) is
probably one of the most famous. He was born in
Ireland and arrived in India in 1838 as a protestant
missionary. In his Comparative grammar of the
Dravidian or south-Indian family of languages, first
published in 1856 in London, he is credited with
demonstrating what had been until then hypothesized
by earlier writers (see Ellis, Francis Whyte (ca. 1778–
1819)), namely that several languages of south India
are related and belong to one and the same family.
Caldwell called this family ‘Dravidian,’ from the San-
skrit drāvid. a, which had sometimes been used to refer
to the Tamil language and people, and sometimes
more vaguely to south Indian peoples (see Krishna-
murti, 2003: 1–2). From Caldwell onwards, the word
‘Dravidian’ has frequently been used mainly in two
contexts: (1) comparative Dravidian linguistics, where
Caldwell’s (1875) lists of ‘‘six cultivated dialects’’
(Tamil, Malayalam, Telugu, Canarese (Kannada),
Tulu, and Kudagu) and ‘‘six uncultivated dialects’’
(Tuda (Toda), Kôta (Kota), Gon. d. , Khond (Kui),
Orâon, and Râjmahâl) have now been extended
to ‘‘23 modern languages plus three ancient ones’’
(Steever, 1998); and (2) politics, with the success of
parties such as the DMK, or Tirāvit. a Munnērrak
Kalakam ‘Dravidian Progress Association’ (see
Ramaswamy, 1997). Some of the most significant
continuators of Caldwell’s theories in the field of
Dravidian linguistics in the 20th century have been
Jules Bloch and M. B. Emeneau, the latter one being
responsible, along with T. Burrow, for the important
Dravidian etymological dictionary (1984). Caldwell
is also known for his 1881 A political and general
history of the district of Tinnevelly, in the presidency
of Madras, from the earliest period to its cession to
the English government in A. D. 1801. He is one of
three Europeans (along with Beschi and Pope) to have
his statue near the Marina Beach in Chennai.
See also: Beschi, Constanzo Guiseppe (1680–1747); Bloch,
Jules (1880–1953); Burrow, Thomas (1909–1986); Dravidi-
an Languages; Ellis, Francis Whyte (ca. 1778–1819);
Emeneau, Murray Barnson (b. 1904).
Bibliography
Andronov M S (1999). Dravidian historical linguistics.
Moscow: The Russian Academy of Sciences, Institute of
Oriental Studies.
Anonymous (1989). ‘Bishop Caldwell.’ In International
Journal of Dravidian Linguistics (IJDL) XVIII–1. 42–66.
Bloch J (1954). The grammatical structure of Dravidian
languages. Tr. from the 1946 original French [La Struc-
ture Grammaticale des Langues Dravidiennes, Librairie
d’Amérique et d’Orient, Adrien-Maisonneuve, Paris],
Poona: Deccan College Hand-Book Series.
Burrow T & Emeneau M B (1984). A Dravidian etymologi-
cal dictionary (2nd edn.). Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Caldwell R (11856, 21875, 31913, 1974). A comparative
grammar of the Dravidian or South-Indian family of
languages (3rd edn.), rev. and ed. by Wyatt J L & Pillai
R R. [Reprint of the 3rd edn., originally printed by
K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co., Ltd., London]. New
Delhi: Oriental Books Reprint Corporation.
Caldwell R (1881). A political and general history of the
district of Tinnevelly, in the presidency of Madras, from
the earliest period to its cession to the English government
in. A.D. 1801. Madras: Government Press. Reprinted
(1982). New Delhi: Asian Educational Services.
Krishnamurti B (2003). The Dravidian languages (Cam-
bridge language surveys). Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Ramaswamy S (1997). Passions of the tongue. Berkeley,
CA: University of California Press.
Steever S B (ed.) (1998). The Dravidian languages (Routle-
dge language family descriptions). London and New
York: Routledge.
Subrahmanyam P S (1983). Dravidian comparative phonol-
ogy. Annamalai Nagar: Annamalai University.
Zvelebil K V (1990). Dravidian linguistics, an introduction.
Pondicherry: Pondicherry Institute of Linguistics and
Culture.

Calligraphy, East Asian
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chinese calligraphy depends on the brush, paper (cre-
ated in the 2nd century A.D.), and the multiple forms
of Chinese characters. Chinese painters and calligra-
phers use the same instruments and the same materi-
al, but most artists would rather be remembered as
calligraphers than as painters. In China, calligraphy is
art, perhaps the highest form of art possible. Another
distinguishing point is the fact that it was practiced
amongst equals, it was never simply commissioned.
In calligraphy, it is not only the hand that writes, but
the whole arm, the whole body and above all, the
whole mind.
The earliest known examples of Chinese writing go
back to the Shang period (ca. 1766–1122 B.C.) to a
script called Jiaguwen. The next script, Jinwen zhong-
dingwen, was used during the Zhou period (late 11th
century B.C.) but did not yet exhibit many signs of
calligraphic distinction. It was supplanted by the
Great Seal script, Dazhuan, which flourished between
1700 and 800 B.C. In the 3rd century B.C., China was
finally united under the first Qin Emperor Shi Huang
Di (259–210 B.C.), and (we are told) on his instruc-
tions a new script, Xiaozhuan, the Small Seal script,
was created to meet the growing demand for docu-
ments and records. Though it was the basis for later
calligraphic developments, it was still only written
with the tip of a longhaired brush, mainly on bamboo
slips or wood. In addition, Xiaozhuan could not be
written with speed, a serious shortcoming for a script
specially designed to serve an increasing bureaucracy.
However, Lishu (the ‘clerical script’), a simplified
version of the Small Seal script, which allowed the
brush to move swiftly over paper, was designed. Be-
tween 200- and 400 A.D. three more variations of
Lishu came into existence: Caoshu (fl. 200–400 A.D.),
Xingshu (fl. from the 3rd century A.D. to the present)
and the most important variation Kaishu, the ‘proper
style of Chinese writing.’ Kaishu was used for public
documents and private correspondence, and eventu-
ally also for block printed books. It also served as an
examination subject in the Civil Service examination,
which started during the Tang period (618–907 A.D.)
and was abolished only in 1905.
Kaishu allowed for a maximum of individuality. Its
greatest exponents were the ‘the two Wangs’ (father
and son) who lived in the 4th century A.D. and influ-
enced not only Chinese but also Korean and Japanese
calligraphy. Wang Xizhi relaxed the tension in the
arrangements of strokes and by doing so furthered
Calligraphy, East Asian 177
the two other styles: Xingshu the ‘running script’ and
Caoshu the ‘grass script.’
Chinese script, paper, ink, and the Chinese way
of writing were brought to Korea and Japan during
the earlier part of the first millennium A.D. But the
Korean and the Japanese languages are ill suited for
being written in Chinese characters and fairly soon
attempts at simplification were made. In 1446, the
Korean King Sejong promulgated an alphabetic script
called Hangul, which consisted of only 11 basic
vowels and 17 consonant signs. Korean could have
been written in this script at this time, but the hostility
of the Chinese educated elite relegated it mainly to
the use of women authors and people of low rank.
Overall, Korean calligraphers relied on copying the
great Chinese masters. During the Koryo dynasty
(918–1892), a square angular form was used; this
was eventually followed by the zhao style, again cop-
ied from the Chinese calligrapher Zhao Mengfu
(1254–1322). The most famous calligrapher of the
Choson period (1392–1910) was Kim Ch’ong hui
(1786–1856), a member of the School of Practical
Learning. After World War II, Korean calligraphy
lost its importance, but today there is, for the first
time, an attempt to use calligraphy based almost
exclusively on King Sejong’s Korean alphabet.
In Japan, the situation was similar. Between the
8th and the 10th centuries, two syllabaries, katakana
and hiragana, appeared, provoking similar reactions
from the Chinese-speaking elite as in Korea. Proper
Japanese calligraphy begins in the Nara period
(710–794 A.D.) written in kanji (Chinese characters)
mostly based on Chinese Tang models and the ‘two
Wangs.’ Buddhist sutra literature preferred kanji
styles such as Kaisho, Gyosho, and Sosho. In the 9th
century, during the Heian period (794–1185), Japan
had terminated the embassies to China, and Japanese
calligraphers began to interpret, not just copy,
Chinese models. The Heian period also saw new
and more sophisticated trends, such as novels written
by women entirely in an elegant hiragana style known
as onnade (women’s writing).
The 16th century once more encouraged close con-
tacts with China, and new styles of Ming calligraphy
were taken up, but a century later the pendulum
swung back to Japanese, largely through the masters
of the Kan’ei period (1624–1644). Apart from the
wayo (Japanese) tradition, there developed another
highly original style of calligraphy, which traces its
origin back to Chinese Chan Buddhism. In reaches as
far back as the 13th century, when the Zen Sect was
formed by the monks Eisai (1141–1215) and Dogen
(1200–1253). In the newly founded Zen monasteries,
178 Calligraphy, East Asian
a special type of calligraphy developed, referred to,
especially after the 14th century, as Bokuseki (traces
of ink). This is a greatly distinct form of calligraphic
writing and it eventually became connected with the
aesthetics of the tea ceremony.
Today calligraphy is still held in highest esteem in
Japan, and the work of good calligraphers sells at
adequate (or as we would call it) exuberant prices.
Bibliography
Earnshaw C J (1988). Sho: Japanese calligraphy. An in-
depth introduction to the art of writing characters.
Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company.
Calligraphy, Islamic
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Islamic calligraphy begins with the Qur’an and the
need for its precise and appropriate transmission.
The sacred text had been revealed in Arabic over a
period of some 23 years to the Prophet Muhammad,
which gave both language and script a new status. At
first the various parts were preserved, either through
oral traditions or recorded on different materials
(wood, paper, parchment, bone, leather, etc.). In 633
A.D., during the battles following Muhammad’s death,
many of the story tellers (huffaz) were killed, and
fearing for the safety of the revelation, Abu Bakr (r.
632–634 A.D.), the first Caliph, instructed one of the
Prophet’s secretaries to compile the full text into one
book. The book that appeared in 651 A.D. still forms
the authentic version of every Qur’an.
In the 7th century, the Arabs possessed a script of
their own, a stiff angular development of Nabataean
called Jazm, which was mainly used for commercial
purposes. The earliest copies of the Qur’an were writ-
ten in variations of Jazm named after the towns where
they had originated: Ambari (after Anbar), Hiri (after
Hirah), Makki (after Mecca), Madani (after Medina),
and so on. None of them was well defined and only
two achieved a measure of prominence: a round form
used in Median called Mudawwar and a more an-
gular form under the name of Mabsut. Finally, after
a number of experiments, a style developed named
after the city of its origin: Kufah. This was a bold,
elongated and straight-lined script, which for the next
300 years became the main script for copying the
Qur’an. By the late 10th century, two distinct forms
Gaur A (1994). A history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Kim Y-Y (1959). Hanguk sohwa immyong saso: biblio-
graphical dictionary of Korean artists and calligraphers.
Seoul: KOIS.
Mote F W & Hung-lam C (1988). Calligraphy and the East
Asian book. Boston: Horticultural Hall.
Nakata Y (1983). The art of Japanese calligraphy
(3rd edn.). Alan Woodhull (trans.). New York/Tokyo:
Weatherhill/Heibonsha.
Robinson A (1995). The story of writing. London: Thames
and Hudson.
Yee C (1973). Chinese calligraphy, an introduction to its
aesthetic and technique. Cambridge, Boston.
of Kufic emerged: eastern Kufic that developed in
Persia and western Kufic, eventually called Maghribi.
Maghribi originated around Tunis and became the
source of various scripts of North and West Africa,
and of Andalusia. After the 13th century, Kufic went
out of general use and was from then on mainly used
for decorations.
Besides the elongated Kufic, a number of more
rounded, cursive scripts had been used for personal
use and for administration. Early attempts at improve-
ments had led to the creation of some 20 different
styles, many short-lived, all lacking elegance and disci-
pline. In the 10th century, Ibn Muqlah (886–940 A.D.),
an accomplished Baghdad calligrapher, set out to
redesign them so as to make them suitable for writing
the Qur’an. His system of calligraphy rested on math-
ematical measurements: the rhombic dot, the stan-
dard alif, and the standard circle. The rhombic dot,
formed by pressing the pen diagonally on paper so
that the length of the dot’s equal sides were the same
as the width of the pen; the standard alif, a straight
vertical line measuring a specific number of dots
(mostly between five and seven); and the standard
circle, which has a diameter equal to the length of
the standard alif. Thus the various cursive styles were
ultimately dependent on the width of the pen and the
number of dots fashioning the standard alif.
Ibn Muqlah’s reform (known as al-Katt al Mansub)
was successfully applied to the sittah, the six major
styles known as Thuluth, Naskhi (the most popular
form of writing in the Arab world and, after 1000
A.D., the standard script for copying the Qur’an),
Muhaqqaq, Rayhani (another popular Qur’an script),
Riqa (favored by the Ottoman calligraphers), and
Tawqi. Under Ibn Muqlah’s influence, four more styles
178 Calligraphy, East Asian
a special type of calligraphy developed, referred to,
especially after the 14th century, as Bokuseki (traces
of ink). This is a greatly distinct form of calligraphic
writing and it eventually became connected with the
aesthetics of the tea ceremony.
Today calligraphy is still held in highest esteem in
Japan, and the work of good calligraphers sells at
adequate (or as we would call it) exuberant prices.
Bibliography
Earnshaw C J (1988). Sho: Japanese calligraphy. An in-
depth introduction to the art of writing characters.
Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company.
Calligraphy, Islamic
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Islamic calligraphy begins with the Qur’an and the
need for its precise and appropriate transmission.
The sacred text had been revealed in Arabic over a
period of some 23 years to the Prophet Muhammad,
which gave both language and script a new status. At
first the various parts were preserved, either through
oral traditions or recorded on different materials
(wood, paper, parchment, bone, leather, etc.). In 633
A.D., during the battles following Muhammad’s death,
many of the story tellers (huffaz) were killed, and
fearing for the safety of the revelation, Abu Bakr (r.
632–634 A.D.), the first Caliph, instructed one of the
Prophet’s secretaries to compile the full text into one
book. The book that appeared in 651 A.D. still forms
the authentic version of every Qur’an.
In the 7th century, the Arabs possessed a script of
their own, a stiff angular development of Nabataean
called Jazm, which was mainly used for commercial
purposes. The earliest copies of the Qur’an were writ-
ten in variations of Jazm named after the towns where
they had originated: Ambari (after Anbar), Hiri (after
Hirah), Makki (after Mecca), Madani (after Medina),
and so on. None of them was well defined and only
two achieved a measure of prominence: a round form
used in Median called Mudawwar and a more an-
gular form under the name of Mabsut. Finally, after
a number of experiments, a style developed named
after the city of its origin: Kufah. This was a bold,
elongated and straight-lined script, which for the next
300 years became the main script for copying the
Qur’an. By the late 10th century, two distinct forms
Gaur A (1994). A history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Kim Y-Y (1959). Hanguk sohwa immyong saso: biblio-
graphical dictionary of Korean artists and calligraphers.
Seoul: KOIS.
Mote F W & Hung-lam C (1988). Calligraphy and the East
Asian book. Boston: Horticultural Hall.
Nakata Y (1983). The art of Japanese calligraphy
(3rd edn.). Alan Woodhull (trans.). New York/Tokyo:
Weatherhill/Heibonsha.
Robinson A (1995). The story of writing. London: Thames
and Hudson.
Yee C (1973). Chinese calligraphy, an introduction to its
aesthetic and technique. Cambridge, Boston.
of Kufic emerged: eastern Kufic that developed in
Persia and western Kufic, eventually called Maghribi.
Maghribi originated around Tunis and became the
source of various scripts of North and West Africa,
and of Andalusia. After the 13th century, Kufic went
out of general use and was from then on mainly used
for decorations.
Besides the elongated Kufic, a number of more
rounded, cursive scripts had been used for personal
use and for administration. Early attempts at improve-
ments had led to the creation of some 20 different
styles, many short-lived, all lacking elegance and disci-
pline. In the 10th century, Ibn Muqlah (886–940 A.D.),
an accomplished Baghdad calligrapher, set out to
redesign them so as to make them suitable for writing
the Qur’an. His system of calligraphy rested on math-
ematical measurements: the rhombic dot, the stan-
dard alif, and the standard circle. The rhombic dot,
formed by pressing the pen diagonally on paper so
that the length of the dot’s equal sides were the same
as the width of the pen; the standard alif, a straight
vertical line measuring a specific number of dots
(mostly between five and seven); and the standard
circle, which has a diameter equal to the length of
the standard alif. Thus the various cursive styles were
ultimately dependent on the width of the pen and the
number of dots fashioning the standard alif.
Ibn Muqlah’s reform (known as al-Katt al Mansub)
was successfully applied to the sittah, the six major
styles known as Thuluth, Naskhi (the most popular
form of writing in the Arab world and, after 1000
A.D., the standard script for copying the Qur’an),
Muhaqqaq, Rayhani (another popular Qur’an script),
Riqa (favored by the Ottoman calligraphers), and
Tawqi. Under Ibn Muqlah’s influence, four more styles

were eventually accorded similar status: Ghubar,
Tumar, Ta’liq, and Nasta’liq. Those cursive styles
were eventually further perfected by two other fa-
mous calligraphers: Ibn al-Bawwab (d. 1022 A.D.)
and Yaqut (d. 1298).
Ibn Muqlah’s reform had not been accepted in the
Maghrib, the western part of the quickly extending
Muslim empire, where copying acknowledged mas-
ters preserved the purity of the style. Between 800 and
1200 A.D., the city of Kairouan (now Tunis) was an
important religious and cultural center. The Maghribi
style introduced a rounding of rectangular curves into
semi-circles while the final flourishes of letters are
often extended, sometimes touching other letters in
the adjoining word. Maghribi became the main script
in Northwest Africa and Spain and was responsi-
ble for the creation of important substyles such as
Qayrawani, Fasi, Andalusi, and Sudani.
After the extension of Islam to Persia, Turkey, and
further east to Malaysia (even China), the Arabic
script had to be adapted to languages belonging to
different linguistic families. This meant some changes
in the script but it also opened the possibility for new
forms of calligraphy.
In the 16th century, Persian calligraphers devel-
oped Ta’liq, an already existing style, which became
influential in the eastern part of the Islamic world,
gaining special favor in Turkey and India. A later
development of the same style, Nasta’liq, was mainly
used for secular literature. In the middle of the 17th
century, a style called Shikasthe (‘broken form’) de-
veloped in Herat. Characterized by exaggerated den-
sity and closely connected ligatures, it became the
preferred script for Persian and Urdu correspon-
dence. Persian calligraphers and Persian influence
brought Nasta’liq to India and Afghanistan. During
the 14th century, a minor Indian style called Bihari
arose, which was characterized by the use of colors.
Calligraphy, South Asian and Tibetan
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Although the term ‘calligraphy’ derives from gra-
phein (to write) and kallos (beautiful), beautiful
writing in itself is not calligraphy. Fine writing, even
the development of distinct styles, is not necessarily
calligraphy. Calligraphy makes a statement about a
particular society, a statement about the sum total
of its cultural and historical heritage. As such, it
Calligraphy, South Asian and Tibetan 179
Chinese Muslims generally used the style prevalent in
Afghanistan but a special script called Sini, sometimes
written with a brush, was used for writing on ceramic
and china.
Soon after the defeat of the Mamluks in 1517,
Turkish dominion extended over most of the Arab
world. From then on, Islamic art and calligraphy
became increasingly associated with the Ottoman
Turks who not only excelled in most calligraphic
styles but also created some highly effective scripts
of their own. The two most important are Diwani and
Jali. The Turks also excelled in the art of mirror
writing, where the left side reflects the writing on
the right. Another style, Siyaqad, combines complex-
ity of line with elements of cryptography and was
used to communicate important political inform-
ation. An impressive calligraphic device is the Tughra,
an ornamental design based on the name and
titles of the reigning Sultan that served as a signature
legitimizing official degrees.
Bibliography
Brend B (1991). Islamic art. London: British Museum Pub-
lications.
Edgu F (1980). Turkish calligraphy. Engl. (trans.). Istanbul:
Ada.
Gaur A (1994). A history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Lings M & Safardi Y H (1976). The Qu’ran. An exhibition
catalogue. London: British Library.
Rice D S (1955). The unique Ibn al-Bawwad manuscript in
the Chester Beatty Library. Dublin: Emery Walker.
Safadi Y H (1978). Islamic calligraphy. London: Thames
and Hudson.
Schimmel A (1970). Islamic calligraphy. Iconography of
religion. Leiden: Brill.
Schimmel A (1990). Calligraphy and Islamic culture
(2nd edn.). London: I. B. Tauris and Co.
results from the interaction between several essen-
tial elements: the attitude of society to writing; the
importance and function of the text; definite, often
mathematically based rules about the correct interac-
tion between lines and space and their relationship
to each other; and mastery and understanding of
the script, the writing material, and the tools used
for writing. Calligraphy is to a large extent an ex-
pression of harmony, as perceived by a particular
society. Calligraphy also encourages a certain amount
of individuality, though within strictly confined

were eventually accorded similar status: Ghubar,
Tumar, Ta’liq, and Nasta’liq. Those cursive styles
were eventually further perfected by two other fa-
mous calligraphers: Ibn al-Bawwab (d. 1022 A.D.)
and Yaqut (d. 1298).
Ibn Muqlah’s reform had not been accepted in the
Maghrib, the western part of the quickly extending
Muslim empire, where copying acknowledged mas-
ters preserved the purity of the style. Between 800 and
1200 A.D., the city of Kairouan (now Tunis) was an
important religious and cultural center. The Maghribi
style introduced a rounding of rectangular curves into
semi-circles while the final flourishes of letters are
often extended, sometimes touching other letters in
the adjoining word. Maghribi became the main script
in Northwest Africa and Spain and was responsi-
ble for the creation of important substyles such as
Qayrawani, Fasi, Andalusi, and Sudani.
After the extension of Islam to Persia, Turkey, and
further east to Malaysia (even China), the Arabic
script had to be adapted to languages belonging to
different linguistic families. This meant some changes
in the script but it also opened the possibility for new
forms of calligraphy.
In the 16th century, Persian calligraphers devel-
oped Ta’liq, an already existing style, which became
influential in the eastern part of the Islamic world,
gaining special favor in Turkey and India. A later
development of the same style, Nasta’liq, was mainly
used for secular literature. In the middle of the 17th
century, a style called Shikasthe (‘broken form’) de-
veloped in Herat. Characterized by exaggerated den-
sity and closely connected ligatures, it became the
preferred script for Persian and Urdu correspon-
dence. Persian calligraphers and Persian influence
brought Nasta’liq to India and Afghanistan. During
the 14th century, a minor Indian style called Bihari
arose, which was characterized by the use of colors.
Calligraphy, South Asian and Tibetan
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Although the term ‘calligraphy’ derives from gra-
phein (to write) and kallos (beautiful), beautiful
writing in itself is not calligraphy. Fine writing, even
the development of distinct styles, is not necessarily
calligraphy. Calligraphy makes a statement about a
particular society, a statement about the sum total
of its cultural and historical heritage. As such, it
Calligraphy, South Asian and Tibetan 179
Chinese Muslims generally used the style prevalent in
Afghanistan but a special script called Sini, sometimes
written with a brush, was used for writing on ceramic
and china.
Soon after the defeat of the Mamluks in 1517,
Turkish dominion extended over most of the Arab
world. From then on, Islamic art and calligraphy
became increasingly associated with the Ottoman
Turks who not only excelled in most calligraphic
styles but also created some highly effective scripts
of their own. The two most important are Diwani and
Jali. The Turks also excelled in the art of mirror
writing, where the left side reflects the writing on
the right. Another style, Siyaqad, combines complex-
ity of line with elements of cryptography and was
used to communicate important political inform-
ation. An impressive calligraphic device is the Tughra,
an ornamental design based on the name and
titles of the reigning Sultan that served as a signature
legitimizing official degrees.
Bibliography
Brend B (1991). Islamic art. London: British Museum Pub-
lications.
Edgu F (1980). Turkish calligraphy. Engl. (trans.). Istanbul:
Ada.
Gaur A (1994). A history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Lings M & Safardi Y H (1976). The Qu’ran. An exhibition
catalogue. London: British Library.
Rice D S (1955). The unique Ibn al-Bawwad manuscript in
the Chester Beatty Library. Dublin: Emery Walker.
Safadi Y H (1978). Islamic calligraphy. London: Thames
and Hudson.
Schimmel A (1970). Islamic calligraphy. Iconography of
religion. Leiden: Brill.
Schimmel A (1990). Calligraphy and Islamic culture
(2nd edn.). London: I. B. Tauris and Co.
results from the interaction between several essen-
tial elements: the attitude of society to writing; the
importance and function of the text; definite, often
mathematically based rules about the correct interac-
tion between lines and space and their relationship
to each other; and mastery and understanding of
the script, the writing material, and the tools used
for writing. Calligraphy is to a large extent an ex-
pression of harmony, as perceived by a particular
society. Calligraphy also encourages a certain amount
of individuality, though within strictly confined
180 Calligraphy, South Asian and Tibetan
circles. Only three civilizations have produced true
calligraphy: the Arabs (and those who use the Arab
script), the Chinese (and those who use the Chinese
script), and Western civilization based on Roman
letters, Roman laws, and the Christian Church.
India, and with it the scripts of South and South-
east Asia that developed from Indian prototypes, did
not create calligraphy in the strictest sense of the
word, mainly for two reasons. First there was the
lack of writing materials and writing tools suitable
for calligraphy: palm leaves into which the letters had
to be incised with a metal stylus (or in the north
written with a reed pen), and secondly the attitude
to writing. Though writing, as is generally assumed,
had been introduced by Semitic traders in the 6th or
7th century B.C., Hinduism, the religion of the area,
was decisively hostile to it. The memorizing and the
recital of the Vedic hymns was predominately the
property of certain Brahmanical subcastes whose
status deepened on maintaining this monopoly.
Buddhism too, though not overtly hostile to writing,
placed the importance of the text above its visual
representation. Monks should not take delight in
visual beauty. In consequence, the vast majority of
South Indian and Sri Lankan palm-leaf manuscripts
are at best only adequately, and indeed often in-
differently written. Indian manuscripts, and with it
Indian scripts, are predominantly meant to provide
information.
Only a few surviving manuscripts from India
predate the 11th century, and those come mostly
from the north or from the Jain area. Though some
have beautiful illustrations, the script (whether
Siddhamatrika or Kutila) is well done but uninspir-
ing. In Tibet, where writing was introduced together
with Buddhism, in the 7th century A.D., writing was
taught in the monasteries as part of the curriculum.
Only about three styles developed: a book hand
(dbu-can), a more cursive script for everyday life
(dbu-med) or for official documents (bam-yig), and
decorative scripts (bru-tsha). None of them displayed
any calligraphic traditions.
Fine writing did, however, play a major part in the
complex and esoteric world of Hindu Tantras, popu-
lar Daoism, and most of all Tantric Buddhism. It was
in Tantric Buddhism that beautiful writing, combined
with other elements, eventually moved toward callig-
raphy. The script that underwent this transformation
was siddham, an Indian syllabic script that goes back
to the Indian Gupta period (320–647 A.D.).
According to the legends associated with Tantric
Buddhism, the siddham letters ‘exploded’ out of
emptiness and were taught by the Buddha but kept
secret until the Indian saint Nagarjuna revealed them
to his disciples. From the 7th century onward, sidd-
ham letters were mostly used for the representation of
‘seed syllables’ within mantras (sacred diagrams),
each letter personifying a different cosmic force of
the Buddha. Awareness of emptiness, so the teaching
goes, is transformed into a seed syllable, from the seed
develops the Buddha, who may be portrayed by an
icon (in this case the seed syllable), and contempla-
tion of the icon unites the devotee with the seed and
returns him to emptiness.
Buddhism brought Sanskrit texts, mainly written in
siddham script, to China. Unlike India, China had
always given much importance to the written word,
since the large number of different dialects made oral
communication difficult. In keeping with this atti-
tude, Chinese Buddhists paid great attention to
the form and the correct construction of sidd-
ham characters. Once the pen was replaced by the
Chinese brush, siddham became a special branch
of Chinese calligraphy connected with sacred writing.
From China, Buddhism brought the siddham script to
Korea, and in the 9th century two Japanese monks,
Kukai (773–835 A.D.) and Saicho (767–822 A.D.), who
had both studied in China, introduced it to Japan,
where it soon gained considerable popularity within
certain circles. Both the Heian (794–1185) and the
Kamakura period (1185–1333) produced a number
of siddham masters. After a period of decline, sidd-
ham calligraphy re-emerged in the 17th century. It is
still an important calligraphic tradition and has in-
deed experienced something of a renaissance. There
are today prominent modern siddham masters
whose work is much valued, aesthetically as well as
financially.
Bibliography
Gaur A (1994). A history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Lauf D I (1976). Tibetan sacred art: the heritage of Tantra.
London: Shambhala Publication Inc.
Legeza L (1975). Tao magic, the sacred language of dia-
grams and calligraphy. London: Thames and Hudson.
Losty J P (1982). The art of the book in India. London:
British Library.
Nakata Y (1983). Chinese calligraphy. New York: Weath-
erhill.

Calligraphy, Western, Modern
A Gaur, Surbiton, Surrey, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The 20th century saw a remarkable revival of West-
ern calligraphy. The motivation for it lay partly in
a growing unease about some of the more ugly
aspects of the Industrial Revolution. Life now seemed
increasingly dominated by shoddy, machine-made
objects, which no longer had any direct connection
with their users. This brought about a nostalgic
yearning for the past and with it a growing interest
in medieval art and craftsmanship. Such sentiments
were intellectually underwritten by the philosophy
of John Ruskin (1819–1900), by artistic movements
such as the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and to some
extent the Gothic Revival. The eventual re-emergence
of calligraphy was, however, largely rooted in the
stimuli created by the Arts and Crafts Movement of
the 1880s and 1890s, the work of William Morris
and, most of all, Edward Johnston.
Calligraphy in Britain
Between 1870 and 1876, the poet, writer, and (greatly
idealistic) Socialist William Morris (1834–1896),
who until then had been much occupied with creating
designs for wallpapers, glass, textiles, tapestry, and
print, turned his attention to medieval and humanis-
tic-style manuscripts. He experimented with various
scripts, studying scribal techniques and using quill
and parchment to achieve results. His calligraphy
shows good rhythmic quality but lacks an un-
derstanding of the shape of letters and their inner
relationship. Nevertheless, his manuscripts, and the
research and patronage connected with his work, cre-
ated great interest and opened the way for calligraphic
reforms. In 1890, Morris founded the Kelmscott
Press and successfully tried his hand at engraving,
type designing, and high-quality printing. In the
same year, T. J. Cobden-Sanderson’s Doves Press was
created. Both presses considerably increased the
status of the book, eventually commissioning calligra-
phers to design the type. In due course, Morris
became one of the moving spirits behind the Central
School of Arts and Crafts, which had originally
been founded in 1896 by William Richard Lethaby
(1857–1931). There, eventually, Sir Sidney Carlyle
Crockerell (1867–1962), one of Morris’s secretaries,
taught calligraphy and lettering.
It was, however, Edward Johnston (1872–1944)
who was most decisively responsible for the renewal
of Western calligraphy. Impressed by Morris’s ideas,
Calligraphy, Western, Modern 181
he abandoned his study of medicine and turned
his attention to the manuscripts in the British Mu-
seum. In the process, Johnson rediscovered the lost
technique of writing. He realized that the nature and
form of a script were determined by the way the pen
was held, that the proportions of a letter stood in direct
ratio to the breadth of the pen’s edge, which, trimmed
chisel-wise, could produce that range of graduation
from the thickest strokes to the finest of hairlines that
characterized the best medieval works. He also taught
himself how to cut and sharpen reeds, bamboo, and
quills.
In 1898, Johnston began to teach, first at the
Central School of Arts and Crafts and, later, at
the Royal College of Art (where Lethaby worked as
Professor for Ornament and Design). As a teacher,
Johnston had a decisive influence on calligraphy and
typography, particularly in England and Germany.
His pupils included Eric Gill (who later became a
well-known sculptor, engraver, and letterer), Noel
Rooke (who engraved illustrations for Johnson’s later
works), William Graily Hewitt, Percy J. Delf Smith
(who became the honorary Secretary of the short-
lived Society of Calligraphers), and most of all the
highly gifted Anna Simons (who introduced Johnston’s
method to Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and the
Netherlands).
Other art schools followed the example of the
Royal College of Art, offering courses in lettering
and writing. The first was Birmingham; Leicester
College of Art came next, and eventually the subject
became part of the curriculum in most arts schools
throughout the country. Type design, which had for
so long been in the hands of engineers, passed into
the hands of artist and calligraphers such as Stanley
Morison, Jan van Krimpen, Bruce Rogers, and Victor
Hammer. By selecting fine alphabets for font materi-
al, they ensured that those alphabets were used for
books (printed as well as manuscript) and book cov-
ers, and they began to influence the private market.
Johnston himself had done some of his best work for
church service books, wedding gifts, presentations
and the like as a result of commissions from private
patrons and public bodies. Calligraphy had always
been used for such purposes, but now it received a
new impetus and new quality.
In 1906, Johnston published his first book, Writing
& illuminating & lettering. It consisted of 500 pages,
illustrated with his own and Rooke’s drawings,
and reproductions from historic manuscripts. It was
instructive, stimulating, technically helpful, and in
due course it became an important handbook for
calligraphers, not only in Britain but also in Germany,
182 Calligraphy, Western, Modern
the United States, and Australia. Three years later,
Johnston’s second book, Manuscript and inscription
letters, appeared, including a number of plates by Eric
Gill; it was specially meant for schools and craftsmen.
Other writing manuals followed. In 1916, Graily
Hewitt’s Handwriting manual was published. Hewitt
had replaced Johnston at the Central School for Arts
and Crafts 4 years earlier. He admired the Humanist
manuscripts of the 15th century but his great achieve-
ment was the recovery of the craft of laying and
burnishing gold leaf. Alfred Fairbank, one of his
students, turned his interest to italic handwriting.
One of his aims was the improvement of everybody’s
handwriting. In 1932, his A handwriting manual
came out. It was a forerunner of books on italic script.
In 1952, Fairbanks became President of the Society of
Scribes and Illuminators (SSI) and encouraged the
formation of a Society for Italic Handwriting. Finally,
in 1955, J. H. Benson’s The first writing book:
Arrighi’s ‘La Operina’ appeared, going back to the
early copybooks of the Italian masters.
In 1915, the London Transport Services commis-
sioned Johnston to design a new alphabet for publicity
and signs; the letters can still be seen all over London,
especially on the underground. His result was a sans
serif block letter alphabet based on classical Roman
proportion, which, during the coming decades, exerted
considerable influence on the choice of letterforms
used in advertising. By reaching commerce, calligraphy
began to play a role in the everyday life and the every-
day business of people. Newspapers, journals, and
magazines began to display more lavish and in many
cases better-written and better-composed advertise-
ments. It was (and is) indeed in the sphere of advertising
that many calligraphers found a new and lucrative
outlet.
The Society of Scribes and Illuminators (SSI)
was founded in 1921. The idea came originally from
Graily Hewitt and Laurence Christie, who had both
been students of Johnston and were now teaching at
the Central School of Arts and Crafts. The Society
held its first exhibition a year later in Brook Street
Gallery: it showed 106 works by 31 members of the
Society. In the beginning, it was fairly easy to be
accepted by the Society as a Fellow but as time passed
higher and higher standards were required and the
reputation of the Society rose. In 1924, the Society set
up small research groups to study particular problems
and techniques: writing on skins, quality of pigments,
preparation of inks, methods of gilding, and styles of
cursive handwriting. The result of this research
provided the basis for the compilation of the first
Calligrapher’s handbook compiled during the 1950s.
The Society also produced an excellent, worldwide,
and still active journal: The Scribe. Several members
(such as Alfred Fairbank and Joan Kingsford) wrote
manuscripts for private clients; some of them can still
be seen in national museums and libraries.
Already in 1931, the Society of Scribes and Illumi-
nators had arranged, together with the Victoria and
Albert Museum, an exhibition of Three centuries
of illuminated addresses, diplomas and honorary
freedom scrolls. The exhibition included five Free-
dom Scrolls made for City Livery Companies by
Edward Johnston and a good number of presentation
addresses executed by Graily Hewitt, Ida Henstock,
Laurence Christie, Daisy Alcock, and others. With
the increase in calligraphic activities in Great Britain,
some exhibitions were (in 1930 and 1938) sent to the
United States, the first at the invitation of the Ameri-
can Institute of Graphic Arts. The second exhibition
was shown in New York, Boston, Chicago, as well as
the Universities of Yale and Pittsburgh. Other exhibi-
tions followed. They gave contemporary calligraphy
an opportunity to come to the attention of a wider
public. The years following World War II created a
need for Rolls of Honor and provided the Society of
Scribes and Illuminators with new opportunities.
The manipulation of letterforms has always been
at the center of Western calligraphy. The 20th cen-
tury’s revival of the craft was closely connected with
a reform of letter carving. In England, this reform,
largely promoted by Eric Gill, based itself to a con-
siderable extent on the Roman lettering of Trajan’s
column. Analyzed in detail, such letters were soon
taught in every art school and became models for sign
writing, street names, memorials, foundation stones,
and so on.
Calligraphy and 20th-Century Art
The new use of letterforms touched other aspects
of life as well. Especially on the Continent, graphic
artists, painters, and (mostly) politically motivated
groups of artists such as the Dadaists, the Construc-
tivists, and the more moderate Bauhaus, began to
involve lettering in their publications.
The Dadaists, founded in 1917 in Zurich, were
nihilistic groups of artists, who aimed at demolishing
current aesthetic standards that they linked with
bourgeois values. Seeing letters as the normal expres-
sion of a conventional society, they began to turn
them into instruments of attack. The chaos of type-
faces used for their magazine Dada illustrates this
point. The Constructivists used the disposition,
the size, and the weight of the components of individ-
ual letters to create unique abstract patterns, which
they saw as representation of the contemporary ma-
chine age and the new revolutionary order in Russia,
which had replaced the previous decadence. Their

work included posters, advertisements, letters, and
newspaper headings; their preferred letterform was
the sans serif, a functional letterform without histori-
cal commitment. Most important, however, was the
Bauhaus, which in many ways reacted more positive-
ly than the others. It flourished in Germany between
1919 and1933 and its aim was to end the schism
between art and technically expert craftsmanship.
Though their interest centered around architecture,
they soon began to teach typography in order to find
new and positive letterforms.
Painters too began to treat letters as an important
part of their visual vocabulary. Cubists, Surrealists
and the Collagists began to include single letters,
or fragments of newspapers, in their paintings. The
secret writing pictures of Paul Klee (1879–1940)
and Max Ernst (1891–1976) used at first still legible
writing that did, however, soon turn toward more
abstract brush movements in the hands of Mark
Tobey and Hans Hartung (1904–1989). Letters in a
painting were used to underline themes, add a mes-
sage, and they thus became an integral part of the
picture itself; or they could simply provide a visual
effect by using the idea of layout linked to meaning.
A good many artists have used (and are using) letter-
ing in this way. From Pablo Picasso (1881–1973)
and Joan Miro (1893–1983) to Franz Kline (1910–
1962), who under De Kooning’s influence developed
his characteristic action painting of slashing black
and white calligraphy, and eventually Andy Warhol
(1928–1987), Roy Lichtenstein (1923–1997) and the
Pop Art Movement as such. Pop Art, which emerged
in the 1950s, set out to challenge conventional ideas
of good taste and the hermetic inviolability of art
itself; the use of letters is often in the form of adver-
tisements and billboards, reminiscent, at times, of the
early Construtivists.
The first half of the 20th century saw a good deal of
success in revitalizing calligraphy and related crafts.
This success depended mainly on three elements:
1. teaching lettering and calligraphy in arts schools,
polytechnics, and similar institutions;
2. the growing number of exhibitions, many of them
in connection with the United States and the Con-
tinent;
3. the foundation of societies and the publications of
journals and books, which greatly encouraged the
rising of standards.
Since well before World War II, and for quite some
times afterward, calligraphy was taught in almost
every school. It was one of the subjects included in
the National Diploma, which was a B.A. equivalent
course. It was also taught at the Royal College of Art,
a postgraduate college where the diploma is equal to
Calligraphy, Western, Modern 183
an M.A. But in 1953, calligraphy was discontinued at
the Royal College of Art. In the early 1960s, it
received a second blow, the National Diploma was
replaced by the Diploma in Art and Design (a B.A.)
and calligraphy was no longer included in the new
courses, and was almost totally phased out as an
examination subject. The only exceptions were the
Reigate School of Art where it is still taught. Roehamp-
ton Institute of Higher Education started a 1-year Di-
ploma course in calligraphy and bookbinding in 1979,
and also an advanced Diploma in Calligraphy. Around
2003, bookbinding was dropped. Reigate and Roe-
hampton are (it seems) now the two main institutions
that still teach calligraphy in Great Britain.
Now that calligraphy is no longer taught officially
at university level, adult education institutes through-
out Great Britain are putting on courses – of often
widely varying value. The Society of Scribes and Illu-
minators also runs a number of workshops and some
residential courses, which are advertised in their
journal. Still flourishing as well is the Society for Italic
Handwriting founded in 1952 under the direction of
Alfred Fairbank. The year 1971 saw the establish-
ment of the government-funded Crafts Council,
which provided grants.
In 1994, CLAS (Calligraphy and Lettering Arts
Society) was founded. CLAS has its own website,
and it runs Diploma and Advanced Diploma courses,
Certificates, annual festivals, and exhibitions. It has
accredited tutors and keeps in contact with American
calligraphers. The first major exhibition was held in
2002 and the society is now preparing for its Tenth
Anniversary Exhibition. A magazine, The Edge, is
regularly published and free to all members. CLAS
provides a variety of courses and a Certificate of
Competence. It operates an annual examination and
awards diplomas on three progressive levels. Its main
advantage is that it is in principle open to everybody
but carefully tutors and examines those who are
allowed to teach. There is, in fact, a good deal of
enthusiasm for calligraphy at the moment in Britain.
An often voiced complaint is the lack of excellent
teachers. This, however, does not mean that there
are no longer any impressive calligraphers. We only
have to think about Ann Camp, Donald Jackson,
Heather Child, Sheila Waters, and Ann Hechle – to
name but a few.
Calligraphy in Europe
The 20th century revival in the art of lettering and
writing was not restricted to Britain. Parallel (and not
unconnected) movements occurred in other parts,
most notably in Austria and Germany. The tradition-
al alphabets in Germany and Austria had proceeded
184 Calligraphy, Western, Modern
along different lines, keeping the Gothic script until
the 1930s.
In Austria, the main exponent was Rudolf von
Larisch (1856–1934), who worked in the Imperial
Chancellery in Vienna where he had ample opportu-
nity to study historical manuscripts and compare
the various hands he found there with the (far less
impressive) contemporary standards. His Zierschrif-
ten im Dienst der Kunst (Decorative lettering and
writing in the service of art) was published in 1899.
It led, 3 years later, to a teaching appointment at the
Vienna School of Art. His publication appeared
7 years before Johnston’s work, but soon rivaled its
standing in Austria. Unlike Johnston, von Larisch did
not believe that calligraphy rested on the study of
historic hands but was a natural vehicle for creative
self-expression. Though he held different views and
encouraged different teaching methods, in 1909,
when Larisch and Johnston met in London, they
found themselves in mutual sympathy. Larisch’s
most important work, Unterricht in Ornamentaler
Schrift (Instruction in decorative writing and let-
tering), published in 1906, further extended the
scope of his studies and had considerable influence
in German-speaking countries. Applying calligraphy
on glass, metal, textiles, wood, and pottery fascinated
him. He believed that calligraphers should express
intuitive feelings in their work and that the pattern
of letters on the page should be in harmony with the
rhythm of writing and the material used.
In Germany, it was Anna Simons (1871–1951),
Johnston’s favorite pupil, who became instrumental
in strengthening the link between German and English
calligraphers. From a Prussian legal family, she began
to study with Johnston in 1901 and became his best
student. After retuning to Germany, she translated
Johnston’s two books (Writing & illuminating & let-
tering in 1910 and later Manuscript and inscriptional
letters) and helped with exhibitions.
It was, however, mainly Rudolf Koch (1874–1934)
who initiated the movement. He was a skilled callig-
rapher who had close ties with type and type design.
He worked at the Klingspor type foundry and taught
lettering at the School of Arts and Crafts in Offen-
bach. In 1918, under his leadership, a group called
the Offenbach Penmen was founded. It later became a
workshop community, where people worked on let-
tering, woodcuts, embroidery, weaving, and books
written on Japanese paper. Many of the people there
became leading teachers in Germany, Austria, the
United States, and England. Whereas Johnston had
seen writing as the central discipline of his craft, Koch
gave this place to lettering in the broadest sense.
In Europe, the link between art schools, printing
houses, and the workshops of craftsmen had always
been much closer than in Britain; most early pioneers
in calligraphy were also type designers of some note.
This dual tradition was kept alive in the work of
calligrapher/type designers such as Friedrich Poppl
(1893–1982), who said that ‘‘calligraphy will always
remain the starting point for script design.’’ Poppl
was a member of the Arts and Crafts School
at Wiesbaden and later professor at the Technical
College there. He specialized in designing alphabets
for typesetting and photo printing.
Another important German calligrapher was Walter
Kaech (d. 1970), who taught lettering for many
years. Imre Reiner studied graphic arts in Stuttgart
and was well known for his lively calligraphic inven-
tions and type designs. The same can be said of Karl
Georg Hoefer and, most prominently, Hermann
Zapf (b. 1918). Zapf enjoyed a great reputation as a
calligrapher, book designer, and typographer.
In the Netherlands, this claim goes to Jan van
Krimpen (1892–1958), in Czechoslovakia to the book
artist and calligrapher Oldrich Menhart (1897–1962),
in Estonia to Villu Toots (b. 1916), an outstanding
teacher and exponent of lettering. There are now in
fact several hundred graduates from the lettering
school he founded in 1965, including his own grand-
children. The most important penman in Scandinavia
is Erik Lindegren, whose survey of Lettering and
printing types was published in 1975. All of them
looked for new ways to link tradition with new
means of expressing letterforms.
In the last few decades, the influence of Austria
and Germany has been strongly felt in the United
States. The effects of exhibitions such as those pro-
duced by Zapf and Friedrich Neugebauer during
the 1980s, the development of intensive work-
shops, and the resulting meetings of craftsmen, have
enabled gifted teachers to kindle an enduring enthu-
siasm.
Calligraphy in the United States
American calligraphy (or interest in writing) had,
during the 17th and 18th centuries, mostly been
concerned with practical considerations, namely how
to improve everybody’s handwriting. Some English
manuals (William Mather’s Young man’s companion,
London 1681; and Edward Cocker’s The pen’s tri-
umph, London 1660) were well known; they taught
an English version of Italian Humanistic mixed with
remnants of older Gothic hands. The first known
American printed manual for handwriting appeared
in Philadelphia in 1748 under the imprint of Franklin
& Hall. It was George Fisher’s The instructor, or Amer-
ican young man’s best companion containing instruc-
tions in reading, writing and arithmetic and many other

things beside the art of making several sorts of wines. It
gave examples of Round Hand, Flourishing Alphabets,
Italian Hand, and Gothic Secretary. Most of these
books had been pirated from English models. There
were also tentative attempts to involve the teaching of
women, as for example John Jenkins’s The art of
writing, reduced to a plain and easy system, on a plan
entirely new, Boston, 1791, which taught an orthodox
version of the English unlooped Round Hand to the
‘‘Gentlemen and Ladies and to the Young Masters and
Mistresses throughout the United States.’’
During the 19th century, such attempts led to vari-
ous systems (methods of teaching) and colleges where
they could be taught. Over the first half of the century,
over 100 writing masters were distributing copybooks
that in the main taught rapid writing (a Running
Round Hand) to men of business in the form of self-
instructors. Among the first manuals were Henry
Dean’s Analytical guide to the art of penmanship
(Salem, 1894) and Benjamin Howard Rand’s A new
and complete system of mercantile penmanship
(Philadelphia, 1814). Well-known and commercially
successful was the Spencerian College of Penmanship
and Business which dominated the market for some
35 years. Founded by Platt Roger Spencer (1800–
1864) in Ohio, it propagated a sloping, semiangular
style, which was rapid and legible, while at the same
time lending itself easily to embellishment. Spencer
had begun teaching handwriting at the age of 15 and
he and his five sons ran the college (and eventually a
chain of such colleges in some 44 cities) from a log
cabin at the family farm, while at the same time
traveling around the country to teach at various
academies.
As the 19th century progressed, competition
mounted between those who emphasized a plain
practical business hand and others who delighted in
flourishes, which could occasionally lead to such
extravagances as quill-written pen pictures of animals
and humans; however, as time passed the ‘flourishers’
grew increasingly more defensive. Another successful
writer/entrepreneur was Charles Paxton Zaner, who
in 1888 founded the Zanarian College of Penman-
ship, also in Columbus, Ohio, which eventually
produced a ‘commercial cursive’ or ‘business hand’
that, like copperplate in the Old Country, soon found
favor among those anxious to advance their career
prospects.
Modern American handwriting derives largely
from the teachings of H. Dean, B. F. Foster,
R. P. Spencer, and A. R. Dunton (who was involved
in lengthy disputes with Spencer). At the beginning of
the 20th century, the Italic style, and the use of the
broad-edged pen were greatly advanced by Frances
M. Moore, who after having studied in London under
Calligraphy, Western, Modern 185
G. Hewitt, published her manual in 1926. Since then,
it has been mainly the formal and semiformal Italic
hand that has made headway in the United States,
finding favor not only as a model for everyday hand-
writing, but also among those actively engaged in the
pursuit of calligraphy. In the beginning, it took some
effort to convert teachers and pupils to this style;
more recently such books as Fred Eager’s Italic way
to beautiful writing (1974) has given further impetus
in this direction.
The usefulness of calligraphy in America and
Britain is basically based on different considerations.
In Britain, emphasis has been placed on formal pur-
pose, such as ceremonial occasions. In consequence,
British scribes have shown a more formal approach
to layout and letter style, even when designed for
commercial use. In America, the predominant use
for calligraphy has been in the commercial field.
Calligraphers were also designers who produced a
constant flow of lively work to serve a wider commer-
cial field.
At the beginning of the 20th century, several
attempts were made to reform not only handwriting,
but also lettering and type design. Such reforms cen-
tered mainly on men like Frederic W. Goudy (1865–
1945), Bruce Rogers (1870–1957) and, most of all,
William A. Dwiggins (1880–1956). Dwiggins was a
well-known type designer whose calligraphy owed
little to European influence and showed great gaiety,
character, and originality. In 1925, he founded the
(wholly imaginary) Society of Calligraphers and issued
beautiful certificates of honorary membership to peo-
ple who worked in publishing and in the graphic arts
whom he considered worthy of such distinction.
The contact with Britain did, however, continue. In
1913, Ernst Frederick Detterer (d. 1947) of Chicago
came to London to take private lessons from Edward
Johnston. After his return to America, he began
to establish a calligraphic tradition of formal pen-
manship, especially in the midwest. In 1931, he
became Curator of the John M. Wing Foundation at
the Newberry Library in Chicago, where he founded
a Calligraphic Study Group, which greatly influenced
the development of American calligraphy.
A versatile calligrapher was John Howard Benson
(1901–1956) from Rhode Island, who studied in New
York at the National Academy of Design at a time
when lettering had not yet attained a recognized place
in art education. In 1950, he published a manual
(Elements of lettering) and 5 years later he produced
the first English translation of Arrighi’s La Operina.
Other influential teachers and calligraphers were
Arnold Bank (b. 1908), Paul Standard (b. 1896) and
Lloyd Reynolds (Italic calligraphy and handwriting;
1969). In 1958, Reynolds went a step further and
186 Calligraphy, Western, Modern
mounted an exhibition at the Portland (Oregon)
Museum of Art entitled Calligraphy: The Golden
Age and its Modern Revival, the result of many
years of historical study, research, and practical
work. Another influential exhibition (mostly works
of British calligraphers) was organized by P. W. Filby
in 1959 at the Peabody Institute Library in Baltimore
called Calligraphy and Illumination; followed 2 years
later by Calligraphy and Handwriting in America,
1710–1961. Filby also became involved in an exhibi-
tion on Two Thousand Years of Calligraphy held in
1965 at the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore, which
produced a detailed and scholarly catalogue.
Today calligraphy-related activities concentrate
themselves mainly around well-known teaching
centers (New York; Rhode Island; Chicago; Portland;
Oregon; Boston; California), a wide use of fine writing
in commerce (much more pronounced and more pos-
itive than in Europe), and individual circles where
calligraphy is practiced and taught both as an art
form and a traditional craft. On the whole, calligra-
phy is increasingly alive, widely practiced, and appre-
ciated; there are now more groups, more conferences,
more exhibitions, and more periodicals produced by
influential societies, such as Alphabet (for the Friends
of Calligraphy, San Francisco), Calligraphy Idea
Exchange (a quarterly magazine) and Calligraphy
Review. There are also more courses at art schools
or run by private individuals and groups (some of
them formal and structured, others less so), more
national and international conferences, and a good
deal more general awareness of calligraphy than in
Europe. One of the reasons lies perhaps in the fact
that in the United States there is less divide between
calligraphers, artists, designers, and amateurs. After
the 1950s, which saw a general regrouping of ideas
and resources, an additional stimulus was provided
by some prominent calligraphers such as Sheila Waters,
David Howells, and (most of all) Donald Jackson
taking up teaching appointments at American centers,
stimulating workshops and the foundation of new
societies, which in turn created a further need for
tutors. There has also been an increase in media cover-
age, a large number of books covering special aspects
of calligraphy, and periodicals promoting both an in-
terest in the formal historical scripts while at the same
time introducing new trends and new practices to the
audience.
See also: Asia, Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Earliest; Asia,
Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Epigraphic West Semitic;
Asia, Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Middle Aramaic; Asia,
Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Modern Semitic; Asia, Inner:
Scripts; China: Scripts, Non-Chinese; Japan: Writing
System; Korean Script: History and Description; Paleog-
raphy, Greek and Latin; South and Southeast Asia:
Scripts; Tibet: Scripts; Typography; Writing Materials.
Bibliography
Anderson D M (1967). The art of written forms: the theory
and practice of calligraphy. New York: Holt, Rinehart
and Winston.
Angel M (1984). The art of calligraphy. London: Pelham
Books.
Backemeyer S & Gronberg T (eds.) (1984). W R Lethaby
1857–1931: architecture, design and education. Cata-
logue for the exhibition at Central School of Art and
Design. London: Lund Humphries.
Benson J H (1955). The first writing book: Arrighi’s ‘La
Operina.’ Oxford: University Press.
Brinkley J (ed.) (1964). Lettering today. London: Studio
Vista.
Camp A (1984). Pen lettering (Revised edition). London:
A & C Black.
Child H (ed.) (1987). More than fine writing: the life and
calligraphy of Irene Wellington. With contributions by
Heather Collins, Ann Hechle, and Donald Jackson. New
York: The Overlook Press.
Child H (1988). Calligraphy today; twentieth century
tradition and practise (3rd edn.). London: A & C Black.
Dreyfus J (1952). The work of Jan van Krimpen. London:
Sylvan Press.
Fairbank A (1975). A handwriting manual (Revised edn.).
London: Faber.
Filby P W (1963). Calligraphy and handwriting in America
1710–1961 assembled and shown by the Peabody Insti-
tute Library, Baltimore, Maryland, November 1961–
January 1962. New York.
Folsom R (1990). The calligraphers’ dictionary. With an
introduction by Hermann Zapf. London: Thames and
Hudson.
Gaur A (1994). The history of calligraphy. London: British
Library.
Gray N (1986). A history of lettering, creative experiment
and lettering identity. Oxford: University Press.
Jackson D (1987). The story of writing (2nd edn.). London:
Trefoil Books.
Johnston E (1906). Writing & illuminating & lettering.
London: John Hogg.
Kaech W (1956). Rhythm and proportion in lettering.
Switzerland: Otto Walter, Olten-Verlag.
Knight S (1984). Historical scripts: a handbook for calli-
graphers. Taplinger: A & C Black.
Livingston M (1992). Pop art catalogue of and exhibition
held at the Royal Academy of Arts, London 13 Septem-
ber – 19 April 1992. London.
Macdonald B J (1973). The art of lettering with a broad
pen. New York: Pentalic.
Mahoney D (1981). The craft of calligraphy. London:
Pelham Books.
Reynolds L J (1969). Italic calligraphy and handwriting.
New York: Pentalic.

Smith P & Delf C (1946). Civic and memorial lettering.
London: A & C Black.
Whalley J I & Kaden V C (1980). The universal penman.
A survey of western calligraphy from the Roman period
to 1980. HMSO: London.
Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970)
E Guimarães, Unicamp, Sao Paulo Campinas, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Mattoso Câmara, Brazilian linguist, is responsible for
the introduction of linguistic structuralism in Brazil.
He was a graduate in Architecture and Law and
began his career in linguistics in the 1930s, taking
courses given by George Millardet in Rio de Janeiro.
Later on, he went to the United States where he
studied under Jakobson. He was a professor of lin-
guistics at the Federal District University, in Rio de
Janeiro, from 1937 to 1939. In 1950, he became a
professor of general linguistics at the University of
Brazil’s National College of Philosophy, also in Rio
de Janeiro. He was a visiting professor in the United
States, Portugal, Mexico and Uruguay (Uchôa, 1972).
Câmara Jr. is the author of the first work on general
linguistics published in Brazil (Princı́pios de Lingüı́s-
tica Geral [Origins of General Linguistics, 1941]). Its
second edition, revised and enlarged, was published
in 1954. In it, Mattoso already shows his formation,
marked by the structuralism of the School of Prague
(fundamentally Jakobson), Saussure and Sapir. His
work covers a wide range of preoccupations: stylis-
tics, phonemics, grammar, the study of indigenous
Brazilian languages, and the history of language and
general linguistics. In the area of general linguistics,
his reflections on the relationship of language and
culture are very important. Ever since Princı́pios de
Lingüı́stica Geral, he has taken a position according
to which the relationship between language and cul-
ture is such that language in part of the culture, but a
part that can be detached.
Therefore, on the one hand, a language is capable
of speaking of the culture itself and, on the other, it
signifies the culture of which it is part. It was in this
way that, due to his functionalist mentalism, he for-
ever marked the position that the study of language is
of interest because it is significant. In the area of gen-
eral linguistics, he also published the Dicionário de
Fatos Gramaticais (Dictionary of grammatical facts,
1956), renamed Dicionário de Filologia e Gramática
(Dictionary of philology and grammar, 1963).
Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970) 187
Zapf H (1960). About alphabets, some marginal notes on
type design. New York: The Typophiles.
The Portuguese Language
His work describing Portuguese was especially
dedicated to phonology and morphology. In the
phonological area, aside from an important vision
of the conjuncture of the Portuguese phonological
system, produced on rigorously structural bases,
with an eye to rigor of structural description, Câmara
formulated a number of hypotheses that caused dis-
cussion. One of them is the nonexistence of nasal
vowels in Portuguese. In his opinion, there is a nasal
archiphoneme closing the syllable, as in canto /kaNtu/.
In his morphological studies, also of a structuralist
nature, he presents a rigorous comprehension of the
structure of names in Portuguese, but his most inter-
esting contribution regards the morphology of verbs.
Aside from his description of the verbal system, he left
an indispensable analysis of the so-called irregular
Portuguese verbs. According to him, there are other
verbal paradigms and not exactly irregularities of
the regular paradigms (Câmara, 1969, 1970, 1972,
1975).
In the study of the Portuguese phrase, we can call
attention to his description of the functioning of the
pronoun ele, in colloquial Portuguese, as a verbal
complement in Brazilian Portuguese instead of the
atonic pronoun lhe (Câmara, 1957). In European
Portuguese, the pronoun ele, as well as eu, tu, nós,
vós and eles, function only as the subject.
The Portuguese language (Câmara, 1972) is
perhaps his most complete analytic work on the
Portuguese language (Naro, 1976). Initially, it gives
an extremely acute presentation of the history of
Portuguese and its fixation in Brazil. Following this
presentation, the descriptions made by the author
during the 1950s and 1960s regarding Portuguese
phonology and morphology appear. These are fol-
lowed by a study of the lexicon and also the Portu-
guese phrase. Part of this work is published in
Estrutura da lı́ngua portuguesa (Structure of the Por-
tuguese language) (Câmara, 1970), surely the first
descriptive (rather than normative) grammar pro-
duced in Brazil.
Regarding stylistic studies, he published a specific
work (Câmara, 1953a) and produced a large number

Smith P & Delf C (1946). Civic and memorial lettering.
London: A & C Black.
Whalley J I & Kaden V C (1980). The universal penman.
A survey of western calligraphy from the Roman period
to 1980. HMSO: London.
Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970)
E Guimarães, Unicamp, Sao Paulo Campinas, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Mattoso Câmara, Brazilian linguist, is responsible for
the introduction of linguistic structuralism in Brazil.
He was a graduate in Architecture and Law and
began his career in linguistics in the 1930s, taking
courses given by George Millardet in Rio de Janeiro.
Later on, he went to the United States where he
studied under Jakobson. He was a professor of lin-
guistics at the Federal District University, in Rio de
Janeiro, from 1937 to 1939. In 1950, he became a
professor of general linguistics at the University of
Brazil’s National College of Philosophy, also in Rio
de Janeiro. He was a visiting professor in the United
States, Portugal, Mexico and Uruguay (Uchôa, 1972).
Câmara Jr. is the author of the first work on general
linguistics published in Brazil (Princı́pios de Lingüı́s-
tica Geral [Origins of General Linguistics, 1941]). Its
second edition, revised and enlarged, was published
in 1954. In it, Mattoso already shows his formation,
marked by the structuralism of the School of Prague
(fundamentally Jakobson), Saussure and Sapir. His
work covers a wide range of preoccupations: stylis-
tics, phonemics, grammar, the study of indigenous
Brazilian languages, and the history of language and
general linguistics. In the area of general linguistics,
his reflections on the relationship of language and
culture are very important. Ever since Princı́pios de
Lingüı́stica Geral, he has taken a position according
to which the relationship between language and cul-
ture is such that language in part of the culture, but a
part that can be detached.
Therefore, on the one hand, a language is capable
of speaking of the culture itself and, on the other, it
signifies the culture of which it is part. It was in this
way that, due to his functionalist mentalism, he for-
ever marked the position that the study of language is
of interest because it is significant. In the area of gen-
eral linguistics, he also published the Dicionário de
Fatos Gramaticais (Dictionary of grammatical facts,
1956), renamed Dicionário de Filologia e Gramática
(Dictionary of philology and grammar, 1963).
Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970) 187
Zapf H (1960). About alphabets, some marginal notes on
type design. New York: The Typophiles.
The Portuguese Language
His work describing Portuguese was especially
dedicated to phonology and morphology. In the
phonological area, aside from an important vision
of the conjuncture of the Portuguese phonological
system, produced on rigorously structural bases,
with an eye to rigor of structural description, Câmara
formulated a number of hypotheses that caused dis-
cussion. One of them is the nonexistence of nasal
vowels in Portuguese. In his opinion, there is a nasal
archiphoneme closing the syllable, as in canto /kaNtu/.
In his morphological studies, also of a structuralist
nature, he presents a rigorous comprehension of the
structure of names in Portuguese, but his most inter-
esting contribution regards the morphology of verbs.
Aside from his description of the verbal system, he left
an indispensable analysis of the so-called irregular
Portuguese verbs. According to him, there are other
verbal paradigms and not exactly irregularities of
the regular paradigms (Câmara, 1969, 1970, 1972,
1975).
In the study of the Portuguese phrase, we can call
attention to his description of the functioning of the
pronoun ele, in colloquial Portuguese, as a verbal
complement in Brazilian Portuguese instead of the
atonic pronoun lhe (Câmara, 1957). In European
Portuguese, the pronoun ele, as well as eu, tu, nós,
vós and eles, function only as the subject.
The Portuguese language (Câmara, 1972) is
perhaps his most complete analytic work on the
Portuguese language (Naro, 1976). Initially, it gives
an extremely acute presentation of the history of
Portuguese and its fixation in Brazil. Following this
presentation, the descriptions made by the author
during the 1950s and 1960s regarding Portuguese
phonology and morphology appear. These are fol-
lowed by a study of the lexicon and also the Portu-
guese phrase. Part of this work is published in
Estrutura da lı́ngua portuguesa (Structure of the Por-
tuguese language) (Câmara, 1970), surely the first
descriptive (rather than normative) grammar pro-
duced in Brazil.
Regarding stylistic studies, he published a specific
work (Câmara, 1953a) and produced a large number
188 Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970)
of articles in his life, notably on one of the most
important authors of literature in the Portuguese lan-
guage, Machado de Assis. These works were later
compiled into a book (Câmara, 1962). These stylistic
studies had an important impact on his grammatical
description of verbs.
The Indigenous Languages and
Other Interests
On the study of indigenous languages in Brazil, he
published Introdução às Lı́nguas Indı́genas Brasileiras
(Introduction to the indigenous Brazilian languages,
1965). In this work, in addition to producing a
vision of the conjunctional problem of studying in-
digenous languages in Brazil, he brings up interesting
discussions on the question of linguistic borrowing.
Also, as a professor of the National Museum’s De-
partment of Anthropology, in Rio de Janeiro, he was
responsible for the presence of linguistics when the
postgraduate course in Anthropology was created. In
this program, the question of indigenous languages
has always been of great importance.
Aside from these aspects, he also dedicated himself
to the study of linguistic history, having published an
interesting work in this domain (Câmara, 1975b). He
was also dedicated to teaching and produced
works for this purpose. He was a rigorous and impor-
tant translator of Sapir’s and Jakobson’s texts to
Portuguese.
See also: Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982); Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Saussure, Ferdinand (-Mongin) de (1857–
1913).
Cambodia: Language Situation
G Chigas, University of Massachusetts Lowell,
Lowell, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Ninety-five per cent of Cambodia’s current popula-
tion of approximately 12 million speaks Khmer or
Cambodian. While the majority of the population is
ethnic Khmer, there are substantial numbers of ethnic
Vietnamese and Chinese who maintain their respec-
tive language and customs in addition to Khmer.
There are also various indigenous minorities, such
as the Cham (or Khmer-Islam) and Khmer Loeur
(Upland Khmer), who speak various dialects
of Mon-Khmer languages. Foreign languages such
Bibliography
Câmara J M Jr (1953a). Contribuição à Estilı́stica
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Simões.
Câmara J M Jr (1953b). Para o Estudo da Fonêmica
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Simões.
Câmara J M Jr (1954). Princı́pios de Lingüı́stica Geral (1st
edn.). Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica Briguiet, 1941.
Câmara J M Jr (1956). Dicionário de Fatos Gramaticais
(2nd edn.). Rio de Janeiro: MEC/Casa de Rui Barbosa.
Dicionário de Filologia e Gramática, Rio de Janeiro:
Ozon, 1963.
Câmara J M Jr (1957). ‘Ele como acusativo no Português do
Brasil.’ In Dispersos. 1st edn. Rio de Janeiro: FGV, 1972.
Miscelânea Homenaje a André Martinet. Estruturalismo
y Historia. Univ. de la Laguna.
Câmara J M Jr (1962). Ensaios Machadianos. Rio de
Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1965). Introdução às Lı́nguas Indı́genas
Brasileiras. Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1969). Problemas de Lingüı́stica Descri-
tiva. Petrópolis: Vozes.
Câmara J M Jr (1970). Estrutura da Lı́ngua Portuguesa.
Petrópolis: Vozes.
Câmara J M Jr (1972a). Dispersos. Rio de Janeiro:
Fundação Getúlio Vargas.
Câmara J M Jr (1972b). The Portuguese language: history
and structure. Chicago: University Chicago Press.
Câmara J M Jr (1975a). História e Estrutura da Lı́ngua
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1975b). História da Lingüı́stica. Rio de
Janeiro: Vozes.
Naro A J & Reighard J (1976). Tendências Atuais da Lin-
güı́stica e da Filologia no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Francisco
Alves.
Uchôa C E F (1972). ‘Os Estudos e a Carreira de Joaquim
Mattoso Câmara Jr.’ In Dispersos. Rio de Janeiro: FGV.
as Sanskrit, Pali, French, Thai, and English have
also had a strong influence on Khmer vocabulary
and usage.
Literacy
Literacy rates among men and women have varied
considerably during the 19th and twentieth centuries.
Prior to the establishment of modern public educa-
tion, reading and writing was primarily taught at
temple schools and was generally limited to boys
ordained as novice monks. Under the French (1863–
1953), the traditional temple-based system was main-
tained until the early 1900s, when a French-styled
system of public education was introduced. By 1925
188 Câmara Júnior, Joaquim Mattoso (1904–1970)
of articles in his life, notably on one of the most
important authors of literature in the Portuguese lan-
guage, Machado de Assis. These works were later
compiled into a book (Câmara, 1962). These stylistic
studies had an important impact on his grammatical
description of verbs.
The Indigenous Languages and
Other Interests
On the study of indigenous languages in Brazil, he
published Introdução às Lı́nguas Indı́genas Brasileiras
(Introduction to the indigenous Brazilian languages,
1965). In this work, in addition to producing a
vision of the conjunctional problem of studying in-
digenous languages in Brazil, he brings up interesting
discussions on the question of linguistic borrowing.
Also, as a professor of the National Museum’s De-
partment of Anthropology, in Rio de Janeiro, he was
responsible for the presence of linguistics when the
postgraduate course in Anthropology was created. In
this program, the question of indigenous languages
has always been of great importance.
Aside from these aspects, he also dedicated himself
to the study of linguistic history, having published an
interesting work in this domain (Câmara, 1975b). He
was also dedicated to teaching and produced
works for this purpose. He was a rigorous and impor-
tant translator of Sapir’s and Jakobson’s texts to
Portuguese.
See also: Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982); Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Saussure, Ferdinand (-Mongin) de (1857–
1913).
Cambodia: Language Situation
G Chigas, University of Massachusetts Lowell,
Lowell, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Ninety-five per cent of Cambodia’s current popula-
tion of approximately 12 million speaks Khmer or
Cambodian. While the majority of the population is
ethnic Khmer, there are substantial numbers of ethnic
Vietnamese and Chinese who maintain their respec-
tive language and customs in addition to Khmer.
There are also various indigenous minorities, such
as the Cham (or Khmer-Islam) and Khmer Loeur
(Upland Khmer), who speak various dialects
of Mon-Khmer languages. Foreign languages such
Bibliography
Câmara J M Jr (1953a). Contribuição à Estilı́stica
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Simões.
Câmara J M Jr (1953b). Para o Estudo da Fonêmica
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Simões.
Câmara J M Jr (1954). Princı́pios de Lingüı́stica Geral (1st
edn.). Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica Briguiet, 1941.
Câmara J M Jr (1956). Dicionário de Fatos Gramaticais
(2nd edn.). Rio de Janeiro: MEC/Casa de Rui Barbosa.
Dicionário de Filologia e Gramática, Rio de Janeiro:
Ozon, 1963.
Câmara J M Jr (1957). ‘Ele como acusativo no Português do
Brasil.’ In Dispersos. 1st edn. Rio de Janeiro: FGV, 1972.
Miscelânea Homenaje a André Martinet. Estruturalismo
y Historia. Univ. de la Laguna.
Câmara J M Jr (1962). Ensaios Machadianos. Rio de
Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1965). Introdução às Lı́nguas Indı́genas
Brasileiras. Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1969). Problemas de Lingüı́stica Descri-
tiva. Petrópolis: Vozes.
Câmara J M Jr (1970). Estrutura da Lı́ngua Portuguesa.
Petrópolis: Vozes.
Câmara J M Jr (1972a). Dispersos. Rio de Janeiro:
Fundação Getúlio Vargas.
Câmara J M Jr (1972b). The Portuguese language: history
and structure. Chicago: University Chicago Press.
Câmara J M Jr (1975a). História e Estrutura da Lı́ngua
Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Acadêmica.
Câmara J M Jr (1975b). História da Lingüı́stica. Rio de
Janeiro: Vozes.
Naro A J & Reighard J (1976). Tendências Atuais da Lin-
güı́stica e da Filologia no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Francisco
Alves.
Uchôa C E F (1972). ‘Os Estudos e a Carreira de Joaquim
Mattoso Câmara Jr.’ In Dispersos. Rio de Janeiro: FGV.
as Sanskrit, Pali, French, Thai, and English have
also had a strong influence on Khmer vocabulary
and usage.
Literacy
Literacy rates among men and women have varied
considerably during the 19th and twentieth centuries.
Prior to the establishment of modern public educa-
tion, reading and writing was primarily taught at
temple schools and was generally limited to boys
ordained as novice monks. Under the French (1863–
1953), the traditional temple-based system was main-
tained until the early 1900s, when a French-styled
system of public education was introduced. By 1925

there were about 160 primary schools with 10 000
students. However, enrollment remained relatively
small until late in the colonial period. Even by 1944,
for example, only 500 out of the approximately
80 000 students enrolled in primary schools went on
to the secondary level. After the nation gained inde-
pendence in 1953, Prince Norodom Sihanouk accel-
erated Cambodia’s educational reforms, and by the
late 1960s, Cambodia enjoyed one of the highest
literacy rates in Southeast Asia. This rapid progress
came to an abrupt halt in the 1970s under the geno-
cidal regime of Pol Pot (1975–1979), when many
schools were converted into torture centers and ap-
proximately 75% of Cambodia’s teachers died of
starvation, overwork, or execution. After the 1993
UN-sponsored elections and the end of two decades
of civil war, Cambodia’s literacy rates began to recov-
er. A recent study by the Cambodian Ministry of Edu-
cation, Youth, and Sports states that approximately
55% of women and 75% of men are functionally
literate.
Foreign Influence
Historically, foreign languages and ideas have had a
significant influence on Khmer vocabulary and usage.
Contact with the literature and social institutions
of India, Thailand, and France and the current wide-
spread use of English have expanded the Khmer lexi-
con with foreign loanwords, especially for vocational
purposes. For centuries prior to the Angkor period
(9th to 15th centuries), Indian influence had already
led to the use of many Sanskrit loanwords. With the
establishment of Hinayana Buddhism in the 15th
century, Pali loanwords were added. After the fall
of the Angkor Empire, Thai influence increased as
Cambodian kings and monks went to live and study
in Thailand. From the middle of the 19th century, the
use of French for official, education, and recreational
purposes rivaled the use of Khmer. However, unlike in
Vietnam, the French were never successful at roma-
nizing the Khmer script. To the contrary, after gaining
independence in 1953, there was a growing impetus
to affirm Cambodian national and cultural identity
and a concerted effort was made to expunge French
loanwords and replace them with Khmer terms.
During the Khmer Rouge period (1975–1979), a
new vocabulary, including politicized metaphors,
Cambodian See: Khmer.
Cambodia: Language Situation 189
appeared that reflected the regime’s radical ideology.
Finally, over the last ten years, the influence of
English as the language of international business
and development has had an impact on Khmer similar
to the previous use of French.
Phonology and Grammar
Most Khmer words are monosyllabic or disyllabic,
while polysyllabic words are generally neologisms or
loanwords from Sanskrit and Pali. Another distinc-
tive feature of Khmer and one that distinguishes it
from Thai, Lao, and Vietnamese is the fact that it is
non-tonal. There are a total of 33 basic consonants in
the Khmer alphabet, comprising two distinct series or
registers. The register (whether voiced or voiceless)
determines the pronunciation of the vowel that fol-
lows. In addition, there are 12 independent vowels,
16 vowel symbols, and 31 subscript consonant sym-
bols, which are used in combination with the basic
consonant symbols. Khmer also has 10 diacritical
marks that modify the sounds of the dependent and
independent symbols. Although Khmer nouns and
verbs are not inflected, number and verb tense are
indicated by syntax and time markers as needed.
See also: French; Pali; Sanskrit; Thailand: Language Situ-
ation.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 78.
Bibliography
Henderson E J A (1976). ‘Vestiges of morphology in mod-
ern standard Khasi.’ In Jenner P N, Thimpson L C &
Starosta S (eds.) Austroasiatic studies. Honolulu: Univer-
sity Press of Hawaii. 1:477–522.
Jabob J (1993). Cambodian linguistics, literature and
history. London: School of Oriental and African Studies,
University of London.
Jenner P N (1969). ‘Affixation in modern Khmer.’ Ph.D.
diss., Hawaii University.
Marston J (1994). ‘Metaphors of the Khmer Rouge.’ In
Ebihara M M, Mortland C A & Ledgerwood J (eds.)
Cambodian culture since 1975. Ithaca: Cornell University
Press.
Pou S (1982). ‘Du Sanskrit kı̄rti au khmer kerti: une tradi-
tion littéraire du Cambodge.’ Seksa Khmer 5, 33–54.
190 Cameron, Deborah (b. 1958)
Cameron, Deborah (b. 1958)
B McElhinny, University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario,
Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Deborah Cameron is Rupert Murdoch Professor of
Language and Communication at the University
of Oxford. She has degrees from the University of
Newcastle upon Tyne (B.A., 1980) and the University
of Oxford (M.Litt., 1985). She is a sociolinguist
whose work focuses on language, gender, and sexual-
ity; feminist theory; language ideologies; and media
language. She is one of the principal scholars to show
the implications of feminist theory for linguistics, as
well as to demonstrate the contributions that sociolin-
guistic research can make to interdisciplinary feminist
theory and research. Her works in this area include
Feminism and linguistic theory (1985), Women in
their speech communities: new perspectives on lan-
guage and sex (with Coates, J., 1998), The feminist
critique of language: a reader (ed., 1990), and ‘Gender,
language, and discourse’ (1998).
She is a key contributor to the emerging and rapidly
growing body of scholarship on language, sexuality,
and desire (see Language and Sexuality, with Kulick,
D., 2003; and ‘Performing gender identity: young
men’s talk and the construction of heterosexual mas-
culinity,’ 1997). She has argued that many sociolin-
guistic researchers take a ‘merely’ ethical approach to
their research, and has (with Elizabeth Frazer, Penel-
ope Harvey, Ben Rampton, and Kay Richardson)
raised questions about, and tried to develop examples
of, what sociolinguistic research that is devoted to
advocacy for, or even empowerment of, disenfran-
chised communities might look like in the collabora-
tive book Researching language: issues of power and
method (1992). In a similar vein, Verbal hygiene
(1995) takes up a number of case studies that chal-
lenge the truism that linguists should, and do, de-
scribe rather than prescribe linguistic practices;
it received the 1996 Book Award from the British
Association of Applied Linguistics.
She has recently begun writing about the implica-
tions of globalization for communication in such
works as Good to talk? talk and working in a com-
munication culture (2000b), Globalization and lan-
guage teaching (ed., with Block, D., 2002), and
‘Styling the worker: gender and the commodification
of language in the globalized service economy’
(2000c). She has also published six other books,
including The lust to kill: a feminist investigation of
sexual murder (with Frazer, E., 1987), and Working
with spoken discourse (2001).
Professor Cameron’s speaking style is funny with-
out being flip, and blunt without being rude. Her
writings, even as they lay out complex theoretical
insights, are always lucid, in ways consistent with
her arguments that if sociolinguists fail to find ways
to educate wider audiences in sophisticated ways
about language, others will supply more stereotypi-
cal, problematic perspectives (see ‘A self off the
shelf?: consuming women’s empowerment,’ 2000a).
This, in combination with her knack for identifying
cutting-edge research questions, makes her widely
sought after as a plenary speaker and as a public
commentator on sociolinguistic issues.
Bibliography
Cameron D (1985). Feminism and linguistic theory. [Repr.
1992.] London: Macmillan.
Cameron D (ed.) (1990). The feminist critique of language:
a reader. London: Routledge.
Cameron D (1995). Verbal hygiene. London: Routledge.
Cameron D (1997). ‘Performing gender identity: young
men’s talk and the construction of heterosexual mascu-
linity.’ In Johnson S & Meinhof U (eds.) Language and
masculinity. Oxford: Blackwell.
Cameron D (1998). ‘Gender, language, and discourse.’
Signs.
Cameron D (2000a). ‘A self off the shelf?: consuming
women’s empowerment.’ In Andrews M & Talbot M
(eds.) All the world and her husband: women in twenti-
eth-century consumer culture.
Cameron D (2000b). Good to talk? talk and working in a
communication culture. London: Sage.
Cameron D (2000c). ‘Styling the worker: gender and the
commodification of language in the globalized service
economy.’ Journal of Sociolinguistics.
Cameron D (2001). Working with spoken discourse. Sage.
Cameron D & Block D (2002). Globalization and language
teaching. London: Routledge.
Cameron D & Coates J (eds.) (1998). Women in their
speech communities: new perspectives on language and
sex. Essex: Longman.
Cameron D & Frazer E (1987). The lust to kill: a feminist
investigation of sexual murder. Cambridge: Polity.
Cameron D & Kulick D (2003). Language and sexuality.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Cameron D, Frazer E, Harvey P, Rampton B & Richardson K
(1992). Researching language: issues of power and method.
London: Routledge.

Cameroon: Language Situation
B Connell, York University, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Republic of Cameroon has a population of ap-
proximately 14.5 million people, speaking almost 300
languages. Like its neighbor Nigeria to the west, it
has an extremely complex linguistic setting, with a
high ratio of languages relative to overall population,
as well as the additional complication of colonial
languages and their legacy. In Cameroon this legacy
is more complex than elsewhere, as the country has
inherited languages from two colonial administra-
tions, British and French, whose policies or attitudes
towards indigenous languages were diametrically
opposed.
No one indigenous language dominates, as none
has a substantially disproportionate number of spea-
kers. Three, however, approach this status: Fula, or
Fulfulde, spoken in the northern part of the country,
has approximately 668 700 first-language speakers
(population figures for individual languages are taken
from Grimes, 2000) and functions as a lingua franca
in that region, with up to 5 000 000 others using it as
a second language, though there is substantial dialect
variation. Ewondo has 577 700 speakers and serves
as a lingua franca in the central region; its status is
bolstered as a result of being the language of the capi-
tal, Yaoundé. Duala, despite a relatively low number
of first-language speakers (87 700), is a lingua franca
in the western region, due largely to its status as the
language of Douala, the financial heart of Cameroon.
In addition to these, Cameroon Pidgin English
(sometimes referred to as ‘Wes Cos’) is spoken pre-
dominantly as a second language by approximately
2 000 000 people in the South West and North West
provinces (see Pidgins and Creoles: Overview). Its use
ranges far beyond these areas, however, and in prac-
tice it is the most widely used lingua franca in Camer-
oon. It should be added that Cameroon Pidgin English
is not the only pidgin spoken in country; Ewondo
Populaire is a pidginized version of Ewondo spoken
around Yaoundé, and the variety of Fulfulde used as a
second language is also arguably pidginized. Of all
Cameroonian languages, Fulfulde is the largest in
terms of first-language speakers and only a few others
boast more than 100 000 speakers. The average num-
ber of speakers per language is 51 000, and as many as
31 languages are listed (Connell, in press) as having
fewer than 1000 speakers.
Cameroon has a complex colonial history, with the
French dominating the bulk of the country, but first
the Germans and then the British controlling the
Cameroon: Language Situation 191
western region. It was only in 1961 that the former
British Cameroon decided by referendum to leave the
newly independent Nigeria to join French Cameroon.
This mottled history has had a significant impact on
the linguistic situation in the country. Following the
tradition of the French, little or no importance has
been attached by the government to the use of indige-
nous languages in education, and to date there is no
official policy in this respect. Attitudes among the
people, however, do seem to vary somewhat between
the so-called francophone and anglophone zones. In
the former British colony there is greater importance
attached to mother tongue education, and although it
is still not to be found in state schools, there is a
greater tendency for private schools (typically, but
not only, mission schools) to offer at least the first
years of primary education in the language of the
community. An increasing tendency, particularly in
the anglophone zone of the southwest, is the use of
pidgin in primary education, although this practice is
not at present recognized by the government.
Only French and English are acknowledged as offi-
cial languages, and the use of two colonial languages
as official languages has led to intergroup conflict. As
has happened elsewhere (Canada, Belgium), a minor-
ity language group has perceived itself as being dis-
criminated against, and in Cameroon those who are
of the English zone claim difficulty in obtaining civil
service employment where, despite the policy of two
official languages, the language of the workplace is
French.
Despite the lack of official policy or status regard-
ing indigenous languages, a certain degree of attention
has been devoted to their documentation and devel-
opment. The Atlas Linguistique du Cameroun was
undertaken as part of a larger effort, the Atlas Linguis-
tique d’Afrique Centrale (1983), sponsored in part by
the French government and in part by Cameroonian
government agencies. In addition to this, a standard-
ized orthography has been developed suitable for the
writing of all Cameroonian languages.
The great number of languages found in Cameroon,
their substantial diversity, the low average number of
speakers, and the high number of languages with
fewer than 1000 speakers, has important implications
for linguistic studies. At a very basic level, most of
these languages remain only partially described at
best, and considerable work of importance remains
to be done to rectify this situation. There is a very
real threat that, in the face of globalization and mod-
ernization, many of these languages will disappear
in the near future before they can be documented.
The implications of the linguistic diversity found in
192 Cameroon: Language Situation
Cameroon, and particularly the Nigeria-Cameroon
borderland, are of great interest for historical studies,
both of a linguistic and general nature. This region is
now generally accepted by historical linguists as being
the ultimate homeland of the Bantu languages (see
Bantu Languages), as it is here where the older rela-
tives of Bantu, Bantoid language groups such as
Mambiloid, and the apparent isolates Dakoid and
Fam are found. The considerable amount of work to
be done on these from the historical and ethnological
perspective will eventually reveal much about the
prehistory of the peoples of West and Central Africa.
See also: Bantu Languages; Niger-Congo Languages; Ni-
geria: Language Situation; Pidgins and Creoles: Over-
view.
Campanella, Thomas (1568–1639)
C Massai
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume,
pp. 442–443, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Campanella was one of the most important philoso-
phers of the Italian Renaissance. Besides theology,
poetry, and astrology, his interests also included
linguistics. He was the author of a Latin Grammar,
and several of his works discuss language reforms of
both an orthographical and semantic nature.
Campanella was born on September 5, 1568 at
Stilo in Calabria. While still very young he entered
the Dominican order, but irked by the discipline in
1589 fled the monastery for Naples, Rome, Florence,
and Padua, where he studied at the University. In
1599 he returned to Calabria, where he was involved
in a plot against the Spanish. The plot was discovered
and Campanella passed the next 27 years in prison.
A late summons to the French court, due to his fame
as an astrologer, brought him the tranquillity he had
never known and enabled him to dedicate himself
to the revision and publication of works written in
prison. He died in Paris on May 21, 1639.
The most important of Campanella’s writings to
deal with linguistics are his Poetica (Italian edition,
1596, Latin, 1612) and the Grammatica (1618, but
published with Poetica in 1638; see Firpo, 1940). The
latter is somewhat traditional in outlook, similar to
the grammars of the Modistae. Indeed, according
to Padley (1976), ‘‘Campanella’s work forms an
Bibliography
Connell B (in press). ‘Language endangerment in Central
Africa.’ To appear in Brenzinger M (ed.) Language diver-
sity endangered. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Dieu M & Renaud P (1983). ‘Situation linguistique en
Afrique Central – Inventaire préliminaire: le Cameroun.’
In Dieu M & Renaud P (eds.) Atlas de L’Afrique Centrale
(ALAC), Atlas Linguistique du Cameroun (ALCAM).
Paris: ACCT.
Grimes B F (ed.) (2000). Ethnologue (14th edn.). Dallas:
SIL International. CD-ROM edition.
important part of . . . Scholastic reaction.’’ However,
other features of the Grammatica are typical of its
day, such as its interest in the creation of a philosophi-
cal language. Campanella outlines its theoretical
basis in the last pages of the grammar, the Appendix
de philosophicae linguae institutione. The new lan-
guage, he states, must be clear and unambiguous,
reflecting an absolute correspondence between
words and things. Similarly, its orthography should
show a marked relation between sounds and letters.
In the Grammatica, but still more so in the Poetica,
Campanella suggests that letters should be repre-
sented as they are articulated (e.g.,) (representing
lip closure for b, etc.) (see Phonetic Transcription:
History).
Campanella’s theories were to play an important
role in 17th-century debates on the subject of artifi-
cial language, and considerably influenced the work
of J. Wilkins, who in his Essay of 1668 cites him
among his sources (see Wilkins, John (1614–1672)).
See also: Phonetic Transcription: History; Wilkins, John
(1614–1672).
Bibliography
Crahay R (1973). ‘Pratique du latin et théorie du language
chez Campanella.’ In Ijsewijn J & Kessler E (eds.) Acta
Conventus Neo–Latini Lovaniensis. Louvain August
23–28, 1971. Louvain/Munich: Leuven University Press/
W. Fink.
Firpo L (1940). Bibliografia delle opere di Tommaso
Campanella. Turin: Bona.
192 Cameroon: Language Situation
Cameroon, and particularly the Nigeria-Cameroon
borderland, are of great interest for historical studies,
both of a linguistic and general nature. This region is
now generally accepted by historical linguists as being
the ultimate homeland of the Bantu languages (see
Bantu Languages), as it is here where the older rela-
tives of Bantu, Bantoid language groups such as
Mambiloid, and the apparent isolates Dakoid and
Fam are found. The considerable amount of work to
be done on these from the historical and ethnological
perspective will eventually reveal much about the
prehistory of the peoples of West and Central Africa.
See also: Bantu Languages; Niger-Congo Languages; Ni-
geria: Language Situation; Pidgins and Creoles: Over-
view.
Campanella, Thomas (1568–1639)
C Massai
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume,
pp. 442–443, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
Campanella was one of the most important philoso-
phers of the Italian Renaissance. Besides theology,
poetry, and astrology, his interests also included
linguistics. He was the author of a Latin Grammar,
and several of his works discuss language reforms of
both an orthographical and semantic nature.
Campanella was born on September 5, 1568 at
Stilo in Calabria. While still very young he entered
the Dominican order, but irked by the discipline in
1589 fled the monastery for Naples, Rome, Florence,
and Padua, where he studied at the University. In
1599 he returned to Calabria, where he was involved
in a plot against the Spanish. The plot was discovered
and Campanella passed the next 27 years in prison.
A late summons to the French court, due to his fame
as an astrologer, brought him the tranquillity he had
never known and enabled him to dedicate himself
to the revision and publication of works written in
prison. He died in Paris on May 21, 1639.
The most important of Campanella’s writings to
deal with linguistics are his Poetica (Italian edition,
1596, Latin, 1612) and the Grammatica (1618, but
published with Poetica in 1638; see Firpo, 1940). The
latter is somewhat traditional in outlook, similar to
the grammars of the Modistae. Indeed, according
to Padley (1976), ‘‘Campanella’s work forms an
Bibliography
Connell B (in press). ‘Language endangerment in Central
Africa.’ To appear in Brenzinger M (ed.) Language diver-
sity endangered. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Dieu M & Renaud P (1983). ‘Situation linguistique en
Afrique Central – Inventaire préliminaire: le Cameroun.’
In Dieu M & Renaud P (eds.) Atlas de L’Afrique Centrale
(ALAC), Atlas Linguistique du Cameroun (ALCAM).
Paris: ACCT.
Grimes B F (ed.) (2000). Ethnologue (14th edn.). Dallas:
SIL International. CD-ROM edition.
important part of . . . Scholastic reaction.’’ However,
other features of the Grammatica are typical of its
day, such as its interest in the creation of a philosophi-
cal language. Campanella outlines its theoretical
basis in the last pages of the grammar, the Appendix
de philosophicae linguae institutione. The new lan-
guage, he states, must be clear and unambiguous,
reflecting an absolute correspondence between
words and things. Similarly, its orthography should
show a marked relation between sounds and letters.
In the Grammatica, but still more so in the Poetica,
Campanella suggests that letters should be repre-
sented as they are articulated (e.g.,) (representing
lip closure for b, etc.) (see Phonetic Transcription:
History).
Campanella’s theories were to play an important
role in 17th-century debates on the subject of artifi-
cial language, and considerably influenced the work
of J. Wilkins, who in his Essay of 1668 cites him
among his sources (see Wilkins, John (1614–1672)).
See also: Phonetic Transcription: History; Wilkins, John
(1614–1672).
Bibliography
Crahay R (1973). ‘Pratique du latin et théorie du language
chez Campanella.’ In Ijsewijn J & Kessler E (eds.) Acta
Conventus Neo–Latini Lovaniensis. Louvain August
23–28, 1971. Louvain/Munich: Leuven University Press/
W. Fink.
Firpo L (1940). Bibliografia delle opere di Tommaso
Campanella. Turin: Bona.

Formigari L (1970). Linguistica ed empirismo nel Seicento
inglese. Bari: Laterza.
Padley G A (1976). Grammatical theory in Western Europe
1500–1700: The Latin tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818)
K R Jankowsky, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Joachim Heinrich Campe, born in 1746 in Deensen
near Holzminden, Germany, studied Protestant the-
ology and philosophy at the universities of Helmstedt
and Halle. After graduating in 1769, he spent four
years as private tutor in the house of Alexander Georg
von Humboldt in Berlin, then two years as military
chaplain in Potsdam, only to return in 1775 to the
Berlin-Tegel castle of the Humboldts, this time as
educator of the two sons, Wilhelm (b. 1767) and
Alexander (b. 1769). Wilhelm von Humboldt later
reminisced on this, for him, unforgettable period
of his life: ‘‘[Campe] showed even then a most ap-
propriate, natural gift of vividly stimulating a
child’s intellect’’ (cf. Hallier, 1862: 17; transl. by
K. R. Jankowsky). Rousseau’s new theory of educa-
tion, advanced in his monumental 4-volume Emile,
ou De l’éducation (published 1762) significantly
strengthened Campe’s interest in pedagogy. He
welcomed his appointment in 1776 by Count Franz
von Dessau to the board of directors of the Dessau
Philanthropin, a prestigious educational institution,
founded in 1772 and directed by Johann Bernhard
Basedow (1723–1790). After a few months, he suc-
ceeded Basedow as the Philanthropin’s director but
resigned the following year, due to irreconcilable dif-
ferences with the institution’s founder. From then on
he devoted most of his time to writing.
Campe gained widespread recognition among his
contemporaries and for a long time thereafter in three
major areas:
1. He produced a substantial number of highly influ-
ential educational writings, most prominent
among them his Robinson der Jüngere: Zur ange-
nehmen und nützlichen Unterhaltung für Kinder
(Campe, 1779–1780), based on Daniel Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe, translated in numerous lan-
guages, which saw 90 editions within about 100
years. Of comparable importance as an education-
al tool was his Kleine Kinderbibliothek (Campe,
Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818) 193
Padley G A (1985–1988). Grammatical theory in Western
Europe 1500–1700: Trends in vernacular grammar.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Salmon V (1979). The study of language in 17th-century
England. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
1790a), originally comprising more than 20
volumes and likewise translated in several lan-
guages. By 1815, it had gone through 11 editions
of varying size.
2. Campe believed in the need for ‘purifying’ the
German (German, Standard) language of non-
German ingredients. He tried to achieve this ob-
jective by theoretical discussions as well as
practical illustrations (cf., e.g., Campe, 1790b,
1794, 1804). Of his approximately 11 000 newly
coined German words, about 3000 were there to
stay, not necessarily as replacements, but certainly
as well-liked variants of their foreign originals.
They include ‘Hochschule’ for ‘Universität’ (uni-
versity), ‘Einzahl, Mehrzahl’ for ‘Singular, Plural’
(singular, plural), ‘Stelldichein’ for ‘Rendezvous’
(rendezvous), ‘Feingefühl’ for ‘Delikatesse’ (tact,
delecacy). But the majority – like ‘Zitterweh’ for
‘Fieber’ (fever), ‘Geistesanbau’ for ‘Kultur’ (cul-
ture), ‘Haarkräusler’ for ‘Friseur’ (hairdresser) –
was short-lived, their demise being quickened by
ironic, even sarcastic criticism from highly placed
sources (cf., e.g., Xenien by Goethe and Schiller).
3. Tied to his ‘purification campaign’ was his effort
to present to native speakers the richness of their
mother tongue by compiling a comprehensive
Wörterbuch der Deutschen Sprache. The first
fruit of his labors was the 2-volume supplement
of 1801 to Adelung’s Wörterbuch der hoch-
deutschen Mundart (1774–1786). But his own
Wörterbuch goes well beyond that of Adelung.
He aims at the entire Deutsche Sprache, not restic-
tively at the hochdeutsche Mundart only. And
whereas Adelung lists just ca. 55 000 words,
Campe’s dictionary comprises almost three times
that amount. Even though he counts derivations
as separate entries, the advancement is still
considerable.
Campe’s significance for historical linguistics is still
being examined. Publications like Orgeldinger (1999)
and the exhibition at the Wolfenbüttel Library as
documented in Schmitt (1996) provided just a glimpse
of proof that the discussion is far from being over.

Formigari L (1970). Linguistica ed empirismo nel Seicento
inglese. Bari: Laterza.
Padley G A (1976). Grammatical theory in Western Europe
1500–1700: The Latin tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818)
K R Jankowsky, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Joachim Heinrich Campe, born in 1746 in Deensen
near Holzminden, Germany, studied Protestant the-
ology and philosophy at the universities of Helmstedt
and Halle. After graduating in 1769, he spent four
years as private tutor in the house of Alexander Georg
von Humboldt in Berlin, then two years as military
chaplain in Potsdam, only to return in 1775 to the
Berlin-Tegel castle of the Humboldts, this time as
educator of the two sons, Wilhelm (b. 1767) and
Alexander (b. 1769). Wilhelm von Humboldt later
reminisced on this, for him, unforgettable period
of his life: ‘‘[Campe] showed even then a most ap-
propriate, natural gift of vividly stimulating a
child’s intellect’’ (cf. Hallier, 1862: 17; transl. by
K. R. Jankowsky). Rousseau’s new theory of educa-
tion, advanced in his monumental 4-volume Emile,
ou De l’éducation (published 1762) significantly
strengthened Campe’s interest in pedagogy. He
welcomed his appointment in 1776 by Count Franz
von Dessau to the board of directors of the Dessau
Philanthropin, a prestigious educational institution,
founded in 1772 and directed by Johann Bernhard
Basedow (1723–1790). After a few months, he suc-
ceeded Basedow as the Philanthropin’s director but
resigned the following year, due to irreconcilable dif-
ferences with the institution’s founder. From then on
he devoted most of his time to writing.
Campe gained widespread recognition among his
contemporaries and for a long time thereafter in three
major areas:
1. He produced a substantial number of highly influ-
ential educational writings, most prominent
among them his Robinson der Jüngere: Zur ange-
nehmen und nützlichen Unterhaltung für Kinder
(Campe, 1779–1780), based on Daniel Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe, translated in numerous lan-
guages, which saw 90 editions within about 100
years. Of comparable importance as an education-
al tool was his Kleine Kinderbibliothek (Campe,
Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818) 193
Padley G A (1985–1988). Grammatical theory in Western
Europe 1500–1700: Trends in vernacular grammar.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Salmon V (1979). The study of language in 17th-century
England. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
1790a), originally comprising more than 20
volumes and likewise translated in several lan-
guages. By 1815, it had gone through 11 editions
of varying size.
2. Campe believed in the need for ‘purifying’ the
German (German, Standard) language of non-
German ingredients. He tried to achieve this ob-
jective by theoretical discussions as well as
practical illustrations (cf., e.g., Campe, 1790b,
1794, 1804). Of his approximately 11 000 newly
coined German words, about 3000 were there to
stay, not necessarily as replacements, but certainly
as well-liked variants of their foreign originals.
They include ‘Hochschule’ for ‘Universität’ (uni-
versity), ‘Einzahl, Mehrzahl’ for ‘Singular, Plural’
(singular, plural), ‘Stelldichein’ for ‘Rendezvous’
(rendezvous), ‘Feingefühl’ for ‘Delikatesse’ (tact,
delecacy). But the majority – like ‘Zitterweh’ for
‘Fieber’ (fever), ‘Geistesanbau’ for ‘Kultur’ (cul-
ture), ‘Haarkräusler’ for ‘Friseur’ (hairdresser) –
was short-lived, their demise being quickened by
ironic, even sarcastic criticism from highly placed
sources (cf., e.g., Xenien by Goethe and Schiller).
3. Tied to his ‘purification campaign’ was his effort
to present to native speakers the richness of their
mother tongue by compiling a comprehensive
Wörterbuch der Deutschen Sprache. The first
fruit of his labors was the 2-volume supplement
of 1801 to Adelung’s Wörterbuch der hoch-
deutschen Mundart (1774–1786). But his own
Wörterbuch goes well beyond that of Adelung.
He aims at the entire Deutsche Sprache, not restic-
tively at the hochdeutsche Mundart only. And
whereas Adelung lists just ca. 55 000 words,
Campe’s dictionary comprises almost three times
that amount. Even though he counts derivations
as separate entries, the advancement is still
considerable.
Campe’s significance for historical linguistics is still
being examined. Publications like Orgeldinger (1999)
and the exhibition at the Wolfenbüttel Library as
documented in Schmitt (1996) provided just a glimpse
of proof that the discussion is far from being over.
194 Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818)
See also: Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–1835); Rousseau,
Jean-Jacques (1712–1778).
Bibliography
Campe J H (1779–1780). Robinson der Jüngere: Zur
angenehmen und nützlichen Unterhaltung für Kinder.
Hamburg: Carl Ernst Bohn.
Campe J H (1790a). Kleine Kinderbibliothek. Braunschweig:
Schulbuchhandlung.
Campe J H (1790b [1791]). Proben einiger Versuche von
deutscher Sprachbereicherung. Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Campe J H (1794). Ueber die Reinigung und Bereicherung
der deutschen Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (1795–1797). Beiträge zur weiteren Ausbildung
der deutschen Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (1801). Wörterbuch zur Erklärung und Ver-
deutschung der unserer Sprache aufgedrungenen fremden
Ausdrücke: Ein Ergänzungsband zu Adelung’s Wörter-
buche. In zwei Bänden (ed.). Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Campe J H (1804 [21813]). Versuch einer genauern Bestim-
mung und Verdeutschung der für unsere Sprachlehre
Canada: Language Situation
G J Rowicka, Leiden University, Leiden,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Canada has a multilingual population of 29.6 mil-
lion. Since passage of the Official Languages Act in
1969, it has two official languages on the federal
level: English and French. However, only 23% of
the Canadian population, predominantly inhabitants
of Quebec, speak French as their sole or principal
language, versus 68% who mainly speak English.
English-French bilingualism is not very widespread
(17% of the population), but it is increasing. The
issue of reconciling Quebec’s francophones with the
majority anglophone Canadian population seems to
have been moved to the back burner since the Quebec
government’s referendum on independence failed to
pass in October 1995.
Canadian English resembles American English in
many ways. Like Americans, but unlike speakers of
(Southern) British English, Canadians pronounce [r]
in car and farm. Yet Canadian English also has some
characteristics of its own in its vocabulary, spelling,
pronunciation, and grammar, some of which are seen
gehörigen Kunstwörter. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (ed.) (1807–1811). Wörterbuch der Deutschen
Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhandlung. Repr. Hil-
desheim: Georg Olms, 1969.
Campe J H (1813). Wörterbuch zur Erklärung und
Verdeutschung der unserer Sprache aufgedrungenen
fremden Ausdrücke: Ein Ergänzungsband zu Adelung’s
und Campe’s Wörterbüchern. Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Hallier E (1862). Joachim Heinrich Campe’s Leben
und Wirken: Bausteine zu einer Biographie. Liegnitz:
Krumbhaar.
Jankowsky K R (1999). ‘Joachim Heinrich Campe (1746–
1818) und sein Wörterbuch im Vergleich zu Johann
Leo Weisgerbers sprachtheoretische Arbeiten.’ In Klaus
D Dutz (ed.) Interpretation und Re-Interpretation.
Münster: Nodus. 67–86.
2
Leyser J A (1877 [ 1896]). Joachim Heinrich Campe: Ein
Lebensbild aus dem Zeitalter der Aufklärung (2 vols).
Braunschweig: Vieweg.
Orgeldinger S (1999). Standardisierung und Purismus bei
Joachim Heinrich Campe. Berlin; New York: De Gruyter.
Schmitt H et al. (eds.) (1996). Visonäre Lebensklugheit:
Joachim Heinrich Campe in seiner Zeit (1746–1818)
[Exhibition and Catalogue]. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
as ‘Britishisms.’ Many Canadians still use serviettes at
the table, rather than napkins, as Americans do. They
apologize by saying sorry [sori], rather than [sari].
Typical is ‘Canadian Raising’, which makes the
vowels [aw] in house and [ay] in knife (before voice-
less consonants) sound quite different – ‘higher’ –
than the vowel in houses and knives (before voiced
consonants). A well-known Canadian trait is eh, as
in You like it, eh?, where Americans would rather
use huh. There are, however, regional and social
differences in these and other features.
Canadian French also differs from European
French. It developed out of 17th century French and
other languages spoken in France at that time and has
preserved some archaic features long since lost in
European French. For instance, Quebec French has
a distinction between long and short vowels, such as
fête ‘anniversary’ [fE:t] and faite ‘done, FEM’ [fEt],
while most European French dialects have only
short vowels. In several French varieties, word-final
consonant clusters can be simplified, for instance,
table [tab] ‘table’. In Quebec French, however, more
complex groups are also simplified, as in astre [as]
‘aster’, even in formal contexts. Some words have a
different meaning in Quebec and in European French.
194 Canada: Language Situation
See also: Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767–1835); Rousseau,
Jean-Jacques (1712–1778).
Bibliography
Campe J H (1779–1780). Robinson der Jüngere: Zur
angenehmen und nützlichen Unterhaltung für Kinder.
Hamburg: Carl Ernst Bohn.
Campe J H (1790a). Kleine Kinderbibliothek. Braunschweig:
Schulbuchhandlung.
Campe J H (1790b [1791]). Proben einiger Versuche von
deutscher Sprachbereicherung. Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Campe J H (1794). Ueber die Reinigung und Bereicherung
der deutschen Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (1795–1797). Beiträge zur weiteren Ausbildung
der deutschen Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (1801). Wörterbuch zur Erklärung und Ver-
deutschung der unserer Sprache aufgedrungenen fremden
Ausdrücke: Ein Ergänzungsband zu Adelung’s Wörter-
buche. In zwei Bänden (ed.). Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Campe J H (1804 [21813]). Versuch einer genauern Bestim-
mung und Verdeutschung der für unsere Sprachlehre
Canada: Language Situation
G J Rowicka, Leiden University, Leiden,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Canada has a multilingual population of 29.6 mil-
lion. Since passage of the Official Languages Act in
1969, it has two official languages on the federal
level: English and French. However, only 23% of
the Canadian population, predominantly inhabitants
of Quebec, speak French as their sole or principal
language, versus 68% who mainly speak English.
English-French bilingualism is not very widespread
(17% of the population), but it is increasing. The
issue of reconciling Quebec’s francophones with the
majority anglophone Canadian population seems to
have been moved to the back burner since the Quebec
government’s referendum on independence failed to
pass in October 1995.
Canadian English resembles American English in
many ways. Like Americans, but unlike speakers of
(Southern) British English, Canadians pronounce [r]
in car and farm. Yet Canadian English also has some
characteristics of its own in its vocabulary, spelling,
pronunciation, and grammar, some of which are seen
gehörigen Kunstwörter. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhand-
lung.
Campe J H (ed.) (1807–1811). Wörterbuch der Deutschen
Sprache. Braunschweig: Schulbuchhandlung. Repr. Hil-
desheim: Georg Olms, 1969.
Campe J H (1813). Wörterbuch zur Erklärung und
Verdeutschung der unserer Sprache aufgedrungenen
fremden Ausdrücke: Ein Ergänzungsband zu Adelung’s
und Campe’s Wörterbüchern. Braunschweig: Schulbuch-
handlung.
Hallier E (1862). Joachim Heinrich Campe’s Leben
und Wirken: Bausteine zu einer Biographie. Liegnitz:
Krumbhaar.
Jankowsky K R (1999). ‘Joachim Heinrich Campe (1746–
1818) und sein Wörterbuch im Vergleich zu Johann
Leo Weisgerbers sprachtheoretische Arbeiten.’ In Klaus
D Dutz (ed.) Interpretation und Re-Interpretation.
Münster: Nodus. 67–86.
2
Leyser J A (1877 [ 1896]). Joachim Heinrich Campe: Ein
Lebensbild aus dem Zeitalter der Aufklärung (2 vols).
Braunschweig: Vieweg.
Orgeldinger S (1999). Standardisierung und Purismus bei
Joachim Heinrich Campe. Berlin; New York: De Gruyter.
Schmitt H et al. (eds.) (1996). Visonäre Lebensklugheit:
Joachim Heinrich Campe in seiner Zeit (1746–1818)
[Exhibition and Catalogue]. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
as ‘Britishisms.’ Many Canadians still use serviettes at
the table, rather than napkins, as Americans do. They
apologize by saying sorry [sori], rather than [sari].
Typical is ‘Canadian Raising’, which makes the
vowels [aw] in house and [ay] in knife (before voice-
less consonants) sound quite different – ‘higher’ –
than the vowel in houses and knives (before voiced
consonants). A well-known Canadian trait is eh, as
in You like it, eh?, where Americans would rather
use huh. There are, however, regional and social
differences in these and other features.
Canadian French also differs from European
French. It developed out of 17th century French and
other languages spoken in France at that time and has
preserved some archaic features long since lost in
European French. For instance, Quebec French has
a distinction between long and short vowels, such as
fête ‘anniversary’ [fE:t] and faite ‘done, FEM’ [fEt],
while most European French dialects have only
short vowels. In several French varieties, word-final
consonant clusters can be simplified, for instance,
table [tab] ‘table’. In Quebec French, however, more
complex groups are also simplified, as in astre [as]
‘aster’, even in formal contexts. Some words have a
different meaning in Quebec and in European French.

The other main variety of Canadian French is Acadi-
an, which is spoken along the Atlantic coast. Cajun,
the French dialect of Louisiana, United States, derives
from Acadian.
Canada’s linguistic wealth extends far beyond the
two largest languages. About 17% of all Canadians
speak a language other than English or French as their
mother tongue. These are Aboriginal Canadian lan-
guages or immigrant languages. According to the 2001
Census, only 21 languages indigenous to Canada are
still spoken (although other sources still mention 50).
They can be grouped into several language families.
Most linguistic diversity is concentrated in the west of
the country.
The majority of Aboriginal language families are
as distinct from each other as, for instance, Indo-
European is from Sino-Tibetan. They exhibit re-
markable structural diversity and characteristics
unlike those familiar from Indo-European languages.
For instance, in Nuxalk (Bella Coola, a Salish lan-
guage) there are words without a single vowel,
e.g., skw|’ L p ‘seed’. A property of most Aboriginal
languages is polysynthesis. Words in polysynthetic
languages can contain a large number of meaningful
parts (morphemes). For instance, in Mohawk (an
Iroquoian language the following is a single word:
s-a-h wa-nho-t -kw-ahs-e
again-PAST-she/him-door-close-un-for-PERF
‘she opened the door for him again’
Numerous Aboriginal words have been adopted
into Canadian English. The country’s name, Canada,
comes from the Laurentian (extinct Iroquoian
language) word for ‘settlement’.
In the Northwest Territories, since 1993 several
Aboriginal languages have enjoyed an official status
equal to that of English and French. Inuktitut
(the language of the Inuit) also has official status in
Nunavut, a Canadian territory that was part of the
Northwest Territories until 1999 and where 80% of
the population are Inuit. However, most Aboriginal
languages are seriously endangered as a result of,
among others, repressive education policies practiced
in the past and are only spoken fluently by the oldest
generation. Only Cree (80 000 speakers), Ojibwa
(45 000 speakers), and Inuktitut (20 000 speakers)
are estimated to have good chances of long-term sur-
vival. There is a growing involvement of universities
in language preservation efforts.
Among the Aboriginal Canadian languages on the
verge of extinction is Michif, a unique mixed language
of Canada’s Métis, most of whom are descendants
from Cree or Ojibwa women and French Canadian
fur trappers. Michif combines Cree verbs and French
nouns. French noun phrases retain lexical gender and
Canada: Language Situation 195
adjective agreement, while Cree and Ojibwa verbs
retain much of their polysynthetic structure. This
makes Michif unlike other contact languages, which
usually exhibit simplified grammar.
Among new (immigrant) Canadian languages,
Chinese, Italian, and German are each spoken by
more than 400 000 people, with Chinese speakers
constituting the largest linguistic group in Canada
after English and French. Seven other languages
(Spanish, Portuguese, Polish, Panjabi, Ukrainian,
Arabic, and Tagalog) have between 150 000 and
228 000 speakers each. In some cities there are such
large ethnic populations that it is possible to live,
work, and shop there without using any of the official
languages. In Toronto, 40% of the population speak a
mother tongue that is neither English nor French. In
Vancouver this figure is 27%, in Winnipeg 21%, and
in Montréal 17%.
The strength of nonofficial languages is part of
a deliberate policy on the part of the Canadian
government.
It is precisely the rejection of uniformity, the refusal to
accept a homogeneous view of themselves and their
country, that constitutes the most authentic and widely
shared experience of Canadians. The affirmation and
preservation of differences, personal, social, local, re-
gional, cultural, linguistic, has consumed the minds
and hearts of Canadians all through their history. It is
the Canadian response to the question of identity. Our
unity – and it is a real and profound unity if we will only
bring ourselves to see it—arises from the determination
to preserve the identity of each of us. – From A national
understanding (government report, 1977)
See also: American Lexicography; Isolated Language
Varieties; Language Families and Linguistic Diversity;
Michif.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Maps 52–54.
Bibliography
Chambers J K (ed.) (1979). The languages of Canada.
Montreal: Didier.
Edwards J (ed.) (1998). Language in Canada. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Grimes B F (ed.) (2000). The ethnologue: languages of
the world. (14th edn. þ CD-ROM). Dallas, TX:
Summer Institute of Linguistics. Also available at:
www.ethnologue.com.
Mithun M (1999). The languages of Native North America.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Statistics Canada (2001). Census of Canada. Available at:
http://www.statcan.ca.
196 Canadian Lexicography
Canadian Lexicography
K Barber, Oxford University Press, Toronto, Ontario
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Dictionaries used in English-speaking Canada have
all too often been reprints of British or American
works, with little or no revision. It was not until
the late 1950s that Canadians began to seriously
research the history of Canadian English and words
that originated in Canada, that have meanings pecu-
liar to Canada, or that have special significance in
Canada. This resulted in the publication of the
Dictionary of Canadianisms on historical principles
in 1967, on which the Canadian content in diction-
aries, chiefly those published by Gage, was based
for the next 25 years. Dictionaries of regional vari-
eties of Canadian English, such as the Dictionary of
Newfoundland English (1982) and the Dictionary
of Prince Edward Island English (1988), expanded
on the coverage provided by the Dictionary of
Canadianisms.
In 1992, Oxford University Press Canada estab-
lished a permanent dictionary department in Toronto,
with the aim of producing a thoroughly researched
dictionary of current Canadian English based on cor-
pus analysis and a vast reading program. The first
edition of the Canadian Oxford dictionary appeared
in 1998, followed by a number of spin-offs and a
second edition in 2004. This project also provides
Canadian quotations to the OED.
Like Anglophone Canadians, Francophones in
Canada have long had to make do with dictionaries
reflecting a linguistic reality different from their own,
a phenomenon compounded by the European French
trend toward marginalizing varieties of the language
found outside of France. There has been an ongoing
tension in Québécois dictionaries between attempts
Canary Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Canary Islands are a group of seven main islands
about 100 km off the African coast opposite Morocco
and Western Sahara. They are an autonomous region
of Spain.
The islands have been inhabited since at least
200 B.C., and they were mentioned in classical
to align Québécois French with the standards of
France on the one hand and the desire to assert and
legitimate usages particular to Quebec on the other.
In the late 1980s, the first serious dictionaries of
Canadian French began to appear, based upon the
belief that French–Canadian (both Québécois and
Acadian) usages are both valid and standard rather
than marginal compared with the French spoken
in France. These dictionaries, such as the Diction-
naire du français plus à l’usage des francophones
d’Amérique (1988), the Dictionnaire des canadia-
nismes (1989), and the Dictionnaire québécois d’au-
jourd’hui (1992), drew on the vast research compiled
by the Université Laval, which published its own
historical dictionary of Canadian French, the Dic-
tionnaire du français québécois, in 1998. A small
French–English dictionary was first published in
Canada in 1962. Researchers at the University of
Ottawa, the Université de Montréal, and the Univer-
sité Laval have been collaborating on a Canadian
French–English dictionary since 1988.
A number of dictionaries of Canadian Aboriginal
languages also exist, and more are in preparation.
This work was started by missionaries in the 19th
century and was taken up more recently by the
Canadian Museum of Civilization, which has pro-
duced bilingual dictionaries of Western Abenaki,
Heiltsuk, Kwakwala (Kwakiutl), Mohawk, and
Mi’kmaq (Micmac).
See also: Bilingual Lexicography; Canada: Language Situ-
ation; English in the Present Day (since ca. 1900); French.
Relevant Website
http://www.civilization.ca/pub/mpub10e.html
sources. However, there is no further evidence of
European knowledge of them until the 13th century,
when they were ‘re-discovered’ by a Genovese fleet.
At that time, the people living on the islands were
speakers of Guanche, most probably a Berber lan-
guage. However, the only traces of the language are
a few place names, as their speakers had been con-
verted to Christianity, and to Castilian Spanish, by
the end of the 15th century, when the islands became
part of Castile. Spanish is the official language of the
196 Canadian Lexicography
Canadian Lexicography
K Barber, Oxford University Press, Toronto, Ontario
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Dictionaries used in English-speaking Canada have
all too often been reprints of British or American
works, with little or no revision. It was not until
the late 1950s that Canadians began to seriously
research the history of Canadian English and words
that originated in Canada, that have meanings pecu-
liar to Canada, or that have special significance in
Canada. This resulted in the publication of the
Dictionary of Canadianisms on historical principles
in 1967, on which the Canadian content in diction-
aries, chiefly those published by Gage, was based
for the next 25 years. Dictionaries of regional vari-
eties of Canadian English, such as the Dictionary of
Newfoundland English (1982) and the Dictionary
of Prince Edward Island English (1988), expanded
on the coverage provided by the Dictionary of
Canadianisms.
In 1992, Oxford University Press Canada estab-
lished a permanent dictionary department in Toronto,
with the aim of producing a thoroughly researched
dictionary of current Canadian English based on cor-
pus analysis and a vast reading program. The first
edition of the Canadian Oxford dictionary appeared
in 1998, followed by a number of spin-offs and a
second edition in 2004. This project also provides
Canadian quotations to the OED.
Like Anglophone Canadians, Francophones in
Canada have long had to make do with dictionaries
reflecting a linguistic reality different from their own,
a phenomenon compounded by the European French
trend toward marginalizing varieties of the language
found outside of France. There has been an ongoing
tension in Québécois dictionaries between attempts
Canary Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Canary Islands are a group of seven main islands
about 100 km off the African coast opposite Morocco
and Western Sahara. They are an autonomous region
of Spain.
The islands have been inhabited since at least
200 B.C., and they were mentioned in classical
to align Québécois French with the standards of
France on the one hand and the desire to assert and
legitimate usages particular to Quebec on the other.
In the late 1980s, the first serious dictionaries of
Canadian French began to appear, based upon the
belief that French–Canadian (both Québécois and
Acadian) usages are both valid and standard rather
than marginal compared with the French spoken
in France. These dictionaries, such as the Diction-
naire du français plus à l’usage des francophones
d’Amérique (1988), the Dictionnaire des canadia-
nismes (1989), and the Dictionnaire québécois d’au-
jourd’hui (1992), drew on the vast research compiled
by the Université Laval, which published its own
historical dictionary of Canadian French, the Dic-
tionnaire du français québécois, in 1998. A small
French–English dictionary was first published in
Canada in 1962. Researchers at the University of
Ottawa, the Université de Montréal, and the Univer-
sité Laval have been collaborating on a Canadian
French–English dictionary since 1988.
A number of dictionaries of Canadian Aboriginal
languages also exist, and more are in preparation.
This work was started by missionaries in the 19th
century and was taken up more recently by the
Canadian Museum of Civilization, which has pro-
duced bilingual dictionaries of Western Abenaki,
Heiltsuk, Kwakwala (Kwakiutl), Mohawk, and
Mi’kmaq (Micmac).
See also: Bilingual Lexicography; Canada: Language Situ-
ation; English in the Present Day (since ca. 1900); French.
Relevant Website
http://www.civilization.ca/pub/mpub10e.html
sources. However, there is no further evidence of
European knowledge of them until the 13th century,
when they were ‘re-discovered’ by a Genovese fleet.
At that time, the people living on the islands were
speakers of Guanche, most probably a Berber lan-
guage. However, the only traces of the language are
a few place names, as their speakers had been con-
verted to Christianity, and to Castilian Spanish, by
the end of the 15th century, when the islands became
part of Castile. Spanish is the official language of the

Canary Islands today. During the 19th and early 20th
centuries, a mixed Spanish-English trade variety
called Pichingli was used on the islands (Armistead,
1995). In the 20th century, the Canary Islands devel-
oped a major tourist industry, and there is now at any
one time a substantive contingent of more or less
short-term visitors, who are catered to with mainly
English and German print media, shop signs, menus,
and so forth.
In addition to spoken language, the Canary island
of La Gomera is home to the ‘whistling language’
Silbo Gomero (from Spanish silbar, ‘whistle’). The
language is said to have been used as a means of
long-distance communication on the mountainous
island since before the arrival of the Spanish, but
knowledge of it decreased with the advent of modern
Cantonese See: Chinese.
Cape Verde Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Republic of Cape Verde consists of 10 islands
and five islets off the west coast of Africa, about
600 km west of Senegal. The islands were unin-
habited until the 15th century, when they were
colonized by the Portuguese, who used them as a
supply and trading post for the slave trade. Many
speakers of African (mainly West-Atlantic) languages
were brought from the then-Portuguese territory
of Guinea-Bissau. Cape Verde became independent
in 1975.
The official language of Cape Verde is Portuguese.
However, the majority of the 415 000 (July 2004 esti-
mate) residents of the islands speak the Portuguese-
based Cape Verdean creole Kabuverdianu (Crioulo/
Kriolu) as their first language. Kabuverdianu falls into
two main dialect groups, Sotavento and Barlavento.
The former is spoken on the southern (Sotavento)
islands, which include São Tiago, with the capital,
Praia, and site of the earliest settlements. Sotavento
is spoken by about 65% of Kabuverdianu speakers.
The dialect of the northern Barlavento islands, which
Cape Verde Islands: Language Situation 197
communication. Seen as a part of the island’s cultural
heritage, Silbo Gomero is now taught in schools on
the island.
See also: Spanish.
Bibliography
Armistead A G (1995). Sobre la lengua de los cambullo-
neros: El pichingli. Revista de Filologı́a de la Universidad
de la Laguna 14, 245–252.
Böhm G (1996). Sprache und Geschichte im Kanarischen
Archipel. Vol. 1: Kulturgeschichte. Wien: Afro-Pub.
López J M & Dı́az D C (eds.) (1996). El español de Canar-
ias hoy: análisis y perspectivas. Frankfurt: Vervuert/
Madrid: Iberoamericana.
were settled only in the late 17th and 18th centuries, is
spoken by the remaining 35% of speakers.
Since independence, the role and status of Kabuver-
dianu have increased, and the language is used in
domains previously reserved for Portuguese, e.g.,
formal religious and political discourse. Portuguese
is used on television and radio, as well as in education,
where it is the primary language of instruction
throughout all levels.
Because of harsh economic conditions and high
unemployment, many Cape Verdeans have left the
islands and work abroad, so the majority of speakers
of Kabuverdianu (about 934 000) do not live in Cape
Verde. There are large Kabuverdianu communities in
Guinea Bissau, Senegal, several western European
countries, and the United States.
See also: Pidgins and Creoles: Overview.
Bibliography
Chabal P (2002). A history of postcolonial Lusophone
Africa. London: Hurst.
Holm J (1989). Pidgin and creoles. Vol. 2: Reference survey.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Canary Islands today. During the 19th and early 20th
centuries, a mixed Spanish-English trade variety
called Pichingli was used on the islands (Armistead,
1995). In the 20th century, the Canary Islands devel-
oped a major tourist industry, and there is now at any
one time a substantive contingent of more or less
short-term visitors, who are catered to with mainly
English and German print media, shop signs, menus,
and so forth.
In addition to spoken language, the Canary island
of La Gomera is home to the ‘whistling language’
Silbo Gomero (from Spanish silbar, ‘whistle’). The
language is said to have been used as a means of
long-distance communication on the mountainous
island since before the arrival of the Spanish, but
knowledge of it decreased with the advent of modern
Cantonese See: Chinese.
Cape Verde Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Republic of Cape Verde consists of 10 islands
and five islets off the west coast of Africa, about
600 km west of Senegal. The islands were unin-
habited until the 15th century, when they were
colonized by the Portuguese, who used them as a
supply and trading post for the slave trade. Many
speakers of African (mainly West-Atlantic) languages
were brought from the then-Portuguese territory
of Guinea-Bissau. Cape Verde became independent
in 1975.
The official language of Cape Verde is Portuguese.
However, the majority of the 415 000 (July 2004 esti-
mate) residents of the islands speak the Portuguese-
based Cape Verdean creole Kabuverdianu (Crioulo/
Kriolu) as their first language. Kabuverdianu falls into
two main dialect groups, Sotavento and Barlavento.
The former is spoken on the southern (Sotavento)
islands, which include São Tiago, with the capital,
Praia, and site of the earliest settlements. Sotavento
is spoken by about 65% of Kabuverdianu speakers.
The dialect of the northern Barlavento islands, which
Cape Verde Islands: Language Situation 197
communication. Seen as a part of the island’s cultural
heritage, Silbo Gomero is now taught in schools on
the island.
See also: Spanish.
Bibliography
Armistead A G (1995). Sobre la lengua de los cambullo-
neros: El pichingli. Revista de Filologı́a de la Universidad
de la Laguna 14, 245–252.
Böhm G (1996). Sprache und Geschichte im Kanarischen
Archipel. Vol. 1: Kulturgeschichte. Wien: Afro-Pub.
López J M & Dı́az D C (eds.) (1996). El español de Canar-
ias hoy: análisis y perspectivas. Frankfurt: Vervuert/
Madrid: Iberoamericana.
were settled only in the late 17th and 18th centuries, is
spoken by the remaining 35% of speakers.
Since independence, the role and status of Kabuver-
dianu have increased, and the language is used in
domains previously reserved for Portuguese, e.g.,
formal religious and political discourse. Portuguese
is used on television and radio, as well as in education,
where it is the primary language of instruction
throughout all levels.
Because of harsh economic conditions and high
unemployment, many Cape Verdeans have left the
islands and work abroad, so the majority of speakers
of Kabuverdianu (about 934 000) do not live in Cape
Verde. There are large Kabuverdianu communities in
Guinea Bissau, Senegal, several western European
countries, and the United States.
See also: Pidgins and Creoles: Overview.
Bibliography
Chabal P (2002). A history of postcolonial Lusophone
Africa. London: Hurst.
Holm J (1989). Pidgin and creoles. Vol. 2: Reference survey.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
198 Cape Verdean Creole
Cape Verdean Creole
M Baptista, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cape Verdean Creole (henceforth CVC) is spoken
in Cape Verde Islands, an archipelago located in the
Atlantic Ocean off the northwestern coast of Africa,
at approximately 450 kilometers from Senegal.
The archipelago is divided into two main clusters:
the windward islands (locally known as Barlavento)
and the leeward islands (Sotavento). Barlavento
includes Boavista, Sal, São Nicolau, Santa Luzia,
São Vicente, and Santo Antão. Sotavento consists of
Brava, Fogo, Santiago, and Maio.
Given the strategic location of the archipelago at
the crossroads of Europe, Africa, and America, the
Portuguese settled the islands from 1462 onward,
and the islands came to play a critical role in
the slave trade from the 15th to the 19th centuries.
As a result, many view CVC as the oldest creole alive
today. Historical sources (Brásio, 1962) state that the
tribes of Mandingues, Balantes, Bijagos, Feloupes,
Beafadas, Pepels, Quissis, Brames, Banhuns, Peuls,
Jalofos, Bambaras, Bololas, and Manjakus provided
most of the human contingent to the slave trade in
Cape Verde. The white settlers came from Algarve
and Alentejo in Portugal and also included Jews,
Spaniards, Italians, and French (Martinus, 1996).
Having been settled at different times with dif-
ferent populations, it is not surprising that a number
of morphophonological and syntactic features distin-
guish Barlavento varieties (closer to Portuguese) from
their Sotavento counterparts (more Africanized),
resulting in a fairly complex sociolinguistic situation.
Although earlier descriptions of the language
viewed CVC as a mere dialect of Portuguese, recent
studies have shed new light on the hybrid nature of
CVC focusing on the African contributions to the
formation of the language. Baptista (2003a) studied
specifically reduplication, a morphological process
found in African languages whereby a reduplicated
adjective or adverb expresses emphasis, as in moku
moku ‘very drunk’ or faxi faxi ‘very quickly’. Noun
reduplication may yield a distributive interpretation,
as in dia dia ‘every day’ or may simply lead to a
change in meaning, as in boka ‘mouth,’ boka boka
signifying ‘in secret’. Lexical categories such as
adjectives once reduplicated may shift category (i.e.,
adjective to noun) as in mansu ‘quiet’, mansu mansu
‘secrecy’. Other scholars such as Rougé (2004) and
Quint (2000) have examined the possible African
etymology of some of the Cape Verdean linguistic
items that have found their way in the grammatical
and lexical components of the language. Lang (2004)
has investigated how some grammatical morphemes
inherited from Portuguese may also take on new
functions passed down from substrates like Wolof.
In a similar vein of work, Baptista (2003b) has
examined how the plural suffix-s in Cape Verdean
inherited from Portuguese is sensitive to conditions
such as the animacy hierarchy and definiteness, two
variables playing a role in the African languages
having contributed to the genesis of CVC.
Such studies demonstrate the genuine hybrid na-
ture of CVC by examining how various elements
from all source languages involved in its genesis inter-
act and at what level. This gives us valuable insights
into cognitive processes at play when languages come
abruptly into contact.
See also: Cape Verde Islands: Language Situation; Pidgins
and Creoles: Overview.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Maps 47, 48.
Bibliography
Baptista M (2002). The syntax of Cape Verdean Creole:
the Sotavento varieties. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John
Benjamins.
Baptista M (2003a). ‘Number inflection in creole
languages.’ Interface 6, 3–26.
Baptista M (2003b). ‘Reduplication in Cape Verdean Creole.’
In Kouwenberg S (ed.) Twice as meaningful: reduplication
in pidgins and creoles. London: Battlebridge. 177–184.
Brásio A (1962). ‘Descobrimento, povoamento, evange-
lização do archipélago de Cabo Verde.’ Studia 10,
49–97.
Lang J (2004). Dicionário do crioulo da ilha de Santiago
(Cabo Verde). Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag.
Martinus F (1996). The kiss of a slave: Papiamentu’s
West-African connections. Ph.D. diss., University of
Amsterdam.
Quint N (2000). Grammaire de la langue cap-verdienne.
Paris: L’Harmattan.
Rougé J L (2004). Dictionnaire étymologique des créoles
portugais d’Afrique. Paris: Karthala.
Veiga M (1998). Le Créole du Cap-Vert: etude grammati-
cale descriptive et contrastive. Ph.D. diss., Université
Aix-Marseille.
 Cariban Languages 199

Cariban Languages
S Meira, Leiden University, Leiden, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Cariban family is one of the largest genetic groups
in South America, with more than 25 languages
(see Figure 1) spoken mostly north of the Amazon,
from Colombia to the Guianas and from northern
Venezuela to Central Brazil (see Figure 2). Despite
the long history of their studies, most Cariban lan-
guages are still insufficiently described. The best de-
scriptive works published so far are Hoff (1968, on
Karinya) and Derbyshire (1979, 1985, on Hishkar-
yana). There are good descriptive works on Apalai,
Makushi, and Waiwai in Derbyshire and Pullum
(1986–1998); Jackson (1972) gives a brief, but de-
tailed, overview of Wayana. Muller (1994) is a very
informative Panare dictionary. Meira (2005) and Carlin
(2004) are full descriptions of Tiriyo; Meira (2000),
mostly a historical study, contains some descriptive
work on Tiriyo, Akuriyo, and Karihona. Gildea (1998)
and Derbyshire (1999) contain surveys of the family.
Comparative Studies and Classification
First recognized by the Jesuit priest Filippo Salvadore
Gilij in the 18th century (Gilij, 1780–1783), the
Cariban family was subsequently studied by L. Adam
(1893) and C. H. de Goeje (1909, 1946). After some
initial tentative proposals within larger South

Figure 1 A tentative classification of Cariban languages. (?) ¼ difficult to classify; (y) ¼ extinct (not all listed here). Different names or
spellings for the same language are given in parentheses. Dialects are indented under the language name. (Demogropahic data refer to
speakers, not ethnic members of the group; sources: Ethnologue and author’s own work).
200 Cariban Languages

American classifications (the last of which is Loukotka,
1968), the first detailed classification was published by
V. Girard (1971), followed by M. Durbin (1977) and
T. Kaufman (1994). Durbin’s classification – unfortu-
nately used in the Ethnologue (SIL) – is, as Gildea
(1998) pointed out, seriously flawed; Girard’s classifi-
cation is limited (14 low-level subgroups); Kafuman’s
classification is probably the best; it is based not on
firsthand sources but on the comparison of other clas-
sifications. The proposal in Figure 1 is the preliminary
result of ongoing comparative research. There is some
good evidence that Cariban and Tupian languages
are distantly related (Rodrigues, 1985); other hypoth-
eses (e.g., Ge-Pano-Carib and Macro-Carib, from
Greenberg, 1987) remain mostly unsupported and are
not accepted by specialists.
Shafer (1963) was the first attempt at reconstructing
Proto-Cariban phonology, but its many flaws make
Girard (1971) the real first proposal in this area.
The most up-to-date study is Meira and Franchetto
(2005). Meira (2000) reconstructs the phonology and
morphology of the intermediate proto-language of the
Taranoan subgroup.
Main Linguistic Features
Phonology
Cariban languages have small segmental inventories:
usually only voiceless stops (p, t, k, ), one or two
fricatives/affricates (h or F, s or or t ), two nasals
(m, n), a vibrant (&, often or ), glides (w, j), and six
vowels (a, e, i, o, u, i). Some languages have distinc-
tive voiced obstruents (Bakairi, Ikpeng, Karihona),
more than one vibrant or lateral (Bakairi, Kuikuro,
Ikpeng, Hishkaryana, Waiwai, Kashuyana), or more
fricatives or affricates (Bakairi, Waimiri-Atroari,
Kashuyana, Waiwai); others have an extra vowel e
(Wayana, Tiriyo, Panare, Bakairi, Pemong, Kapong).
Vowel length is often distinctive, whereas nasality
usually is not, with few exceptions (Apalai, Bakairi,
Kuikuro). Many languages have weight-sensitive

Figure 2 Map of the current distribution of Cariban languages. Living languages in bold, extinct languages in normal type. AK,
Akuriyo; Ar, Arara; Bk, Bakairi; Ch, Chaymay; Dk, De0 kwana; Hk, Hishkaryana; Ik, IIkpeng; Ka, Karinya; Kh, Karihona; Kk, Kuikuro; Km,
Kumanakotoy; Kp, Kapong; Ks, Kashuyana; Mk, Makushi; Mp, Mapoyo; Pe, Pemong; Pi, Pimenteriay; Pm Palmellay; Pn, Panare; Ti,
Tiriyo; Tm, Tamanaku; Yu, Yukpa; Yw, Yawarana; Wm, Waimiri-Atroari; Ww, Waiwai; Wy, Wayana.
 Cariban Languages 201

rhythmic (iambic) stress (Table 1; Meira, 1998); Ikpeng o-megum-ri ‘your wrist’, o-muj-n ‘your boat,’
some, however, have simple cumulative, usually pen- o-egi-Ø ‘your pet’). With overt nominal possessors,
ultimate, stress (Panare, Bakairi, Kuikuro, Yukpa). some languages have a linking morpheme j- (e.g.,
Morphophonological phenomena include stem-initial Panare Toman j-uwe ‘Tom’s house, place’). Nouns
ablaut in verbs and nouns and the systematic reduc- can also be marked for past (‘ex-N,’ ‘no longer N’)
tion of stem-final syllables within paradigms (Gildea, with special suffixes (-tpo, -tpi, -bi, -tpe, -hpe, -npe,
1995; Meira, 1999). etc.; e.g., Bakairi ũw -bi-ri ‘my late father’). Pro-
nouns distinguish five persons (1, 2, 3, 1 þ 2 ¼ dual
Morphology inclusive ¼ ‘you and I,’ 1 þ 3 ¼ exclusive; the 1 þ 3
Cariban languages are mostly suffixal; prefixes exist pronoun functions syntactically as a third-person
also, marking person and valency (the latter on verbs). form) and two numbers (singular, or noncollective,
Some languages (Tiriyo, Wayana, Apalai) have redu- and plural, or collective). The third-person forms
plication. The complexity of the morphology is com- also have gender (animate vs. inanimate) and several
parable to that of Romance languages. There are deictic distinctions (Table 2). To each pronoun usually
usually nouns, verbs, postpositions, adverbs (a class corresponds a person-marking prefix (except 1 þ 3, to
that includes most adjectival notions), and particles. which correspond simple third-person markers). In
Possessed nouns take possession-marking suffixes some languages, the 1 þ 2 prefixes were lost (Kapong,
that define subclasses (-ri, -ti, -ni, -Ø ) and person- Pemong, Makushi); in others, the prefixes are
marking prefixes that indicate the possessor (e.g., replaced by pronouns as overt possessors (Yukpa,
Waimiri-Atroari).
In more conservative languages, verbs have a com-
plex inflectional system, with prefixes marking per-
Table 1 Rhythmic (iambic) stress: Tiriyo
son and suffixes marking various tense-aspect-mood
1. Words with only light (CV) syllables, based on the stem apoto and number distinctions. The person-marking pre-
‘helper, servant’a fixes form what Gildea termed the Set I system
apoto [(a.po:).to] ‘helper’
(Table 3), variously analyzed as split-S or active-sta-
m-apoto-ma [(ma.po:).to.ma] ‘you helped him’
kit-apoto-ma [(ki$.ta:).(po.to:).ma] ‘the two of us tive (e.g., by Gildea) or as cross-referencing both
helped him’ A (Agent) and P (Patient) (Hoff, 1968). In most lan-
m-apoto- [(ma.po:).(to.ma:).ti] ‘you all helped him’ guages, however, innovative systems have arisen from
ma-ti the reanalysis of older deverbal nominalizations or
kit-apoto- [(ki$.ta:).(po.to:).ma.ti] ‘we all helped him’
participials, and are now in competition with the
ma-ti
m-apoto- [(ma.po:).(to.ma:).po.ti] ‘you all had him Set I system. Most of the new systems follow ergative
ma-po-ti helped’ patterns, thus creating various cases of ergative splits
kit-apoto- [(ki$.ta:).(po.to:).(ma.po:).ti] ‘we all had him and even a couple of fully ergative languages
ma-po-ti helped’ (Makushi, Kuikuro, in which the Set I system has
been entirely lost). Gildea (1998) provides a detailed
2. Words with at least one heavy (non-CV) syllable.
account of this diachronic development.
kin-eraht -e [(ki$.ne:).(rah).(te.po:).ti] ‘he made them all
po-ti be found’ Underived adverbs usually take no morphology
mi-repent -
e
[(mi.re:).(pen).(te.te:).ne] ‘you all paid/ other than one nominalizing suffix. There are many
t -ne
e rewarded him’ postpositions, often formed with smaller locative or
m-ait -po-
e [(mai).(te.po:).te.ne] ‘you all had it directional elements; they can take the same person-
t -n
e e pushed’
marking prefixes as nouns, and (usually) the same
a
Iambic feet are enclosed in parenthesis. Dots ¼ syllable nominalizing suffix as adverbs. There are many par-
boundaries; hyphens ¼ morpheme boundaries. ticles in several syntactic subclasses and with various

Table 2 A typical Cariban pronominal system: Kashuyana

Third person Inanimate Animate Other persons Sing. Pl.

Sing. Pl. Sing. Pl.

Anaphoric iro iro-tomu noro norojami 1 owi

Demonstrative
Proximal soro soro-tomu mosoro mo tsari 2 omoro omjari
Medial moro moro-tomu moki mokjari 1þ2 kumoro kimjari
Distal moni mon-tomu mokiro mokjari 1þ3 amna
202 Cariban Languages

Table 3 Cariban person-marking systems

Conservative (Set I) system: Karinya Innovative system: Makushi

IP 2P 1 þ 2P 3P (SA) S P A

1A k- s(i)- B- 1 u- u(j)- -u-ja

2A k- m(i)- m- 2 a- a(j)- -B-ja
1 þ 2A kis(i)- kit- 1þ2 i- i(t)-/ B- -i-ja
3A B-/j- a(j)- k- n(i)- n(i)- 3Refl ti- t(i)- -ti(u)-ja
(SP) B-/ j- a(j)- k- n(i)-

semantic and pragmatic contents (diminutives, evi- Subordinate clauses are usually based on deverbal
dentials, modals, etc.; cf. Hoff, 1986, 1990, for the nominals or adverbials. In some languages, there
Karinya case). are finite subordinate clauses (Panare, Tamanaku,
Class-changing morphology is quite rich. Verbs Yukpa, Tiriyo). The sentences below exemplify rela-
have many nominalizing affixes (‘actual’ vs. ‘habitual’ tive clauses (in brackets): nominalizations (4) and
or ‘potential’ A, P, S; circumstance; action) and also finite clauses with relativizing particles (5).
adverbial-ized forms (participial, temporal, modal,
(4) kaikui e-wa:re, [pahko (Tiriyo)
etc.). There also are affixes for intransitivizing, tran- dog 2-known.to father
sitivizing and causativizing verb stems (according to i-n-tu:ka-hpe]?
their valency). There are several noun verbalizers (in- 3-PAT.NMLZR-beat-PAST
choative: ‘to produce/have N’; privative: ‘to de-N X’; ‘Do you know the dog that my father beat?’
dative: ‘to provide X with N’). (author’s data)
Syntax (5) a. t onkai pe it-et eti pare (Tamanaku)
which 3-name priest
Cariban languages are famous as examples of the rare [n-epu-i net i]?
OVS word order (Derbyshire, 1977), with Hishkar- 3-come-PAST RELAT
yana as the first case study. ‘What is the name of the priest who has (just) come?’
(Gilij, 1782: III, 176)
(1) toto j-oska-je okoje (Hishkaryana)
b. ake peru [kat amo¼n woneta] (Yukpa)
man LINKER -bite-PAST snake
that dog RELAT you¼DAT 1.talk
‘The snake bit the man.’
sa¼ne siiw
(Derbyshire, 1979: 87)
thus¼3.be white
Tight syntactic constituents are few: most lan- ‘The dog that I talked to you about was white.’
guages have only OV-phrases (only with third-person (author’s data)
A and P), possessive phrases (possessor-possessed), With verbs of motion, a special deverbal
and postpositional phrases. There are no modifier (supine) form is used to indicate the purpose of the
slots: ‘modification’ is carried out by the apposition displacement.
of syntactically independent but pragmatically core-
ferential nominals (e.g., the woman, that one, the tall (6) epi-he wi-te-jai (Wayana)
one, the one with beads instead of that tall woman bathe-SUPINE 1-go-PRESENT
with beads). Equative clauses can have a copula, but ‘I am going (somewhere) to bathe.’
(Jackson, 1972: 60)
verbless clauses also occur:
(2) tuhu ire (Bakairi)
stone this Lexicon and Semantics
‘This is a stone.’
Cariban languages have few number words, usually
(author’s data)
not specifically numerical (one ¼ alone, lonely;
Negation is based on a special adverbial form of the two ¼ a pair, together; three ¼ a few); higher numbers
verb, derived with a negative suffix (usually -pira, are expressed with (often not fully conventionalized)
-pra, -hra, -ra, etc.), in a copular clause: expressions based on words for hand, foot, person or
(3) isapokara on-ene-pira aken (Apalai) body, or are borrowings. Spatial postpositions often
lizard.sp 3NEG-see-NEG 1:be:PAST distinguish: vertical support (‘on’), containment
‘I did not see a jacuraru lizard.’ (‘in’), attachment/adhesion, Ground properties (‘in
(Lit. lizard not-seeing-it I-was) open space,’ ‘on summit of,’ ‘in water’), and complex
(Koehn and Koehn, 1986: 64) spatial configurations (‘astraddle,’ ‘parallel to,’

‘piercing’). Some languages have ‘mental state’ post-
positions (desiderative: want; cognoscitive: know;
protective: protective toward; etc.). There are differ-
ent verbs for eating, depending on what is eaten; to
every verb corresponds a noun designating the kind of
food in question (e.g., Tiriyo ene ‘eat meat,’ oti ‘meat
food’; enapi ‘eat fruits, vegetables’, nnapi ‘fruit, vege-
table food’; eku ‘eat bread’, uru ‘bread food’; aku ‘eat
nuts,’ mme ‘nut food’).
See also: Brazil: Language Situation; Colombia: Language
Situation; Ergativity; French Guiana: Language Situation;
Guyana: Language Situation; Rhythm; Rhythmic Alterna-
tions; Suriname: Language Situation; Venezuela: Lan-
guage Situation; Word Stress.
Bibliography
Adam L (1893). Matériaux pour servir à l’établissement
d’une grammaire comparée des dialectes de la famille
caribe. Bibliothèque Linguistique Américaine, vol. 17.
Paris: J. Maisonneuve.
Carlin E B (2004). A grammar of Trio. Duisburger
Arbeiten zur Sprach- und Kulturwissenschaft, vol. 55.
Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang (Europäischer Verlag
der Wissenschaften).
Derbyshire D C (1977). ‘Word order universals and the exis-
tence of OVS languages.’ Linguistic Inquiry 8, 590–599.
Derbyshire D C (1979). Hixkaryana. Lingua Descriptive
Series, vol. 1. Amsterdam: North-Holland.
Derbyshire D C (1985). Hixkaryana and linguistic typol-
ogy. Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics and the
University of Texas at Arlington.
Derbyshire D C (1999). ‘Carib.’ In Dixon R M W &
Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) The Amazonian languages.
Cambridge Language Surveys. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 23–64.
Derbyshire D C & Pullum G K (eds.) (1986–1998). Hand-
book of Amazonian languages (4 vols). Berlin: Mouton
de Gruyter.
Durbin M (1977). ‘A survey of the Cariban language fami-
ly.’ In Basso E (ed.) Carib speaking Indians, culture, and
society. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Gildea S (1995). ‘A comparative description of syllable
reduction in the Cariban language family.’ International
Journal of American Linguistics 61, 62–102.
Gildea S (1998). On reconstructing grammar: comparative
Cariban morphosyntax. Oxford Studies in Anthropolog-
ical Linguistics, vol. 18. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Gilij, Filippo Salvadore (1780–1783). Saggio di storia
americana (4 vols). Rome: Luigi Salvioni (Stampator
Vaticano).
Girard V (1971). ‘Proto-Carib phonology.’ Ph. D. diss.,
University of California, Berkeley.
de Goeje C H (1909). Études linguistiques caraı̈bes. Verhan-
delingen der Koninklijke Akademie van Wetenschappen,
Cariban Languages 203
Letterkunde, nieuwe reeks, deel X, no. 3. Amsterdam:
Johannes Müller.
de Goeje C H (1946). Études linguistiques caraı̈bes, vol. 2.
Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandsche Akade-
mie van Wetenschappen, Letterkunde, nieuwe reeks,
deel IL, no. 2. Amsterdam: N. V. Noord-Hollandsche
Uitgeversmaatschappij.
Greenberg J H (1987). Language in the Americas. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
Hawkins R E (1998). ‘Wai Wai.’ In Derbyshire & Pullum
(eds.). 25–224.
Hoff B J (1968). The Carib language. The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff.
Hoff B J (1986). ‘Evidentiality in Carib: particles,
affixes, and a variant of Wackernagel’s law.’ Lingua 69,
49–103.
Hoff B J (1990). ‘The non-modal particles of the Carib
language of Surinam and their influence on constituent
order.’ In Payne D L (ed.) Amazonian linguistics: studies
in lowland South American languages. Austin: University
of Texas Press. 495–541.
Jackson W S (1972). ‘A Wayana grammar.’ In Grimes J E
(ed.) Languages of the Guianas. Norman: Summer
Institute of Linguistics and University of Oklahoma
Press. 47–77.
Kaufman T K (1994). ‘The native languages of South
America.’ In Moseley C & Asher R E (eds.) Atlas of the
world’s languages. New York: Routledge. 46–76.
Koehn E & Koehn S (1986). ‘Apalai.’ In Derbyshire &
Pullum (eds.). 33–127.
Loukotka Č (1968). Classification of South American
Indian languages. Los Angeles: Latin American Center,
University of California.
Meira S (1998). Rhythmic stress in Tiriyó. International
Journal of American Linguistics 64, 352–378.
Meira S (1999). ‘Syllable reduction and ghost syllables in
Tiriyó.’ In Hwang S J & Lommel A R (eds.) XXV LACUS
Forum. Fullerton, CA: The Linguistic Association of
Canada and the United States (LACUS). 125–131.
Meira S (2000). A reconstruction of Proto-Taranoan: pho-
nology and morphology. Munich: LINCOM Europa.
Meira S (2005). A grammar of Tiriyó. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Meira S & Franchetto B (2005). ‘The southern Cariban
languages and the Cariban family.’ International Journal
of American Linguistics. 71, 127–192.
Muller M C M (1994). Diccionario ilustrado panare-
español, español-panare. Caracas: Comisión Quinto
Centenario, Gráficas Armitano.
Rodrigues A D (1985). ‘Evidence for Tupi-Cariban relation-
ship.’ In Klein H & Stark L (eds.) South American lan-
guages: retrospect and prospect. Austin: University of
Texas Press. 371–404.
Shafer R (1963). Vergleichende Phonetik der karaibischen
Sprachen. Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse
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204 Caribbean Lexicography
Caribbean Lexicography
L Winer, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Glossaries of ‘creolisms’ of the Caribbean are found
in works ranging from travelogues, novels, and cook-
books to scientific studies, particularly of local flora
and fauna. Amateur word lists of varying lengths
have also been written for several of the Caribbean
territories. These have words and definitions, some-
times with proposed historical derivations, and often
include proverbs. The best known are Ottley’s series
on ‘Trinibagianese’ (1965–1967), and Mendes’s Cote-
ci cote-la, (1986, 2000) both for Trinidad and Tobago
(see also Baptiste, 1993; Haynes, 1987), but these
are found for other territories including Jamaica
(Maxwell, 1981; Rosen, 1987), Barbados (Collymore,
1955–1970), Belize (McKesey, 1974), Antigua
(Christian, 1993), and the Virgin Islands (Seaman,
1967–1976; Valls, 1981). Some word lists focus on
contributing languages, for example, Hindi (Mahabir
and Mahabir, 1990) and French (Ryan, 1985) or
specific domains, for example, dancehall (Francis-
Jackson, 1995). These works of ‘local slang’ are
generally intended for a popular, sometimes tourist,
audience, often more to amuse than to inform. They
are of very limited scope, have no standardized or
consistent orthography, and though valuable, are
often inaccurate, especially for derivations.
Scholarly lexicography in the English Caribbean
began with the landmark Dictionary of Jamaican
English (Cassidy and Le Page, 1967, 1980). This was
the first regional dictionary to be prepared on the
historical principles set down by the Oxford English
Dictionary; it remains a valuable resource and model.
Appearing after this are the Dictionary of Bahamian
English (Holm with Shilling, 1982) and the Dictio-
nary of Caribbean English Usage (Allsopp, 1996); the
latter is designed to cover the entire English Caribbean
beyond Jamaica. Both include illustrative citations
and regional designations where known; the latter in-
cludes some historical information and guidelines for
‘correct’ usage. A historical dictionary for Trinidad
and Tobago is in preparation (Winer, forthcoming).
These dictionaries are all intended to have popular
appeal and educational applications, as well as pro-
viding information for scholars and readers, especially
in linguistics and literature.
Three concerns of current lexicography in the
English Caribbean are of particular importance. The
first is boundaries of inclusion (Winer, 1993: 48–57),
which are often difficult to determine when so many
words are shared by a regional English creole and an
international standard English. For example, Where
words have diverged in meaning, for example, miser-
able E. ‘unhappy’ vs. CE ‘badly behaved,’ or are
commonly used in the Caribbean but are now archaic
in SE, for example, pappyshow ‘object of ridicule,’
it is reasonable to include them. A common problem
of amateur works is the inclusion of words as ‘local’
that are in fact informal or colloquial forms of
standard English, for example, jack up prices, bam-
boozle.
The second problem is the lack of an agreed-upon
standardized orthography, either within or between
countries, with some people favoring a more phonetic
approach, and some a more historical one (hampered
by frequent uncertainty as to origin) (Winer, 1990).
Finally, although all lexicographers may wish for
better sources of etymologies, there is a particular
lack of appropriate linguistic resources for a number
of the major Amerindian and African languages espe-
cially relevant to the development of language in the
Caribbean.
See also: Barbados: Language Situation; Belize: Lan-
guage Situation; Jamaica: Language Situation; Trinidad
and Tobago: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Allsopp R (1996). Dictionary of Caribbean English usage.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Baptiste R (1993). Trini talk: a dictionary of words and
proverbs of Trinidad & Tobago. Port of Spain, Trinidad:
Caribbean Information Systems & Services.
Cassidy F G & Le Page R (1967, rev. ed. 1980). Dictionary
of Jamaican English. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Christian I (ed.) (1993). Dictionary of Anguillian language.
The Anguilla Printers: Government of Anguilla, Adult
and Continuing Education Unit.
Collymore F A (1955–1970). Barbadian dialect (5 edns.).
The Barbados National Trust.
Francis-Jackson C (1995). The official dancehall diction-
ary: a guide to Jamaican dialect and dancehall slang.
Kingston: Kingston Publishers.
Haynes M (1987). Trinidad and Tobago dialect (plus). San
Fernando, Trinidad: Haynes.
Holm J & Shilling A (1982). Dictionary of Bahamian
English. Cold Spring, NY: Lexik House.
Mahabir K & Mahabir S (1990). A dictionary of common
Trinidad Hindi. El Dorado, Trinidad: Chakra Publishing.
Maxwell K (1981). How to speak Jamaican. Kingston:
Jamrite Publications.
McKesey G (1974). The Belizean lingo. Belize: National
Printers Ltd.
Mendes J (1986, rev. ed. 2000). Cote ci, cote la: Trinidad &
Tobago dictionary. Port of Spain, Trinidad: Medianet.

Ottley C R (1965–1967). Creole talk (Trinibagianese)
of Trinidad and Tobago: words, phrases and sayings
peculiar to the country (4 vols). (rev. 1–vol. ed. 1971)
Trinidad: Ottley.
Rosen B (1987). Speak Jamaican. Kingston, Jamaica:
Newmarket Investment Co.
Ryan P (1985). Macafouchette. Trinidad: Ryan.
Seaman G A (1967–1976). Virgin Islands dictionary. St.
Croix: Seaman.
Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970)
T P Górski, University of Wrocław, Poland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Rudolf Carnap, born on May 18, 1891, in Wuppental
(Germany), was a philosopher, logician, and mathe-
matician. From 1910 to 1914 he studied philosophy,
mathematics, and physics at the University of Jena
and Freiburg, and took part in Frege’s courses on the
system of logic. Carnap planned to complete his dis-
sertation in physics on thermionic emission, but the
advent of World War I interrupted his studies. In 1917
he returned from the war and began to study the
theory of relativity in Berlin. The new dissertation
he developed dealt with an axiomatic system for the
physical theory of time and space (greatly inspired by
Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason). It was issued in 1922
under the title Der Raum.
In 1925 Carnap moved to Vienna to accept the post
of Assistant Professor at the University of Vienna, and
within the next few years he became one of the lea-
ders of the Vienna Circle. In 1931 he moved to Prague
to become Professor of Natural Philosophy and four
years later emigrated to the United States. He died on
September 14, 1970, in Santa Monica, California.
Carnap’s works deal mainly with semantics and
formal logic, and their application to the methodol-
ogy of sciences, and also the philosophy of sciences.
He researched as well the issue of the basis of mathe-
matics, the theory of probability, logical induction,
Table 1 Carnap’s classification of statements (formulas) in
scientific languages
Type of statement Observational Theoretical
terms terms
Logical statements No No
Purely theoretical No Yes
statements
Observational sentences Yes No
Rules of correspondence Yes Yes
Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970) 205
Valls L (1981). What a pistarckle: A glossary of Virgin
Islands English Creole. St. John USVI: Valls.
Winer L (1990). ‘Standardization of orthography of
the English Creole of Trinidad and Tobago.’ Language
Problems & Language Planning 14(3), 237–268.
Winer L (1993). Trinidad and Tobago, vol. 6: Varieties of
English around the world. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Winer L (forthcoming). Dictionary of the English/Creole of
Trinidad & Tobago. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
and the theory of time and space. As his philosophical
ideas developed, he underwent a profound change
from positivism to neopositivism. In his early works
he claimed that philosophical researches should
be limited to only the logical analysis of scientific
language to which he wanted to apply the tradi-
tional philosophy. At the same time, influenced by
Wittgenstein, Carnap criticized all kinds of metaphys-
ics, especially realism and idealism, which he called
scientific pseudo-problems. Metaphysical statements,
he claimed, are neither true nor false, but simply
devoid of sense; they are statements only from the
grammatical point of view, but logically, they are
not statements. Carnap’s classification of statements
(formulas) in scientific languages may be seen in
Table 1. The distinction between observational and
theoretical formulas, as presented above, led Carnap
to distinguish between two scientific laws: empirical
and theoretical.
Carnap’s radical ideas are strongly connected with
his view on verification of sentences, and with the
need to construct a common language for all empirical
sciences. Later, however, the idea of a common lan-
guage was replaced by a postulate of transformation
of (through either reducing or eliminating) the general
scientific terms into the language of classical physics.
In his last years his views were less categorical. He
formulated a kind of basis for the construction of a
scientific language, allowing for the use of scientific
languages constructed differently. Carnap tried to
combine his empiric attitude (connected with the sci-
ence of natural history) with phenomenalism (a ten-
dency of subjective treatment of experience). Thus,
his ideological metamorphosis added also to the de-
crease of the phenomenological approach.
Bibliography
Carnap R (1922). ‘Der Raum: Ein Beitrag zur Wissenschaft-
slehre.’ Dissertation. In Kant-Studien, Ergänzungshefte.
n. 56.

Ottley C R (1965–1967). Creole talk (Trinibagianese)
of Trinidad and Tobago: words, phrases and sayings
peculiar to the country (4 vols). (rev. 1–vol. ed. 1971)
Trinidad: Ottley.
Rosen B (1987). Speak Jamaican. Kingston, Jamaica:
Newmarket Investment Co.
Ryan P (1985). Macafouchette. Trinidad: Ryan.
Seaman G A (1967–1976). Virgin Islands dictionary. St.
Croix: Seaman.
Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970)
T P Górski, University of Wrocław, Poland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Rudolf Carnap, born on May 18, 1891, in Wuppental
(Germany), was a philosopher, logician, and mathe-
matician. From 1910 to 1914 he studied philosophy,
mathematics, and physics at the University of Jena
and Freiburg, and took part in Frege’s courses on the
system of logic. Carnap planned to complete his dis-
sertation in physics on thermionic emission, but the
advent of World War I interrupted his studies. In 1917
he returned from the war and began to study the
theory of relativity in Berlin. The new dissertation
he developed dealt with an axiomatic system for the
physical theory of time and space (greatly inspired by
Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason). It was issued in 1922
under the title Der Raum.
In 1925 Carnap moved to Vienna to accept the post
of Assistant Professor at the University of Vienna, and
within the next few years he became one of the lea-
ders of the Vienna Circle. In 1931 he moved to Prague
to become Professor of Natural Philosophy and four
years later emigrated to the United States. He died on
September 14, 1970, in Santa Monica, California.
Carnap’s works deal mainly with semantics and
formal logic, and their application to the methodol-
ogy of sciences, and also the philosophy of sciences.
He researched as well the issue of the basis of mathe-
matics, the theory of probability, logical induction,
Table 1 Carnap’s classification of statements (formulas) in
scientific languages
Type of statement Observational Theoretical
terms terms
Logical statements No No
Purely theoretical No Yes
statements
Observational sentences Yes No
Rules of correspondence Yes Yes
Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970) 205
Valls L (1981). What a pistarckle: A glossary of Virgin
Islands English Creole. St. John USVI: Valls.
Winer L (1990). ‘Standardization of orthography of
the English Creole of Trinidad and Tobago.’ Language
Problems & Language Planning 14(3), 237–268.
Winer L (1993). Trinidad and Tobago, vol. 6: Varieties of
English around the world. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Winer L (forthcoming). Dictionary of the English/Creole of
Trinidad & Tobago. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
and the theory of time and space. As his philosophical
ideas developed, he underwent a profound change
from positivism to neopositivism. In his early works
he claimed that philosophical researches should
be limited to only the logical analysis of scientific
language to which he wanted to apply the tradi-
tional philosophy. At the same time, influenced by
Wittgenstein, Carnap criticized all kinds of metaphys-
ics, especially realism and idealism, which he called
scientific pseudo-problems. Metaphysical statements,
he claimed, are neither true nor false, but simply
devoid of sense; they are statements only from the
grammatical point of view, but logically, they are
not statements. Carnap’s classification of statements
(formulas) in scientific languages may be seen in
Table 1. The distinction between observational and
theoretical formulas, as presented above, led Carnap
to distinguish between two scientific laws: empirical
and theoretical.
Carnap’s radical ideas are strongly connected with
his view on verification of sentences, and with the
need to construct a common language for all empirical
sciences. Later, however, the idea of a common lan-
guage was replaced by a postulate of transformation
of (through either reducing or eliminating) the general
scientific terms into the language of classical physics.
In his last years his views were less categorical. He
formulated a kind of basis for the construction of a
scientific language, allowing for the use of scientific
languages constructed differently. Carnap tried to
combine his empiric attitude (connected with the sci-
ence of natural history) with phenomenalism (a ten-
dency of subjective treatment of experience). Thus,
his ideological metamorphosis added also to the de-
crease of the phenomenological approach.
Bibliography
Carnap R (1922). ‘Der Raum: Ein Beitrag zur Wissenschaft-
slehre.’ Dissertation. In Kant-Studien, Ergänzungshefte.
n. 56.
206 Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970)
Carnap R (1934). Logische Syntax der Sprache (The logi-
cal syntax of language). New York: Humanities Press,
1937.
Carnap R (1935). Philosophy and logical syntax. London:
Kegan Paul.
Carnap R (1942). Introduction to semantics. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Carnap R (1943). Formalization of logics. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Carnap R (1947). Meaning and necessity: a study in seman-
tics and modal logic. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Carnap R (1950). Logical foundations of probability.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Carnap R (1952). The continuum of inductive methods.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Cartography: Semiotics
C De Sousa, University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee,
Milwaukee, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Maps suggest an intrinsic and largely unconscious
link between knowledge and visual representation
(pictures, diagrams, etc.), with one implying the
other. A map is a type of diagram that allows a user
to find places on terra firma through a drawing of
those places. Figure 1, for example, shows how to go
from one location (A) to another (B). The locations
are represented as points and the streets as lines
meeting at right angles. Getting to B involves traveling
west two blocks and north three blocks from location
A. Compass directions are specified as N ¼ north,
S ¼ south, E ¼ east, W ¼ west; and blocks with equally
calibrated units on the lines:
With such simple diagrammatic elements (points,
lines, etc.), it is actually possible to represent all kinds
of actual topographical spaces, in outline form. A map
Figure 1 Map of how to get from A to B.
Carnap R (1966). Philosophical foundations of physic.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Creath R (ed.) (1990). Dear Carnap, Dear Van: the Quine–
Carnap correspondence and related work. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Logic, language, and the structure of scientific theories:
Proceedings of the Carnap–Reichenbach Centennial,
University of Konstanz, May 21–24, 1991 (Pittsburgh,
PA: University of Pittsburgh Press/[Konstanz]: Universi-
tasverlag Konstanz, 1991).
Pasquinelli A (ed.) (1995). L’eredità di Rudolf Carnap:
Epistemologia, Filosofia delle Scienze, Filosofia del
Linguaggio. Bologna: CLUEB.
PSA 1970: Proceedings of the 1970 Biennial Meeting of the
Philosophy of Science Association: In Memory of Rudolf
Carnap. Dordrecht: D. Reidel.
can thus be defined, semiotically, as a diagrammatic
text constructed with elemental visual signifiers (see
Visual Semiotics) that are designed to indicate where
a topographical object (a place, a river, a mountain,
etc.) is located on terra firma, by using signifiers that
resemble the features they represent in schematic, or
in some cases, actual pictographic form. For example,
a small tree might stand for a forest, an orchard, or a
state park. But many signifiers have little resemblance
to the features they represent, as when a circle stands
for a city. The same sign may represent different
features on different maps. For example, a triangle
might represent a mobile home park on one map and
an eagle’s nest on another. Such differences make it
important to read the map ‘legend,’ as it is called, to
find out what each sign means on a particular map.
The relation of the elements to each other involves
‘scaling.’ A scale shows the mathematical relationship
by which distances on a map reduce actual distances
on Earth. Many maps illustrate scale by marking off
distances on a straight line. Each mark shows how
distance on the line corresponds to miles, kilometers,
or other units of measurement on Earth. Other maps
state the scale in words and figures. Such a scale
might appear as 1 inch: 16 miles. In this relationship,
1 inch (2.5 cm) on the map represents a distance of 16
miles (26 km).
Representative fractions are also used to show
scale. These indicate the number of distance units on
Earth represented by one unit on the map. In the
example above, where the scale is 1 inch: 16 miles,
the representative fraction would be 1:1 000 000 or
1/1 000 000, because there are 1 000 000 inches in 16
miles. The relationship remains the same for inches,
206 Carnap, Rudolf (1891–1970)
Carnap R (1934). Logische Syntax der Sprache (The logi-
cal syntax of language). New York: Humanities Press,
1937.
Carnap R (1935). Philosophy and logical syntax. London:
Kegan Paul.
Carnap R (1942). Introduction to semantics. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Carnap R (1943). Formalization of logics. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Carnap R (1947). Meaning and necessity: a study in seman-
tics and modal logic. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Carnap R (1950). Logical foundations of probability.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Carnap R (1952). The continuum of inductive methods.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Cartography: Semiotics
C De Sousa, University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee,
Milwaukee, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Maps suggest an intrinsic and largely unconscious
link between knowledge and visual representation
(pictures, diagrams, etc.), with one implying the
other. A map is a type of diagram that allows a user
to find places on terra firma through a drawing of
those places. Figure 1, for example, shows how to go
from one location (A) to another (B). The locations
are represented as points and the streets as lines
meeting at right angles. Getting to B involves traveling
west two blocks and north three blocks from location
A. Compass directions are specified as N ¼ north,
S ¼ south, E ¼ east, W ¼ west; and blocks with equally
calibrated units on the lines:
With such simple diagrammatic elements (points,
lines, etc.), it is actually possible to represent all kinds
of actual topographical spaces, in outline form. A map
Figure 1 Map of how to get from A to B.
Carnap R (1966). Philosophical foundations of physic.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Creath R (ed.) (1990). Dear Carnap, Dear Van: the Quine–
Carnap correspondence and related work. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Logic, language, and the structure of scientific theories:
Proceedings of the Carnap–Reichenbach Centennial,
University of Konstanz, May 21–24, 1991 (Pittsburgh,
PA: University of Pittsburgh Press/[Konstanz]: Universi-
tasverlag Konstanz, 1991).
Pasquinelli A (ed.) (1995). L’eredità di Rudolf Carnap:
Epistemologia, Filosofia delle Scienze, Filosofia del
Linguaggio. Bologna: CLUEB.
PSA 1970: Proceedings of the 1970 Biennial Meeting of the
Philosophy of Science Association: In Memory of Rudolf
Carnap. Dordrecht: D. Reidel.
can thus be defined, semiotically, as a diagrammatic
text constructed with elemental visual signifiers (see
Visual Semiotics) that are designed to indicate where
a topographical object (a place, a river, a mountain,
etc.) is located on terra firma, by using signifiers that
resemble the features they represent in schematic, or
in some cases, actual pictographic form. For example,
a small tree might stand for a forest, an orchard, or a
state park. But many signifiers have little resemblance
to the features they represent, as when a circle stands
for a city. The same sign may represent different
features on different maps. For example, a triangle
might represent a mobile home park on one map and
an eagle’s nest on another. Such differences make it
important to read the map ‘legend,’ as it is called, to
find out what each sign means on a particular map.
The relation of the elements to each other involves
‘scaling.’ A scale shows the mathematical relationship
by which distances on a map reduce actual distances
on Earth. Many maps illustrate scale by marking off
distances on a straight line. Each mark shows how
distance on the line corresponds to miles, kilometers,
or other units of measurement on Earth. Other maps
state the scale in words and figures. Such a scale
might appear as 1 inch: 16 miles. In this relationship,
1 inch (2.5 cm) on the map represents a distance of 16
miles (26 km).
Representative fractions are also used to show
scale. These indicate the number of distance units on
Earth represented by one unit on the map. In the
example above, where the scale is 1 inch: 16 miles,
the representative fraction would be 1:1 000 000 or
1/1 000 000, because there are 1 000 000 inches in 16
miles. The relationship remains the same for inches,

centimeters, miles, kilometers, or any other units of
measurement.
Given the obvious relevance of maps to semiotics,
it is somewhat surprising to find that genuine interest
on the part of semioticians in maps goes back only
to 1967, with the appearance of Bertin’s Sémiologie
graphique (1967). However, since then, interest has
burgeoned, as has interest in the use of semiotic theory
among cartographers (e.g., Casti, 2000; Foote, 1985,
1988; Hsu, 1979; Ljungsberg, 2002, 2004; Palek,
1991; Pravda, 1993, 1994; Schlichtmann, 1985,
1999a; Wood and Fels, 1986), leading to the material-
ization of a branch that is now called ‘cartosemiotics’
(Wolodtschenko, 1999). A general survey of cartose-
miotic literature can be found in Schlichtmann
(1999b).
Historical Background
As with any socially functional text, maps tend to
condition how groups perceive and interpret terri-
tories. To illustrate how a map can do this, consider
the technique of cylindrical projection in Western
mapmaking. Developed by the Flemish geographer
Gerardus Mercator (1512–1594), it consists of wrap-
ping a cylinder around the globe, making it touch
the equator, and then projecting (1) the lines of lati-
tude outward from the globe onto the cylinder as
lines parallel to the equator, and (2) the lines of
longitude outward onto the cylinder as lines parallel
to the prime meridian (the line that is designated
0! longitude, passing through the original site of
the Royal Greenwich Observatory in England). The
Figure 2 The Mercator projection.
Cartography: Semiotics 207
resulting two-dimensional map can be made to repre-
sent the world’s surface as a two-dimensional plane
figure such as a rectangle or an ellipse. Figure 2 is an
example of the latter.
Because of the curvature of the globe, the latitude
lines on the map nearest the poles appear closer to-
gether. This distortion makes the sizes of certain land-
masses appear smaller than they are. Indeed, the very
concept of ‘worldview’ derives from the fact that the
ways in which we come to ‘view the world’ are, in
part, a consequence of how that world is represented
for viewing by the maps we make of it.
Although modern technology now makes it easy to
construct three-dimensional and, thus, nondistorting
maps, traditionally the term ‘map’ has designated
a two-dimensional representation of an area; three-
dimensional maps are more accurately known as
‘models.’ All civilizations have developed mapmaking
techniques to meet a host of social needs. In many
cultures, these were elaborated and refined in tandem
with the rise and growth of the mathematical sciences.
Since Mercator invented the cylindrical projection
method, most mapmaking techniques have been de-
vised in accordance with the principles of Cartesian
coordinate geometry. This consists, essentially, of two
perpendicular number lines in a plane. Points of a
geometric figure are located in the plane by assigning
each point two coordinates (numbers) on the number
lines x and y. The x-coordinate, called the line of lati-
tude in cartography, gives the location of the point
along the horizontal number line. The y-coordinate,
called the line of longitude, locates the point along the
vertical number line.
208 Cartography: Semiotics
By convention, longitude is marked 180! east and
180! west from 0! at Greenwich, England. Latitude is
marked 90! north and 90! south from the 0! parallel
of the equator. Points on a map can be accurately
defined by giving degrees, minutes, and seconds for
both latitude and longitude. As mentioned, distances
are represented with the technique of ‘scaling,’ where-
by two points on the earth are converted to two
corresponding points on the map by means of a
scale: for example, a scale of 1:100 000 means that
one unit measured on the map (say 1 cm) represents
100 000 of the same units on the earth’s surface.
The varying heights of hills and mountains, and
the depths of valleys, are portrayed instead with the
technique known as ‘relief.’ In earlier maps, this
consisted in making small drawings of mountains
and valleys on the maps. But this was extremely
imprecise and thus came eventually to be supplanted
by the use of ‘contour lines.’ The shapes of these
lines provide accurate representations of the shapes
of hills and depressions, and the lines themselves
show actual elevations, so that closely spaced con-
tour lines indicate steep slopes. Other methods of
indicating elevation include the use of colors, tints,
hachures (short parallel lines), and shadings. When
colors are used for this purpose, a graded series of
tones is selected for coloring areas of similar eleva-
tions. Shadings or hachures, neither of which show
actual elevations, are more easily interpreted than
contour lines and are sometimes used in conjunc-
tion with them for achieving greater fidelity in repre-
sentation.
Figure 3 Ptolemy’s map of the world.
The first known maps were made by the Babylonians
around 2300 B.C. Carved on clay tablets, they consisted
largely of land surveys made for the purposes of taxa-
tion. More extensive regional maps, drawn on silk and
dating from the 2nd century B.C. , have been found in
China. The precursor of the modern map, however,
is believed to have been devised by the Greek philos-
opher Anaximander (ca. 611–ca. 547 B.C.). It was
circular and showed the known lands of the world
grouped around the Aegean Sea at the center and
surrounded by the ocean. Anaximander’s map con-
stituted one of the first attempts to think beyond
the immediate territorial boundaries of a particular
society – Greece – even though Anaximander located
the center of the universe in the Aegean Sea. Then,
around 200 B.C., the Greek geometer and geographer
Eratosthenes (276?–195? B.C.) introduced the tech-
nique of parallel lines to indicate latitude and longi-
tude, although they were not evenly and accurately
spaced. Eratosthenes’s map represented the known
world from present-day England in the northwest to
the mouth of the Ganges River in the east and to Libya
in the south. About 150 A.D., the Egyptian scholar
Ptolemy (ca. 100–ca. 170 A.D.) published the first text-
book in cartographic science, entitled Geographia.
Even though they contained a number of errors, his
were among the first maps of the world to be made
with mathematical principles. At about the same
time in China, mapmakers were also beginning to
use mathematically accurate grids for making maps.
Figure 3 is Ptolemy’s map of the world, which
may have been made by Ptolemy himself or by

cartographers who rediscovered his work after it had
been lost for many centuries.
The next step forward in cartography came in the
medieval era, when Arab seamen made highly accu-
rate navigational charts, with lines indicating the
bearings between ports. In the 15th century, influ-
enced by the publication of Ptolemy’s maps, European
mapmakers laid the foundations for the modern
science of cartography. In 1507, for instance, the
German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller (ca.
1470–ca. 1522) became the first to apply the name
America to the newly identified trans-Atlantic lands,
separating America into North and South – a car-
tographic tradition that continues to this day – and
differentiating the Americas from Asia. In 1570, the
first modern atlas – a collection of maps of the world
– was put together by the Flemish cartographer
Abraham Ortelius (1527–1598). The atlas, titled
Orbis Terrarum, contained 70 maps.
Undoubtedly, the most important development in
the 16th century came when Mercator developed the
technique of cylindrical projection in 1569, as men-
tioned above (Crane, 2002). This allowed cartogra-
phers to portray compass directions as lines, at the
expense, however, of the accurate representation of
relative size. By the 18th century, the modern-day
scientific principles of mapmaking were well estab-
lished. With the rise of nationalism in the 19th century,
a number of European countries conducted topograph-
ic surveys to determine political boundaries. In 1891,
the International Geographical Congress proposed
the political mapping of the entire world on a scale
of 1:1 000 000, a task that occupied cartographers for
over a century. Throughout the 20th century, advances
in aerial and satellite photography, and in computer
modeling of topographic surfaces, have greatly en-
hanced the versatility, functionality, accuracy, and
fidelity of mapmaking.
Today, the so-called Geographic Information Sys-
tem (GIS) consists of computers, computer programs,
and extremely large amounts of information, which is
stored as computer code and can include measure-
ments or photographs taken from land, sea, or space.
Cartographers can use GIS to produce many different
maps from the stored data. These are easily stored on
computer software or devices, such as CD-ROMs,
which enable people to choose exactly the area they
want to view, then print a map. There are now also in-
vehicle navigation systems that create maps to guide
drivers of moving vehicles. These systems constantly
track a vehicle’s location by using signals from a
group of space satellites called the Global Positioning
System (GPS). A computer in the vehicle combines the
position data with stored street map data and pro-
duces maps of the route to a destination. The maps
Cartography: Semiotics 209
change as the vehicle moves. Some in-vehicle sys-
tems show the map on a small screen. Other systems
produce spoken directions.
To navigate airplanes, aeronautical charts are used.
Depending on their level of certification, pilots use
Visual Flight Rules (VFR) or Instrument Flight Rules
(IFR) charts. VFR charts show landmarks that pilots
can see as they fly, such as roads, bridges, and towns.
These also show airports and indicate the heights
of mountains and other obstacles. IFR charts are
designed for radio navigation. These show the loca-
tion of transmitters of high-frequency radio signals.
Pilots use these signals to determine their position and
plot their course. Some airplanes are equipped with
computer systems that produce heads-up display
maps. These are projected near eye level where the
pilot can see them without looking down.
General Semiotic Considerations
How do we interpret a map? To say ‘I am here, but
I want to get to there’ on a map involves two levels of
interpretation: (1) that here and there are indexes
(signs indicating location) in map space standing for
points in real space, and (2) that the movement from
here to there on a map stands for the corresponding
movement between two points in real space through
scaling.
Modern mapmaking is based, as mentioned, on the
principles of Cartesian geometry, which segment the
map space into determinable points and calculable
scaled distances. The traditional maps of North
American aboriginal peoples, on the other hand, are
designed to show the interconnectedness among the
parts within the map space through a distortion of
distance, angulation, and shape, not through segmen-
tation and scaling. Western maps represent the world
as an agglomeration of points, lines, and parts,
related to each other in terms of the mathematics of
the Cartesian plane; aboriginal maps represent it
instead as a holistic, unsegmentable entity.
The two types of mapmaking systems thus reveal
different worldviews. These have had specific ‘conse-
quences,’ such as village and city design. Cartesian
mapmaking has clearly influenced the design of
modern cities. Not only does the layout of the city
of New York, for example, mirror a Cartesian map,
but the city also names its streets largely in terms of
the grid system: for example, 52nd and 4th refers
to the intersection point of two perpendicular lines
in the city grid. In a fundamental semiotic sense,
such cities are the ‘iconic byproducts’ of the world-
view that has been enshrined into groupthink by
the widespread use of grid maps since the early 16th
century.
210 Cartography: Semiotics
As representations of terra firma, maps are also
‘intellectual codes’ and can thus be used as both navi-
gational and exploratory models of the world. In the
same way that the sciences of geometry and trigo-
nometry have allowed human beings to solve engi-
neering problems since ancient times, the science of
cartography has allowed explorers to solve naviga-
tion and exploration problems with amazing accura-
cy. Exploration involves determining position and
direction. Position is a point on the earth’s surface
that can be identified in terms of a grid or coordinate
system. Direction is the position of one point relative
to another within the system. The shortest distance
between two points is a straight line, and since any
line in the plane is a hypotenuse, then its length can be
determined easily by the Pythagorean theorem. In this
way, maps have allowed navigators to fix points and
determine distances to regions of the plane (i.e., the
earth’s surface). Explorers setting out on a journey
may not know what they will encounter along the
way, nor will they know in advance if they will reach
a land mass or a body of water. But they can still take
that journey with a high degree of assurance that they
will be able to predict where they are on terra firma.
Exploration is ancient. According to many archae-
ologists and historians, it began approximately 3000
years ago in the area of the eastern Mediterranean
Sea. Since then nearly every portion of the earth’s land
surface has been explored and mapped. Space pho-
tography and advanced measurement technology, in-
cluding a laser reflector placed on the moon, have
made possible extremely precise measurements of
the earth’s surfaces. Considerable work is now being
carried out to investigate the vast regions that are
under the seas.
What is even more remarkable is that cartography
has permitted us to describe the positions of heavenly
bodies and to calculate their distances from Earth
with accuracy. Suffice it to say here that mapping
outer space involves the use of techniques that corre-
spond to terrestrial point fixing in terms of latitude
and longitude lines. Simply put, the positions of stars
relative to one another are regarded as points on a
celestial map; the motion of the sun, the moon,
and the planets is then indicated as a mean rate of
progression across the celestial space. It is truly mind-
boggling to think that with the aid of a simple repre-
sentational device (the map), we have already been
able to set foot on the moon and will no doubt be able
to visit other places in the skies in the not-too-distant
future.
As a final word on the navigational uses of maps,
the recent development of computer systems that are
used in advanced traffic management to improve
traffic control merits some consideration here. Traffic
along major highways in some cities is monitored by
remote cameras, radar, or sensors in the roadway.
A central computer system analyzes the information.
If roads are congested, traffic flow can be improved
by automatically adjusting traffic-signal timing,
controlling traffic flow on freeway ramps, or
providing information to drivers by means of elec-
tronic signs along the roads. Advanced traveler-
information systems are also currently available in
some automobiles. These are navigational systems
into which drivers enter their destination. An elec-
tronic map then displays the best route on a small
screen, or a synthesized voice provides directions
along the route, including directions on when to
turn. These systems use a transponder, or a transmit-
ting and receiving device, in the vehicle and a satellite-
based GPS to pinpoint the exact location of the vehi-
cle along its route. When this navigation system is
coupled with cellular-radio technology, it can be used
to signal a central dispatcher in case of an emergency.
Maps as Texts
Reading maps constitutes a culture-specific form of
text-interpretation. A map of New York City would
probably not be interpreted as a map by a nomad
from the north of Iraq or by an Inuit hunter in Nuna-
vut. A map is identified as such because the visual
signifiers that compose it (lines, colors, shapes, and so
on) are understood as topographical elements. Like
any text (see Texts: Semiotic Theory) understanding
that these elements are part of a whole implies under-
standing the cartographic code – which in the case of
Western maps is Cartesian in nature. Map reading is
thus a culture-based text decipherment process, in
which the reader constructs the meaning of the map
out of the elements that have been assigned specific
roles and positions on the text according to the posi-
tion and relationships between them in the real
world. As Wood and Fels (1986) argued, every map
is a synthesis of signs and a sign in itself – an artifact
of depiction of referents and an instrument of pro-
moting worldview. Like any other kind of text, it is a
product of a specific code – a set of conventions that
prescribe relations of content and expression in given
contexts.
As noted above, some of the elements that consti-
tute a map text include combinations of lines, shapes,
and colors to denote road types, green spaces, lakes,
and other water bodies, together with miscellaneous
types of buildings. The relationships between these
elements directly correspond to relationships between
the objects and spaces in the real world. A map
reflects the real world’s structure in the way that the
signifiers are combined together – buildings don’t

overlap, they are not built in the middle of roads,
there is no parkland in the middle of a lake, and so on.
Like any text, moreover, a map is created with an
audience in mind, unless it is a personal map. Thus,
once the map is finished, the author relinquishes his
or her rights to the interpretation of the map, and the
text belongs to the audience, which ‘re-writes it,’ ‘re-
fashions’ it, or ‘adds to’ it to suit its specific interpre-
tive needs. If we know the audience for which the
map was made, and we compare it to maps made for
other audiences, the differences between the two can
tell us a lot about the author’s intentions, the social
situation of the audiences, and the type of power
discourse that the map supports or undermines.
A map is supposed to be denotative in that it must
resemble the area it represents as closely as possible.
Yet, as Derrida (1976) cogently argued in reference to
any text, the actual social meanings of maps are
constantly ‘slipping away’ from each other, constant-
ly shifting and changing so that they can never be
exactly determined. The slippage in this case is due
to the fact that a map is the simplification of a com-
plex topographical object, either drawn on paper or
modeled on computer with the aid of photography
(which provides perspective).
The modern history of scientific cartography has,
in fact, revolved around attempts to solve the slippage
problem. To represent the entire surface of the earth
without distortion requires a spherical globe. A flat
map cannot accurately represent the earth’s rounded
surface except for very small areas where the curva-
ture is negligible. To accurately display large or medi-
um sized parts of the earth’s surface a map must be
drawn with distortions of areas, distances, and direc-
tions. Various projection techniques are used to pre-
pare flat maps of the earth’s surface. These are
classified as geometric or analytic depending on the
technique used to develop them. Geometric projec-
tions are classified based on the type of surface on
which the map is assumed to be developed (i.e., cylin-
ders, cones, or planes), while analytical projections
are developed by mathematical computation.
Solving the slippage problem has been greatly
assisted, needless to say, by technological innovations
since World War II. Perhaps most important has been
the use of remote-sensing techniques that gather in-
formation about an area from far above the ground
via aerial and satellite photography. Improvements in
satellite technology, computer software, and the use
of satellite triangulation have substantially improved
the accuracy of remote-sensing techniques and of
today’s maps.
The foundation of a modern map is a careful survey
giving geographical locations and relations of many
points in the area being mapped. Nearly all maps
Cartography: Semiotics 211
developed today make use of both remote-sensing
and traditional land-surveying information. Once
the information is collected, the map is carefully
planned with regard to its final use, so that the infor-
mation can be rendered clearly and accurately. The
collected surveys and remote-sensed data are then
used to enter a large number of points on a grid of
crossed lines corresponding to the projection chosen
for the map. Elevations are determined and contour
lines, roads, and rivers are drawn. Final preparation
of a map for printing begins by making a series of
sheets, one for each color used on the map, that are
then scribed onto the surface by a sharp etching tool.
Each of these sheets is then used as a negative from
which a lithographic plate is made.
But despite all the technological innovations, a map
is still a text and, thus, subject to slippage, albeit of a
different kind. Reading precisely made maps still
requires knowing that the elements on them are sig-
nifiers that cohere into an overall representation of
space, even if the representation has largely eliminated
scale and angle distortions. A device such as a
continuous-curve plotter enables a computer to
draw accurate maps from the stored data. Comput-
er-generated maps can also be displayed on a video
screen, where an operator can easily make alterations
in the content. Because such maps, and each
incorporated change, can be stored in the computer,
they are useful in furnishing an animated picture of a
change over a period of time.
Conclusion
The map is an important tool, not only for navigation
and exploration purposes, but also for cultural iden-
tification purposes. In addition to providing a wealth
of factual information, the map permits visual com-
parison between areas because it may be designed to
indicate, by means of symbols, not only the location
but also the characteristics of geographic features of
an area and, thus, to give it a representation. Like any
‘memory code,’ such as a history book, this can then
be stored for preservation. No wonder, then, that
geographers have developed a standard pattern of
map symbols for identifying such cultural features
as homes, factories, churches, dams, bridges, tunnels,
railways, highways, travel routes, mines, farms, and
grazing lands.
As map viewers, we think that we have
‘topographical reality’ laid bare before us. But, as
cartosemiotics has shown (and as has been argued in
this article), understanding maps involves a process of
text decipherment on the part of reader – even if the
‘reader’ is a computer (which still has to be pro-
grammed by a human being). Studying maps from a
212 Cartography: Semiotics
semiotic point of view leads to a complex picture of
the possibilities and the limitations that the map
offers (Foote, 1985, 1988). Technologically made
maps belong to a contemporary code of mapmaking
that involves the use of informatics. But informatics
itself is a code of its own. In effect, the lesson to be
learned from studying maps semiotically is that no
matter how accurate we try to make our scientific
texts, they are inevitably subject to human interpreta-
tion in psychological, historical, and cultural terms.
See also: Iconicity; Indexicality: Theory; Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Texts: Semiotic Theory; Visual Semiotics;
Whorf, Benjamin Lee (1897–1941).
Bibliography
Bertin J (1967). Sémiologie graphique. The Hague: Mouton.
Casti E (2000). Reality as representation: the semiotics of
cartography and the generation of meaning. Bergamo:
Bergamo University Press.
Crane N (2002). Mercator: the man who mapped the planet.
New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson.
Derrida J (1976). Of grammatology. Spivak G C (trans.).
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press.
Foote K E (1985). ‘Space, territory, and landscape: the bor-
derlands of geography and semiotics.’ Semiotic Inquiry 5,
159–174.
Foote K E (1988). ‘Object as memory: the material founda-
tions of human semiosis.’ Semiotica 69, 243–268.
Case
B J Blake, LaTrobe University, Bundoora, Victoria,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Case Marking
Case is essentially a system of marking dependent
nouns for the type of relationship they bear to their
heads. Traditionally, the term refers to inflectional
marking, and, typically, case marks the relationship
of a noun to a verb at the clause level or of a noun to a
preposition, postposition, or another noun at the
phrase level. Straightforward examples of case sys-
tems can be found in the Dravidian languages.
Table 1 shows the set of case forms for the noun
makan ‘son’ in Malayalam.
The nominative is the citation form and is used for
the subject of a clause. The accusative is used for the
Hsu M-L (1979). ‘The cartographer’s conceptual process
and thematic symbolization.’ The American Cartographer
6, 117–127.
Ljungberg C (2002). ‘City maps: the cartosemiotic connec-
tion.’ In Simpkins S & Deely J (eds.) Semiotics 2001.
193–205.
Ljungberg C (2004). ‘Logical aspects of maps.’ Semiotica
148, 413–437.
Palek B (1991). ‘Semiotics and cartography.’ In Sebeok T A
& Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) Recent developments in theory
and history. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 465–491.
Pravda J (1993). ‘Map language.’ Cartographica 30, 12–14.
Pravda J (ed.) (1994). Cartographic thinking and map se-
miotics. Special issue of Geographia Slovaca (5). Brati-
slava: Slovenská Akademia vied Geograficky Ústav.
Robinson A H & Petchenik B B (1976). The nature of maps.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Schlichtmann H (1985). ‘Characteristic traits of the semiotic
system: map symbolism.’ The Cartographic Journal 22,
23–30.
Schlichtmann H (1999a). ‘Map symbolism revisited: units,
order and contexts.’ Geographia Slovaca 5, 47–62.
Schlichtmann H (ed.) (1999b). Map semiotics around the
world. International Cartographic Association.
Turnbull D (1989). Maps are territories. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Wolodtschenko A (1999). ‘Cartosemiotics: component
of theoretical cartography.’ Geographia Slovaca 5,
63–85.
Wood D & Fels J (1986). ‘Design on signs: myth and
meaning in maps.’ Cartographica 23, 54–103.
direct object and the dative for the indirect object (the
recipient of a verb of giving). The genitive expresses
the possessor (makanre peena ‘son’s pen’) and the
sociative (alternatively comitative) expresses the no-
tion of ‘being in the company of’. The locative
expresses location, and the instrumental expresses
the instrument, as in ‘cut with a knife’ and the agent
of the passive. The ablative expresses ‘from’. It is built
Table 1 Malayalam case system
Nominative makan
Accusative makane
Dative makanne
Genitive makanre
Sociative makanoo<e
Locative makanil
Instrumental makanaal
Ablative makanilninne
212 Cartography: Semiotics
semiotic point of view leads to a complex picture of
the possibilities and the limitations that the map
offers (Foote, 1985, 1988). Technologically made
maps belong to a contemporary code of mapmaking
that involves the use of informatics. But informatics
itself is a code of its own. In effect, the lesson to be
learned from studying maps semiotically is that no
matter how accurate we try to make our scientific
texts, they are inevitably subject to human interpreta-
tion in psychological, historical, and cultural terms.
See also: Iconicity; Indexicality: Theory; Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Texts: Semiotic Theory; Visual Semiotics;
Whorf, Benjamin Lee (1897–1941).
Bibliography
Bertin J (1967). Sémiologie graphique. The Hague: Mouton.
Casti E (2000). Reality as representation: the semiotics of
cartography and the generation of meaning. Bergamo:
Bergamo University Press.
Crane N (2002). Mercator: the man who mapped the planet.
New York: Weidenfeld & Nicholson.
Derrida J (1976). Of grammatology. Spivak G C (trans.).
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press.
Foote K E (1985). ‘Space, territory, and landscape: the bor-
derlands of geography and semiotics.’ Semiotic Inquiry 5,
159–174.
Foote K E (1988). ‘Object as memory: the material founda-
tions of human semiosis.’ Semiotica 69, 243–268.
Case
B J Blake, LaTrobe University, Bundoora, Victoria,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Case Marking
Case is essentially a system of marking dependent
nouns for the type of relationship they bear to their
heads. Traditionally, the term refers to inflectional
marking, and, typically, case marks the relationship
of a noun to a verb at the clause level or of a noun to a
preposition, postposition, or another noun at the
phrase level. Straightforward examples of case sys-
tems can be found in the Dravidian languages.
Table 1 shows the set of case forms for the noun
makan ‘son’ in Malayalam.
The nominative is the citation form and is used for
the subject of a clause. The accusative is used for the
Hsu M-L (1979). ‘The cartographer’s conceptual process
and thematic symbolization.’ The American Cartographer
6, 117–127.
Ljungberg C (2002). ‘City maps: the cartosemiotic connec-
tion.’ In Simpkins S & Deely J (eds.) Semiotics 2001.
193–205.
Ljungberg C (2004). ‘Logical aspects of maps.’ Semiotica
148, 413–437.
Palek B (1991). ‘Semiotics and cartography.’ In Sebeok T A
& Umiker-Sebeok J (eds.) Recent developments in theory
and history. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 465–491.
Pravda J (1993). ‘Map language.’ Cartographica 30, 12–14.
Pravda J (ed.) (1994). Cartographic thinking and map se-
miotics. Special issue of Geographia Slovaca (5). Brati-
slava: Slovenská Akademia vied Geograficky Ústav.
Robinson A H & Petchenik B B (1976). The nature of maps.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Schlichtmann H (1985). ‘Characteristic traits of the semiotic
system: map symbolism.’ The Cartographic Journal 22,
23–30.
Schlichtmann H (1999a). ‘Map symbolism revisited: units,
order and contexts.’ Geographia Slovaca 5, 47–62.
Schlichtmann H (ed.) (1999b). Map semiotics around the
world. International Cartographic Association.
Turnbull D (1989). Maps are territories. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Wolodtschenko A (1999). ‘Cartosemiotics: component
of theoretical cartography.’ Geographia Slovaca 5,
63–85.
Wood D & Fels J (1986). ‘Design on signs: myth and
meaning in maps.’ Cartographica 23, 54–103.
direct object and the dative for the indirect object (the
recipient of a verb of giving). The genitive expresses
the possessor (makanre peena ‘son’s pen’) and the
sociative (alternatively comitative) expresses the no-
tion of ‘being in the company of’. The locative
expresses location, and the instrumental expresses
the instrument, as in ‘cut with a knife’ and the agent
of the passive. The ablative expresses ‘from’. It is built
Table 1 Malayalam case system
Nominative makan
Accusative makane
Dative makanne
Genitive makanre
Sociative makanoo<e
Locative makanil
Instrumental makanaal
Ablative makanilninne
 Case 213

on the locative, and some linguists would take a form
like makanilninne to consist of the locative plus the
postposition ninne.
Malayalam and the other Dravidian languages
provide good examples of case systems since these
languages are agglutinative and the case marking
(-e accusative, -il locative, etc.) can easily be isolated.
Moreover, the case marking is consistent across sin-
gular and plural. Plural is marked as a first-order
suffix between the stem and the case marking, as in
the following:
(1) Kappal tiramaala-kaU-e bheedicu.
ship wave-PL-ACC split-PT
‘The ship broke through the waves.’
In Malayalam, the accusative case is generally used
for the direct object only for human nouns, the nomi-
native being used for other nouns. However, where
both subject and object are inanimate as in (1), the
accusative is used.
Case systems are a feature of conservative Indo-
European languages such as Russian and Greek, and
much of our framework for describing case comes
from the study of the classical languages Ancient
Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit. However, there is a com-
plication in these languages in that number marking
and case marking are never separate. This means
separate paradigms for the two number categories
of singular and plural. Moreover, there are different
case/number forms for different stem classes. Tradi-
tionally five such classes are recognized, and there are
also variations within the classes. Three of these clas-
ses, or declensions as they are usually referred to, are
illustrated in Table 2: the first declension (ā-stems),
second declension (o-stems). and third declension
(consonant stems and i-stems). The designations
ā-stems, o-stems, and so forth are not synchroni-
cally transparent and reflect the product of historical
reconstruction.
In Latin, there is also a three-way gender distinc-
tion: masculine, feminine, and neuter. With a few
exceptions male creatures are masculine and females
feminine, but inanimates are scattered over all three
genders (though almost all neuter nouns are inani-
mate). There is a partial association of form and
gender in that ā-stems are almost all feminine and
o-stems mostly masculine (except for a subclass of
neuters, represented by bellum in Table 2). This
means that there can be fusion of gender, number,
and case. The point is illustrated in Table 2, where we
have domina ‘mistress (of a household)’ illustrating
feminine ā-stems and dominus ‘master (of a house-
hold)’, which is based on the same root, representing
masculine o-stems. As can be seen from Table 2, the
word form domina simultaneously represents nomi-
native case, feminine gender, and singular number;
dominum represents accusative case, masculine gen-
der, and singular number; and similarly with other
word forms.
In Latin, adjectives decline like nouns, and there is
concord between a noun and an attributive or predi-
cative adjective. This concord is sensitive to case and
number, and those adjectives that belong to the first
and second declension are sensitive to gender. So we
find domina bona ‘good mistress’ and agricola bonus
‘good farmer’, where agricola is one of the few nouns
of masculine gender in the first declension. With
adjectives of the first and second declensions, the
inflections simultaneously represent case, number,
and gender without exception.

Table 2 Latin case paradigms

1 2 3a 3b

ā-stems o-stems cons.stems i-stems

feminine masculine neuter
domina dominus bellum cōnsul cı̄vis
‘mistress’ ‘master’ ‘war’ ‘consul’ ‘citizen’
Singular
Nominative domina dominus bellum cōnsul cı̄vis
Vocative domina domine bellum cōnsul cı̄vis
Accusative dominam dominum bellum cōnsulem cı̄vem
Genitive dominae dominı̄ bellı̄ cōnsulis cı̄vis
Dative dominae dominō bellō cōnsul, cı̄vı̄
Ablative dominā dominō bellō cōnsule cı̄vı̄, cı̄ve
Plural
Nominative dominae dominı̄ bella cōnsulēs cı̄vēs
Vocative dominae dominı̄ bella cōnsulēs cı̄vēs
Accusative dominās dominōs bella cōnsulēs cı̄vı̄s, cı̄vēs
Genitive dominārum dominōrum bellōrum cōnsulum cı̄vium
Dative dominı̄s dominı̄s bellı̄s cōnsulibus cı̄vibus
Ablative dominı̄s dominı̄s bellı̄s cōnsulibus cı̄vibus
214 Case
Six cases are recognised: nominative, vocative, ac-
cusative, genitive, dative, and ablative; however,
no paradigm exhibits six different forms. In the tra-
ditional descriptions, a case is established wherever
there is a distinction for any single class of nominals,
since this facilitates the description of the functions.
The vocative, the case used in forms of address, has a
distinctive form only in the singular of the second
declension. Elsewhere there is a common form for
the nominative and vocative; however, distinct nomi-
native and vocative cases are recognized for all para-
digms. The utility of this approach can be seen in a
phrase such as O sōl laudande ‘Oh, praiseworthy
sun’. Here the adjective has a distinctive vocative
form (masculine, singular) but the noun sōl does
not, but we can still say there is concord.
Types of Case
The term case is from Latin cāsus, which is in turn a
translation of the Greek ptōsis ‘fall’. The nominative
was considered the basic form of nominals, and the
other cases ‘fell away’ from this form and were re-
ferred to as the oblique cases. In some languages there
is a formal difference between the nominative and the
oblique, inasmuch as the oblique cases are built on
a common oblique stem. In Malayalam, for instance,
some nouns such as maram ‘tree’ have an oblique
stem maratt- so the accusative is maratte, locative
marattil, and so on (cf. Table 1).
In the description of cases, a distinction is often
made between syntactic or grammatical cases and
semantic cases. The nominative and accusative are
grammatical cases in that they encode the gram-
matical relations of subject and object respectively,
whereas a case such as the locative in Malayalam
is semantic in that it expresses a specific semantic
role, namely, the notion of position. It can also be
said that nominative and accusative function to dis-
tinguish arguments of a predicate, whereas a semantic
case has content and is a predicate. A further distinc-
tion is sometimes made among the semantic cases
between local and nonlocal cases. Local cases are
those referring to place such as locative (‘at’), allative
(‘to’), and ablative (‘from’). However, the distinction
between grammatical and semantic case is blurred
somewhat by the fact that a primarily grammatical
case can have a semantic function and a semantic case
can have a grammatical function. In Latin the accusa-
tive, a grammatical case, is used to express destina-
tion Vādō Rōmam ‘I go to Rome’ and extent or
duration, as in xxv annōs ‘for 25 years’, and the
ablative, a semantic case, is used for the logical sub-
ject in the passive (occı̄sus ā cōnsule ‘killed by the
consul’).
The genitive case is distinct from the others in that
it is typically adnominal, marking the dependent of a
nominal, whereas the other cases typically mark the
dependents of verbs. The genitive has a semantic
function, namely that of expressing possession, as in
the Latin phrase cōnsulis equus ‘the consul’s horse’,
but it can have a variety of other functions. In Latin
its grammatical character can be seen particularly in
a phrase such as amor patris. This phrase is ambigu-
ous: it can mean either the love felt by a father or the
love directed towards the father. The former is called
the subjective genitive since pater corresponds to the
subject in the verbal expression: Pater amat ‘Father
loves’. The latter is called the objective genitive since
pater corresponds to the object in Amat patrem
‘He or she loves father’.
The dative case takes its name from the Latin
verb dāre ‘to give’ since it expresses the recipient
of verbs of giving. In Latin the dative also expresses
the complement of a handful of two-place verbs
such as fidere ‘to trust’ and parēre ‘to obey’. It addi-
tionally expresses the experiencer of a few verbs
such as placēre ‘to please’: Dominō non placet bellum
‘War is not pleasing to the master’. A similar range of
functions can be found in a number of languages.
However, in a few languages, and regularly across
the Indian subcontinent, the dative encodes the
actor in certain aspects. In Malayalam, for instance,
the dative in conjunction with the potential marker -
aam on the verb signals physical ability or per-
mission.
(2) Avalkku avane itikkaam.
her.DAT him.ACC can/may.hit
‘She can hit him.’
The Latin ablative also illustrates a further compli-
cation. Although nominally a semantic case expres-
sing ‘from’, it represents a syncretism of an ablative,
locative, and instrumental, which were distinguished
in earlier stages of the language, and therefore it
expresses a variety of semantic roles.
A more useful distinction than between syntactic
and semantic cases is between core and peripheral
cases, where the core refers to subject and object.
Types of Case System
Accusative system
The most common system of core cases is one that
opposes nominative for subject and accusative for
object. This system is found in various language
families, including Indo-European, Uralic, Turkic,
Mongolian, Tungusic, and Dravidian (see (1) above),
as well as in Korean and Japanese (see (15) below).
 Case 215

Ergative system (6) Bere oxori-s doskidu.

child.ABS house-DAT 3SG.stay
A sizable minority of languages have one case for ‘The child stayed in the house.’
the agent of a transitive verb (A) and another for the
subject of an intransitive predicate (S) and direct (7) Baba-k meçcaps skiri-s cxeni.
object (O). The former is called the ergative case, father-ERG 3SG.give. child-DAT horse.ABS
3SG.3SG
and the latter is called either nominative or absolu-
‘The father gives a horse to his child.’
tive. The latter label is also used for a grammatical
relation covering S and O. The absolutive is usually This pattern also occurs in Georgian, but it applies
unmarked, as in the following illustration from only to certain classes of verbs in the aorist tense
Yalarnnga (Australian). group. In the present tense, all subjects are in the
nominative case and the direct objects in the dative.
(3) Yirri tjala ngani-mi yimarta-ta.
man.ABS this.ABS go-FU fish-PURP
The active system is also found in the Americas,
‘The man will go for fish.’ where it usually shows up in the bound pronouns
on the verb. It has been reported from Guaranı́
(4) Kilawurru tjala yirri-nthu wala-mu (Andean); Lakhota (Lakota) and other Siouan lan-
galah.ABS this.ABS man-ERG hit-PT
guages; the Pomoan (Pomo) languages; Caddo, Arikara,
payarla-yu.
and other Caddoan languages; and Mohawk,
boomerang-ERG
‘A man killed the galah with a boomerang.’ Seneca, and other Iroquoian languages. It also occurs
in Acehnese (Austronesian).
Note that in (4) the ergative also encodes the role of
instrument. It is very common for ergatives to have Direct-Inverse System
non-core functions, another example of grammatical
cases having semantic functions. Another system of marking the core relations is the
Ergative systems are often considered rare and re- direct-inverse system. In this system, which is charac-
mote, but in fact they make up at least 20% of the teristic of the Algonquian languages, the marking on
world’s languages. Ergative systems are to be found the verb indicates whether an activity is direct or
in Basque, all families of the Caucasian phylum, in inverse. If the action proceeds from first or second
the Tibeto-Burman languages, in Austronesian, in person to third it is direct, but if it proceeds from third
most Australian languages, in some languages of to first or second it is inverse. In transitive clauses
the Papuan families, in Eskimo-Aleut, in Tsimshian with two third-person participants, the direct and
and Chinook in North America, in the Mayan lan- inverse markers distinguish whether a more topical
guages of Central America and several families of participant (proximate) is A, which gives a direct
South America (Dixon, 1994:5), and in Hurrian and combination, or a less topical participant (obviative)
several other languages of the ancient Near East. is A, which gives an inverse combination. A ‘more
topical participant’ will be chosen on the basis
Split-intransitive system of discourse principles and will tend to be the
last-mentioned person or the discourse topic. The
Some languages, perhaps no more than a few score, ‘less topical person’ is marked by the obviative suffix
organize their core grammar so that the argument of -wa.
some one-place predicates is marked like the A of
a two-place verb, while the argument of the other (8) a. Nāpēw atim-wa wāpam-ē-w.
one-place predicates is marked like the O of a two- man.PROX dog-OBV see-DIRECT-3SG
place verb. Such languages have been called split- ‘The man saw the dog.’
intransitive languages or split-S languages (Dixon, b. Nāpēw-(w)a atim wāpam-ik.
1994:70ff). Examples can be found in the Kartvelian man-OBV dog.PROX see-INVERSE.3SG
‘The man saw the dog.’
(South Caucasian) languages of the Caucasus. The
following sentences are from Laz. Note that the (9) a. Atim nāpēw-(w)a wāpam-ē-w.
suffix -k, glossed ergative on the basis of its appear- dog.PROX man-OBV see-DIRECT-3SG
ance on A in transitive clauses like (7), also appears ‘The dog saw the man.’
on the ‘agent’ of the intransitive verb in (5). On the b. Atim-wa nāpēw wāpam-ik.
dog-OBV man.PROX see-INVERSE.3SG
other hand, the subject of the intransitive verb in (6) is
‘The dog saw the man.’
unmarked like the O of (7).
(5) Bere-k imgars. As can be seen, there are two ways of expressing
child-ERG 3SG.cry the same propositional content according to which
‘The child cries.’ participant is chosen as topic.
216 Case
Factors Affecting Marking
It is not common to find languages in which the
nominative-accusative or absolutive-ergative distinc-
tion holds for all nominals in every context. The
‘older’ Indo-European languages such as Latin
might be thought to provide good examples of a
nominative-accusative distinction, but this distinction
is neutralized for nouns of the neuter gender. This is
illustrated by the word bellum ‘war’ in Table 2. Al-
most all neuter nouns in Latin are inanimate, though
there are numerous inanimates that have masculine
or feminine gender. Even in languages like Japanese
and Korean, in which the subject and object are
marked by postpositions (see (15) below), there is a
tendency to drop the postpositions in colloquial
speech; the subject marker is more likely to be lost if
the subject is pronominal or human, and the object
marker is more likely to be lost if the object is inani-
mate or indefinite. In fact, there is a very strong cross-
language tendency for object marking to be confined
to objects that are pronominal, human, or definite. In
Spanish, for instance, subject and object are distin-
guished in the clitic pronouns, but with free nominals
the preposition a, which otherwise means ‘to’, is used
with specific human objects: Busco un empleado ‘I’m
looking for an employee’ (anyone will do), Busco a un
empleado ‘I’m looking for an employee’ (the one who
was here a minute ago).
A large number of languages mix accusative and
ergative marking, but the two types of marking tend
to complement one another. If we take the hierarchy
in Table 3, we can say that where accusative or erga-
tive marking co-occur, accusative marking covers a
continuous segment of the hierarchy from the top and
ergative from the bottom. In the Pama-Nyungan lan-
guages of Australia, for instance, ergative marking is
found on all nouns. It may extend to third-person
pronouns, and in a few languages it covers all nom-
inals. Accusative marking in these languages is gener-
ally found on all pronouns. In some, it extends to
cover kin terms and personal names, or all humans
as well.
The principle that seems to underlie these restric-
tions on marking reflects a view that the most natural
transitive predication is one with an agent at the top
Table 3 Nominal hierarchy
1st person
2nd person
3rd person
kin terms and personal names
human
animate
inanimate
of the hierarchy and a patient at the bottom. Marking
tends to be confined to deviations from this ideal, that
is, mark pronominal objects with accusative, and
nouns, as opposed to pronouns, with ergative.
In some languages there is a split between accusa-
tive and ergative on tense or aspect lines. A number
of Indo-Aryan languages, including Hindi-Urdu
(Literary Hindi), Marathi, and Punjabi (Panjabi),
and some Iranian languages, such as Pashto and
Kurdish, are described as having an ergative con-
struction only in the perfect. Typical Indo-Aryan lan-
guages are described as having a direct/oblique case
system where the direct case encodes S, A, and O and
the oblique is governed by postpositions. However, if
O is animate and specific, it is usually marked by
a postposition. There is also subject-verb agreement,
as in the following examples from Marathi:
(10) Ti keel. khaa-t-e.
she banana eat-PRES-3SG.F
‘She eats a banana.’
(11) Ti Ravi laa chal. -l. -a.
she Ravi ACC torture-PRES-3SG.F
‘She tortures Ravi.’
In the perfect, however, A is marked by a post-
position. The verb agreement is with P unless P is
marked by the postposition for specific, animate
nouns, with the verb then remaining in its neutral
form. In Marathi, the ergative postposition is ni.
(12) Ti ni kel. i khaa-ll-it.
she ERG banana.PL eat-PERF-3PL
‘She ate bananas.’
(13) Ti ni Ravi laa chal. -l. -a.
she ERG Ravi ACC torture-PERF-NEUT
‘She tortured Ravi.’
The postposition laa, glossed as ACCusative,
marks indirect as well as direct objects.
Size of Case Systems
Some languages have no case system at all, and this is
possible since there are alternative mechanisms. For
the core relations, one alternative is to use word
order. Subject and object are distinguished by the
use of the unmarked word order subject-verb-object
in a number of languages, including Thai, Cambo-
dian (Central Khmer), and Vietnamese. This is also
true of English, but English has vestigial two-way
case system marked on most personal pronouns
(I/me, she/her, he/him, we/us, and they/them but no
distinction with you and it).
The other alternative for marking the core relations
is to use some form of cross-referencing pronomi-
nal representation, usually on the verb or auxiliary

verb. The following example is from the northern
Australian language Gunwinygu (Gunwinggu), in
which the first person singular is represented as a
prefix nga- on the verb and the third person plural
by -di-. The -n- indicates that the first person is the
object.
(14) Daluk ngaye nga-n-di-ma-ng.
woman me 1sg-OBJ-3PL-get-NONPAST
‘The women will get me.’
In this example, the subject and object are repre-
sented independently of the verb, but they can be omit-
ted, leaving a sentence meaning, ‘They will get me.’ The
common situation in languages with cross-referencing
bound pronouns is for the free pronouns to be used
only for emphasis.
Where the function of bound pronominal markers
is indicated by a change of form (affix or suppletion)
as in Gunwinygu, the system seems to be case-like,
and such systems certainly derive from the use of
case marking. But there is an important difference.
Bound pronominal systems represent grammatical
relations, each set being in a one-for-one relationship
with a grammatical relation. Cases are not always in a
one-for-one correspondence with grammatical rela-
tions. If that were the situation, we would deal only
in relations and the word forms or markers that ex-
press these relations. If, for example, the nominative
forms in Latin expressed only subject, the accusative
only direct object, the dative only indirect object, then
we would talk of subject forms, direct object forms,
and indirect object forms. There would be no need
for the notion of case, just as there is no need for
notional categories between tense markers and tense
categories or aspect markers and aspect categories.
For the peripheral functions, the common alterna-
tive is the use of adpositions. Case systems, like other
systems of grammatical forms, are normally relatively
small. They range from two as in the Northwest Cau-
casian language Kabardian to 15 as in Finnish, but the
number of relations a dependent noun can bear to a
head will exceed these limits, mainly in the area of
relative position (‘under’, ‘over’, ‘behind’, ‘between’,
etc.). As a result, almost all languages use adpositions,
whether they have peripheral cases or not. Where
adpositions are used in addition to case markers,
they form a kind of secondary system. However, in
some languages, such as Japanese, postpositions are
used to the exclusion of case affixes, even covering
core functions. In the following Japanese example,
the postposition ga marks the subject, ni marks the
indirect object, and o marks the direct object:
(15) Sensei ga Tasaku ni hon o yat-ta.
teacher SUBJ Tasaku IO book DO give-PAST
‘The teacher gave Tasaku a book.’
Case 217
Adpositions can be considered to be analytic case
markers as opposed to synthetic case markers. In
Latin, which is fairly typical of languages having ana-
lytic as well as synthetic case markers, prepositions are
like verbs in that they govern cases, and combinations
of preposition and case suffix can serve to mark the
relations of nouns to the verb. In English, all preposi-
tions govern the accusative (with me, from her), but
in some languages, different prepositions govern dif-
ferent cases. In Latin, some prepositions govern the
ablative and others the accusative. The preposition
in can govern both: in casā ‘in the cottage’, in casam
‘into the cottage’.
In Malayalam, too, different postpositions govern
different cases. Mutal ‘from’ governs the nominative
in mala mutal ‘from the mountain’, poole ‘like’ gov-
erns the accusative as in ammaye poole ‘be like moth-
er’, and kuu<e ‘through’ governs the locative in janalil
kuu<e ‘through the window’. Some postpositions such
as akatte ‘inside’ govern the genitive as in klassinre
akatte ‘inside the classroom’. This reflects the noun
origin of the postposition, where the genitive origi-
nally denoted the dependency of a noun to a noun (cf.
English at the side of the classroom).
Given the availability of adpositions, it is not
surprising that many languages have no peripheral
cases. Where a language has the minimal number of
cases, namely two, one finds an unmarked nomina-
tive and a marked accusative or marked ergative,
which have other functions and could appropriately
be called oblique. In the Uto-Aztecan language
Chemehuevi, the nominative marks subject, and
the accusative marks object and possessor. In the
Kabardian, the absolutive marks the absolutive rela-
tion, and the ergative marks transitive subject and
possessor. The absolutive relation embraces what
from the standpoint of many other languages is in-
transitive subject and direct object. If a language has
three cases, the third is usually genitive. If it has four,
the fourth, whatever it is called, will tend to have a
wide range of functions. German is typical in this
regard. It has nominative, accusative, genitive, and
dative, but dative is in fact a case with a wide range of
functions, albeit governed by prepositions.
Where case systems are large, more than six or seven,
the expansion is usually among the local cases. Finnish,
for instance has 15 cases, including nine local cases.
These are formed by markers for location, source,
and destination, having partly fused with markers for
interior and exterior, as shown in Table 4.
There are claims that the northeast Caucasian lan-
guages have case systems of over 40 members, but in
these languages the orientation markers ( for ‘under’,
‘over’, etc.) and the case markers proper are separate
systems. The spectacular figures are obtained
218 Case

Table 4 Finnish local cases Besides concord within the noun phrase and con-
Location Source Destination
cord exhibited by predicative nominals and adjec-
tives, there is also apparent concord between what
Ø -na -tta -ksi looks like separated parts of a noun phrase. In Latin,
essive partitive translative it is possible to take a word that would appear to
Interior -ssa -sta -(h) Vn, -sVVn
inessive elative illative
modify a noun and express it in a phrase separate
‘in’ ‘from(inside)’ ‘nto’ from the noun. The following example is from Virgil
Exterior -lla -lta -lle (Aeneid II:3),
adessive ablative allative
‘at’ ‘from(outside)’ ‘to(wards)’
(17) Infāndum, rēgı̄na, iubēs
unspeakable.ACC queen.VOC order.2SG
renovāre dolōrem.
renew.INF sorrow.ACC
by counting combinations of orientation markers
‘Unspeakable, [O] queen, [is] the sorrow you
and case markers as members of one system. This is order [me] to rekindle.’
justified in Finnish where the markers cannot be iden-
tified consistently, but not, for the most part, in the Here the gerundive adjective infāndum is displaced
Northeast Caucasian languages. from the word it might be thought to modify, namely,
dolōrem. In Australian languages, the noncontiguous
expression of words that would normally appear
Types of Marking
within a single noun phrase in most languages is
Case marking is usually via suffixation. The only commonplace.
other mechanism that is at all common is suppletion, The other common pattern of case marking is for it
as with English pronouns (I/me, etc.). Case suffixes to be found only on the final word in the noun phrase.
follow number marking; when pronominal posses- We can distinguish two subtypes. In the first, the final
sors are marked on the noun, these usually appear word is the head noun in the noun phrase. This type
before the case marking, as in Turkish, where they is widespread. It is found, for instance, in Quechua.
appear between the number marking and the case It is common among the Papuan languages, and there
marking: adam-lar–ım-la (man-PL-1SG.POSS-LOC) is a concentration of the type in Asia, including the
‘with my men’; similarly in Hungarian: hajó-I-m-on Turkic, Mongolian, and Tungusic (Tungus) families
(ship-PL-1SG.POSS-LOC) ‘on my ships’. In the Balto- north of the Himalayas, as well as the languages of
Finnic languages, however, the possessor marking the subcontinent, whether they be Dravidian, Munda,
usually follows the case marking. In Finnish, for or Indo-Aryan (though a number of Indo-Aryan lan-
instance, we find: kirkolla-mme (church-ADESSIVE- guages have vestigial concord). In this area, most
1PL.POSS) ‘at our church’. The adessive case expresses languages are consistent modifier-head languages
the sense of ‘near’ or ‘at’. with SOV order at clause level and determiner-noun,
In some languages, including Indo-European case adjective-noun order at phrase level. The following
languages like Latin and Ancient Greek, case marking example is from the Dravidian language Kannada:
(actually case/number marking in these languages, (18) Naanu ellaa maanava janaangavannu
as explained above) appears not only on nouns but I.NOM all human community.ACC
also on certain dependents of the noun such as adjec- priitisutteene.
tives and determiners. The following example is love.1SG
from Plato. Bios is a nominative singular form of a ‘I love all mankind.’
second declension masculine noun, the nominative In the other subtype, the final word in the noun
indicating that bios is the subject of the predicate. phrase is not always the head. This is the situation in
The definite article and the adjective are in the nomi- various Australian and Amazonian languages. The
native singular masculine form, their concord in case, phenomenon also occurs in Basque:
number,and gender indicating that they are depen-
dents of bios. (19) etxe zaharr-etan
house old-PL.LOC
(16) Ho anexetastos bios ‘in old houses’
the.NOM.SG unexamined.NOM.SG life.NOM.SG In a few languages, a nominal can carry more than
ou biōtos anthrōpō. one case, each case with different scope, and often
not livable.NOM.SG man.DAT.SG
with different functions. Most but not all instances
‘The unexamined life is not livable for man.’
involve an inner layer of adnominal case plus an outer
This example also illustrates concord between a layer of concordial adverbal case, as in the following
predicative adjective (biōtos) and the subject (bios). examples from Old Georgian:

(20) sarel-ita man-isa jta
name-INST father-GEN INST
‘with father’s name’
However, some Australian languages evince double
adverbal case. In Warlpiri, for instance, a locally
marked adjunct may take ergative case marking in
a transitive clause. Consider the contrast between
the following sentences. In (21a), the noun phrase in
the role of destination is marked for allative case, as
one would expect. However, if a verb for ‘carry’ is
substituted for a verb meaning ‘send’, then it is possi-
ble to further mark the allative-marked phrase for
ergative:
(21a) Ngarrka-ngku ka maliki
man-ERG PRES dog.ABS
ngurra-kurra yilya-mi.
camp-ALL send-NONPST
‘The man is sending the dog to the camp.’
(21b) Ngarrka-ngku ka kuyu ka-nyi
man-ERG PRES meat.ABS carry-NONPST
ngurra-kurra (-rlu).
camp-ALL(-ERG)
‘The man is carrying the meat to the camp.’
An inner local phrase normally has the patient as
its scope (and this is normally encoded in the absolu-
tive relation, i.e., as S or O). In Warlpiri, the use of
the ergative on the locally marked phrase is to indi-
cate that the agent (A) is also within its scope. With
carrying, the agent moves to the same destination as
the patient.
Where a clause rather than a noun phrase is a
dependent, the same possibilities for the distribution
of case marking arise. In most instances the case
marker appears only on the head of the clause, name-
ly the verb, as in the following example from Finnish,
where the translative case is found on the infini-
tive. The translative means ‘into’, mainly meta-
phorically, as in ‘You’ll turn into a pumpkin’, and
purpose as in mi-ksi ‘what for’. With a nominalised
verb, it indicates purpose. The actor of the nomina-
lised verb is expressed by the possessive pronominal
suffix.
(22) Osti-n karttakirja-n suunnitella-kse-ni
bought-1SG atlas-ACC plan-TRANS-1SG.POSS
automatka-n.
car.trip-ACC
‘I bought an atlas in order to plan a car journey.’
Another possibility is for the case marking of a
dependent verb to spread to its dependents by
concord. The following example is from Yukulta
(Ganggalida) (Northern Australian). Note that the
dative, which is appropriate to the verb warratj-,
spreads to the allative-marked complement to yield
a second layer of case marking.
Case 219
(23) Taamitya-ngandi tangka
ask-1SG.3SG.FU.AUX man.ABS
natha-rul-ngkurlu warratj-urlu.
camp-ALL-DAT go-DAT
‘I’ll ask the man to go to the camp.’
In some languages there are different principles of
case marking operating in subordinate clauses, par-
ticularly if the verb is non-finite. A well-known exam-
ple is the use of the accusative for the subject as well
as the object in Ancient Greek and Latin ‘accusative
and infinitive constructions’. The following exam-
ple is from Latin, where dominum, the subject of the
verb vı̄disse is in the accusative as well as the object
cōnsulem.
(24) Dicunt dominum cōnsulem vı̄disse.
say.3PL master.ACC consul.ACC see.PERF.INFIN
‘They say the master has seen [lit. ‘to have seen’]
the consul.’
In Thalantji (Pama-Nyungan), the dative, which is
the main adnominal case in this language, is used to
mark the complement of transitive verbs in non-finite
relative clauses. Contrast the accusative on kanyara
in the main clause and the dative on murla in the
subordinate clause in (25):
(25) Ngatha nhaku-nha kanyara-nha
I see-PAST man-ACC
murla-ku warni-lkitha.
meat-DAT cut-REL.DS
‘I saw the man (who was) cutting meat.’
The verbal suffix -lkitha in this example glossed
‘relative, different subject’ marks a qualifying clause,
the covert subject of which must be interpreted as
being distinct from the main clause subject. The
marker is a case marker in origin. This is an example
of a derived function of case marking.
In Turkish, the genitive is used to mark the subject
of a nominalised verb. The object of such a verb if
present takes the normal case marking.
(26) Ahmed-i ben-i sev-diǧ-in-i
Ahmed-GEN 1SG-ACC love-NM-3SG.POSS.ACC
bil-iyor-um.
know-PRES-1SG
‘I know that Ahmed loves me.’
The form -in is a third singular possessive form
in cross-reference with Ahmed-i. In Turkish, noun
possessors are cross-referenced on possessed nouns:
Biz-im heykel-imiz (we-GEN statue-1PL.POSS) ‘our stat-
ue’. The accusative on the nominalised verb marks it
as the complement of biliyorum, and the accusative on
ben marks it as the complement of sevmek ‘to love’.
See also: Ergativity; Head/Dependent Marking; Inflection
and Derivation.
220 Case
Bibliography
Blake B J (2001). Case (2nd edn.). Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Brecht R D & Levine J S (eds.) (1986). Case in Slavic.
Columbus, OH: Slavica Publishers.
Comrie B (1986). ‘On delimiting cases.’ In Brecht R D &
Levine J S (eds.) 86–105.
Comrie B (ed.) (1987). The world’s major languages.
London: Croom Helm.
Comrie B (1989). Language universals and linguistic typol-
ogy. Oxford: Blackwell.
Delancey S (1981). ‘An interpretation of split ergativity and
related patterns.’ Language 57, 626–657.
Case Grammar
J M Anderson, Methoni Messinias, Greece
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
‘Case Grammar’ is a label used for various develop-
ments in grammatical theory originating in the mid-
to-late 1960s that are associated more or less closely
with a certain hypothesis concerning the organization
of the grammar: the hypothesis concerns the status of
semantic functions – or relations or roles – such as
Agentive or Locative; functions that label the mode of
participation of the denotata of arguments in the
situation described by the predication in which they
occur. The terms ‘various’ and ‘more or less closely’
are used advisedly. Since Case Grammar is a partial
hypothesis, it is compatible with a variety of hypoth-
eses concerning other aspects of the grammar, though
it will, of course, interact with them. Since, too, the
hypothesis can be formulated in more and less strong
forms, not all variants of Case Grammar are as dis-
tinct in their claims from what is embodied in other
frameworks that are not usually termed Case Gram-
mars. The minimum Case Grammar hypothesis is
that semantic functions are relevant to the expression
of syntactic (as well as semantic) generalizations; in
a stronger, more interesting and distinctive form it
involves the claim that they are basic to the syntax
and that many other aspects of syntactic structure are
derivative of them.
The name itself is in part a recognition that what is
involved is, again in part, a return to traditional con-
cerns with the semantics and syntax of Case (see Case),
concerns that were neglected by those structuralist (in-
cluding early transformational) frameworks that abol-
ished the morphology/syntax division and were
reticent about semantics. The term ‘Case Grammar’
Dixon R M W (1994). Ergativity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Dixon R M W (2002). Australian languages. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Mel’cuk I A (1986). ‘Toward a definition of case.’ In Brecht
R D & Levine J S (eds.). 35–85.
Plank F (ed.) (1991). Paradigms: the economy of inflection.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Silverstein M (1976). ‘Hierarchy of features and ergativity.’
In Dixon R M W (ed.) Grammatical categories in
Australian languages. Canberra: Australian Institute
of Aboriginal Studies/New Jersey: Humanities Press.
112–171.
specifically devolves from Fillmore’s (1965, 1966,
1968a) use of Case Relation, or simply Case, for
semantic function, the status of which is fundamental
to the Case Grammar hypothesis. In what follows, the
first section outlines some of the basic notions central
to the main tradition associated with this hypothesis;
while the second and third sections give some idea of,
respectively, the variety of interpretation to which it has
been subjected and the range of attempts to arrive at a
definition of Case and Cases.
Some Fundamentals
The use of the term ‘Case (Relation)’ for semantic
function is based on the familiar observation that in
a number of languages semantic functions are distin-
guished by differences in nominal inflexion, as in the
Old English sentence of (1):
(1) Him ofhreow þæs mannes
‘He/theyþdat pitied theþgen manþgen’
(cf. again see Case), wherein the dative inflexion signals
the locus of the emotion denoted by the verb (dis-
cussed below as the Experiencer Case Relation) and
the genitive inflexion marks the Source of the emotion.
However, it must be acknowledged, as is once more
familiar from earlier studies (cf. e.g., Welte, 1987),
that in many instances the correlation between case
inflexion and semantic function is not simple. Most
notoriously, case inflexions can correlate more closely
with grammatical functions or relations. Notably,
most grammarians would not include Subject among
the set of semantic functions. At the very least, it is of
a rather different character from Agentive, etc.; hence
its differentiation, along with (for many grammar-
ians) Object, etc. as a grammatical relation. The
220 Case Grammar
Bibliography
Blake B J (2001). Case (2nd edn.). Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Brecht R D & Levine J S (eds.) (1986). Case in Slavic.
Columbus, OH: Slavica Publishers.
Comrie B (1986). ‘On delimiting cases.’ In Brecht R D &
Levine J S (eds.) 86–105.
Comrie B (ed.) (1987). The world’s major languages.
London: Croom Helm.
Comrie B (1989). Language universals and linguistic typol-
ogy. Oxford: Blackwell.
Delancey S (1981). ‘An interpretation of split ergativity and
related patterns.’ Language 57, 626–657.
Case Grammar
J M Anderson, Methoni Messinias, Greece
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
‘Case Grammar’ is a label used for various develop-
ments in grammatical theory originating in the mid-
to-late 1960s that are associated more or less closely
with a certain hypothesis concerning the organization
of the grammar: the hypothesis concerns the status of
semantic functions – or relations or roles – such as
Agentive or Locative; functions that label the mode of
participation of the denotata of arguments in the
situation described by the predication in which they
occur. The terms ‘various’ and ‘more or less closely’
are used advisedly. Since Case Grammar is a partial
hypothesis, it is compatible with a variety of hypoth-
eses concerning other aspects of the grammar, though
it will, of course, interact with them. Since, too, the
hypothesis can be formulated in more and less strong
forms, not all variants of Case Grammar are as dis-
tinct in their claims from what is embodied in other
frameworks that are not usually termed Case Gram-
mars. The minimum Case Grammar hypothesis is
that semantic functions are relevant to the expression
of syntactic (as well as semantic) generalizations; in
a stronger, more interesting and distinctive form it
involves the claim that they are basic to the syntax
and that many other aspects of syntactic structure are
derivative of them.
The name itself is in part a recognition that what is
involved is, again in part, a return to traditional con-
cerns with the semantics and syntax of Case (see Case),
concerns that were neglected by those structuralist (in-
cluding early transformational) frameworks that abol-
ished the morphology/syntax division and were
reticent about semantics. The term ‘Case Grammar’
Dixon R M W (1994). Ergativity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Dixon R M W (2002). Australian languages. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Mel’cuk I A (1986). ‘Toward a definition of case.’ In Brecht
R D & Levine J S (eds.). 35–85.
Plank F (ed.) (1991). Paradigms: the economy of inflection.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Silverstein M (1976). ‘Hierarchy of features and ergativity.’
In Dixon R M W (ed.) Grammatical categories in
Australian languages. Canberra: Australian Institute
of Aboriginal Studies/New Jersey: Humanities Press.
112–171.
specifically devolves from Fillmore’s (1965, 1966,
1968a) use of Case Relation, or simply Case, for
semantic function, the status of which is fundamental
to the Case Grammar hypothesis. In what follows, the
first section outlines some of the basic notions central
to the main tradition associated with this hypothesis;
while the second and third sections give some idea of,
respectively, the variety of interpretation to which it has
been subjected and the range of attempts to arrive at a
definition of Case and Cases.
Some Fundamentals
The use of the term ‘Case (Relation)’ for semantic
function is based on the familiar observation that in
a number of languages semantic functions are distin-
guished by differences in nominal inflexion, as in the
Old English sentence of (1):
(1) Him ofhreow þæs mannes
‘He/theyþdat pitied theþgen manþgen’
(cf. again see Case), wherein the dative inflexion signals
the locus of the emotion denoted by the verb (dis-
cussed below as the Experiencer Case Relation) and
the genitive inflexion marks the Source of the emotion.
However, it must be acknowledged, as is once more
familiar from earlier studies (cf. e.g., Welte, 1987),
that in many instances the correlation between case
inflexion and semantic function is not simple. Most
notoriously, case inflexions can correlate more closely
with grammatical functions or relations. Notably,
most grammarians would not include Subject among
the set of semantic functions. At the very least, it is of
a rather different character from Agentive, etc.; hence
its differentiation, along with (for many grammar-
ians) Object, etc. as a grammatical relation. The
 Case Grammar 221

inflexions identified by the label nominative in vari- Agentives, or to with Goals: both can also mark what
ous languages are labeled thus precisely because their is often labeled Experiencer (known by/to). Neverthe-
occurrence correlates most closely with the nominal less, given that the expression of distinctions in Case
identified on other grounds as a Subject. Relation may be regarded as the prototypical func-
Further, apart from the fact that case inflexions tion of case inflexions, this ‘case’ terminology is not
typically express other categories simultaneously with unjustified. And its appropriateness is reinforced to
case (or grammatical) relations, categories such as gen- the extent that grammatical relations can be regarded
der, number, dimensionality, distinctions in Case as neutralized Case Relations.
Relation are frequently expressed otherwise than by Such a notion is crucial to the strong Case Gram-
nominal inflexion. Typically, as well as or instead of mar framework developed by Charles Fillmore in the
noun inflexions, adpositions, verbal auxiliaries, word late 1960s. This substituted for the Deep Structure of
order, verb morphology, and combinations of these may a grammar of the type envisaged in Chomsky’s (1965)
be involved, often in combination in the same language. basic representations including nodes associated with
Consider, for example, the sentences from Eastern a set of Case Relations. Both Surface Structures of (3),
Pomo in (2): for example, are derived from the (unordered) Deep
(2a) mı́! békal du!léya (Case) Structure of (4).
he them killed
(2b) békh mı́!pal ša! akiya
they him killed
(2c) mı́! kaluhuya
he went-home
(2d) békh kálphi!lı́ya
they went-home
(2e) békal e!xéka
they slipped
The shape of the pronoun reflects whether it is
Agentive or not: mı́! and békh are Agentive, they
mark the Source of the Action, both in the transitive
examples (2a, b) and the intransitive (2c, d); but
mı́!pal and békal signal the entity undergoing the ac-
tion or process, what I will describe below as an
instance of the Neutral Case Relation, both in the
transitive examples (2a, b) and in the intransitive
(2e). Typically, too, the suppletion illustrated
in (2a, b) – the ‘kill’ verb changes its shape – is in
response to the number of the Neutral (‘them’ vs.
‘him’). However, in (2c, d) the (partial) suppletion is
triggered by the number of the argument we have
already (on the basis of the correlation between se-
mantic function and pronoun morphology) labeled
Agentive. This would seem to confirm that the pro-
nouns in (2c) and (2d) are simultaneously Agentive
and Neutral, as both are Source of the Action and
undergoer of it (and thus moving), whereas that in
(2e) is Neutral simply. We return to the association
between argument and Case Relation in ‘Defining
Case Relations.’ What is most relevant at this point
is illustrating the interaction of different means of
expressing Case relations.
There is typically, too, with respect to a specific The Proposition consists of a verb and a set of Case
language, no one-to-one correlation between a partic- Phrases, each of which includes a Case ‘flag’ (Kasus)
ular Case Relation and a particular expression, and a Noun Phrase. The Agentive is the source of the
whether by inflexion, adposition or whatever. Despite action; the Neutral is the least specific Case, whose
occasional claims to the contrary, the English prepo- precise relation to the predicate is most obviously
sition by, for instance, is not associated uniquely with dependent on the type of the predicate: it labels the
222 Case Grammar
entity that undergoes processes and movements and
actions and has locations and states attributed to it.
‘Defining Case Relations’ discusses more fully the
definition of the Cases; but notice at this point that
N(eutral) appears under a number of different labels:
Ergative (an acknowledged misnomer), Object(ive),
Nominative (again, unfortunate), Absolutive, Patient
(usually interpreted more narrowly than Neutral).
Modality consists of elements of tense, mood, and
aspect, including Modal Cases (such as Manner
Phrases), which are interpreted as modalities of the
sentence as a whole.
Predicates, such as the verb in (3) and (4), are
subcategorized not in terms of their functionally un-
labeled complements, but with respect to the set of
Case Phrases they require, obligatorily, or optionally,
as exemplified in (5a) and (5b), respectively:
(5a) þ [ N(eutral) A(gentive)]
(5b) þ [ N (A)]
The verb of (5a) (perhaps kill, if we ignore Instru-
mentals, such as with a handbag, for the moment: see
again ‘Defining Case Relations’) is marked as taking a
Neutral and an Agentive. That in (5b) takes a N and
an optional A, perhaps appropriate for melt: see (8)
below.
Assignment of the status of Subject is based on the
set of Case Phrases present in a sentence, the Case
Frame. Each entry in (5) includes a set of Case Frame
Features. Unmarked assignment in a particular predi-
cation is specifically in accord with a Hierarchy of
Case Relations, as exemplified by (6) (Fillmore,
1968a):
(6) Agentive > Instrumental > Objective
In terms of (6), an Agentive, if present, will be Sub-
ject; in the absence of an A, then an Instrumental, if
present, will be; and so on. With kill, the Agentive
thus takes priority, as in (3a). The Surface Structure of
the passive sentence in (3b) contains signals (the aux-
iliary construction) that here the Hierarchy has been
overridden, a marked selection of Subject has
been made, and the ‘rejected’ subject is distinguished
by an appropriate marker (here by).
There has been some controversy over the charac-
ter of the Hierarchy, partly as a result of different
views concerning the set of Cases, as discussed
in ‘Defining Case Relations’ below. It may be too
that lexical exceptions to the Hierarchy have to be
acknowledged. For instance, if like and please in
English are associated with the same set of Case
Frame Features, then one of them will apparently
have to be marked as exceptional in Subject selection:
(7a) Jemima liked the play
(7b) The play pleased Jemima
whatever the hierarchy, if it is determinate. Anderson
(1977: Sect. 2.1.5) and others have denied that this
is necessary, in that the two verbs require different
sets. Grimshaw (1990) suggests that such pairs as (7)
differ ‘aspectually.’ But even if such exceptions have
to be countenanced, the viability of some such hierar-
chy is the basis for the strong Case Grammar hypoth-
esis, which asserts the basicness of Cases and the
dependence thereon of other syntactic phenomena
(including Subject selection).
It has also been argued that conventional Deep
Structures (as introduced in Chomsky, 1965), as
well as being derivable, and indeed dispensable, also
form a poor basis from which to project (Deep) gram-
matical relations, one of their claimed roles: configu-
rational definitions are difficult to maintain across
languages; they allow for spurious (or at least never
utilized) grammatical relations; and some categories
seem themselves to be relational (e.g., Place). More-
over, the role of Deep relations in the grammar (pace
Katz, 1972) remains obscure. See here, for example,
Anderson, 1977: Sect. 1.2, 1982; Starosta, 1987.
And, that argument proceeds, neither Deep Struc-
tures nor grammatical relations are relevant to lexical
relationships.
Fillmore’s work on Case Grammar and beyond has
involved a strong interest in lexical semantics (see
particularly Fillmore, 1987; also, in the present
context, Fillmore, 1968b, 1970, 1971b, 1971c,
1972, 1977a, 1977b). Much effort within Case
Grammar has been devoted to showing that subcate-
gorization and lexical relations are sensitive to Case
Relations rather than the configurations and gram-
matical relations that are derivative in CG. So-called
ergative verbs (Lyons, 1968) appear to provide a
straightforward example with respect to subcategori-
zation. Case Grammarians have argued that the basic
distributional potential of verbs such as melt in (8) is
most transparently described in terms of the Case
Features of (9) rather than, say, the conventional
frame of (10):
(8a) Burt melted the ice
(8b) The ice melted
(9) N (A)
(10) þ [ ___ ([NP])
Example (10) can be said to obscure what is constant
in the two basic occurrences, the Neutral (Objective)
argument, with selection of Subject being determined
by the Hierarchy. Anderson (1984) attempts to show
that a wide range of (lexical) derivational relation-
ships in English make no reference to grammatical
relations or the configurations in terms of which they
may be defined.

Typical here is -able formation, whose central func-
tion is to form adjectives of a certain semantic char-
acter on the basis of verbs, such that the argument of
the adjective corresponds to the Neutral argument
of the verb (whatever its grammatical relation); we
again have the familiar ‘ergative’ relation, illustrated
in (11) and highlighted therein by the derivational
pattern associated with a verb such as change:
(11a) The cover is removable (cf. Beppo has
removed the cover)
The settings are changeable (cf. Beppo has
changed the settings)
(11b) The material is perishable (cf. The material has
perished)
The weather is changeable (cf. The weather
has changed)
Reference to grammatical relations again obscures
the generalization. The import of this is that if the
lexicon (via subcategorization and derivational rela-
tionships) has access only to basic syntactic structure,
then grammatical relations and the division into
Subject and Objects do not appear to be basic: this
is exactly what is claimed by the Case Grammar
hypothesis.
This conclusion can be avoided, with respect to
examples such as (8) and (11), at least, if one adopts
the Unaccusative hypothesis associated with develop-
ments of Relational Grammar and other frameworks.
In terms of this hypothesis, the Surface Subjects of (8a)
and (11a) are initial Direct Objects; their subjecthood
is derivative only. (Other intransitive verbs [typically
Agentive] do have initial Subjects; they are Unerga-
tive.) The relationships in (8) and (11) can then be
described without reference to Case Relations: for
example, ‘ergative’ verbs are transitives with an op-
tionally empty subject; the derivational relationship
illustrated by (11) involves uniformly the Direct Ob-
ject of the base verb. Case Grammarians have argued
that such a strategy lacks independent motivation, is
unnecessary given the availability of Case Relations,
and leads to incorrect predictions (cf. e.g., Anderson,
1980).
Such arguments have also been concerned to show
not only that grammatical relations are derivative
(‘Surface’) but also that it is inappropriate to attribute
subjecthood at all to certain language types, if a defi-
nition of Subject more restrictive than ‘obligatory
derived relation’ is to be maintained. In most lan-
guages, Subject is a syntactically motivated grouping
(or neutralization) of transitive Agentives and in-
transitive Neutrals (cf. [8] again). In the (‘ergative’)
Dyirbal language of Australia, such a grouping is at
most only marginally relevant from a syntactic point
of view. (Direct) Objecthood is also notoriously
Case Grammar 223
difficult to identify; and it has been argued that
Indirect Object is an incoherent relation, even deriva-
tively (Anderson, 1978, and see more recently S. R.
Anderson, 1988).
Throughout the late 1960s and the early 1970s,
various different versions of Case Grammar were
proposed, to some extent independently (e.g., apart
from the work of Fillmore: Anderson, 1968, 1971;
Platt, 1971; Cook, 1971, 1972a, 1972b, 1973, 1978;
Nilsen, 1972; Longacre, 1976; cf. also Chafe, 1970),
and the framework inspired a number of descriptive
and applied studies. However, little agreement on the
set and nature of the set of Case Relations emerged
(see further ‘Defining Case Relations’ below). It also
became clear that Case Grammar was vulnerable to
the charge that, apart from the claimed prediction
of the distribution of grammatical relations and
associated word order properties, little evidence of a
syntactic role for Case Relations was adduced. Thus,
for example, the Case-based lexicon of Stockwell
et al. (1973) plays almost no role in the syntactic
descriptions that occupy the rest of the volume.
Even more seriously, perhaps, evidence was put
forward, on the other hand, for the semantic and
syntactic relevance of Deep grammatical relations
and for the necessity of positing the kind of relation
between active and passive sentences prescribed by
the Passive transformation, which was eliminated
from the syntax by Fillmore’s (1968a) proposals.
Crucial here is the discussion of the role of gram-
matical relations by S. R. Anderson (1971). Pairs of
sentences such as those in (12):
(12a) Ernie loaded the pickup with packs of amaretti
(12b) Ernie loaded packs of amaretti onto the truck
differ in interpretation: the former has been described
as ‘holistic,’ the action exhausts the relevant dimen-
sions of space denoted by the Direct Object; the latter
is ‘partitive.’ If (12a) and (12b) share Case Features
(say Agentive, Neutral, Place), then the basis for
the difference must be located elsewhere. It is not a
property of Surface Structure; the difference remains
constant under various transformational movements,
as illustrated by (13) and (14):
(13a) The pickup was loaded with packs of amaretti
(13b) Packs of amaretti were loaded onto the truck
(14a) It was packs of amaretti that Ernie loaded the
truck with
It was the pickup that Ernie loaded with packs
of amaretti
(14b) It was packs of amaretti that Ernie loaded
onto the pickup
It was the pickup that Ernie loaded packs of
amaretti onto
224 Case Grammar
What the (a) variants share is Deep Structure asso-
ciation of the Place Case Relation with Direct Object
function. Their derivations must include a stage at
which this association is made, motivating both Passive
as a transformation and Deep Object. (This is, of
course, not to deny that, given appropriate assump-
tions, this association could be read off derived struc-
tures.) Fillmore (1977a) concedes the force of this
argument, and essentially reinstates Deep Structure,
thereby effectively abandoning the Case Grammar
hypothesis in its strongest form. Others have disagreed.
It is possible, for instance, that Passive may be
accommodated constructionally, as bi-clausal (see
‘Varieties of Case Grammar’ below). But even if that
possibility is laid aside, it can be argued that the Case
Feature assignments assumed above are inappropri-
ate, that they differ between the (a) and (b) examples.
Miller (1985) suggests that the association of nonsub-
jective arguments to Case Relations is reversed be-
tween (a) and (b); J. M. Anderson (1977: Sect. 1.8)
accepts that the (a) and (b) examples share the same
Case Features and the same associations, but suggests
that in addition the Place argument in the (a) exam-
ples is simultaneously Neutral: i.e., it bears two Case
Relations. (On this see ‘Defining Case Relations’
below.) Under either proposal, we can associate holi-
sticness, as elsewhere, with the Neutral Case Rela-
tion: unless this expectation is canceled in some way,
Neutrals are normally understood as participating as
a whole in the process being represented. This is true
of the Neutrals in (1b) and (12b), for instance.
J. M. Anderson also points out that the generaliza-
tion based on Deep Object is inadequate. The Subjec-
tive Place argument in (15a) but not (15b) is also
associated with a holistic interpretation:
(15a) The garden is swarming with bees
(15b) Bees are swarming in the garden
He attributes this to the Place in (15a) being again
simultaneously Neutral, which is also associated with
its selection as Subject. Once more, (12) and (15)
show the ‘ergative’ (or, more misleadingly, ‘unaccusa-
tive’) pattern that cuts across grammatical relations.
The syntactic role of Case Relations has been
variously addressed since the mid-1970s. The force
of objections based on the paucity of reference by
transformations to Case Relations has been consider-
ably weakened by the apparent demise of individual
transformations. For instance, the motivations for
a syntactic relationship between pairs such as that
in (16), involving a putative Dative Movement, are
disputable, where evident:
(16a) Anna taught Helen Greek
(16b) Anna taught Greek to Helen
These pairs can be argued to show a partially shared
Case Frame, with the difference in word order being
attributable to the differences in Case Relations pres-
ent (cf. again Anderson, 1978; also Anderson, 1987).
The difference in Case Frame is reflected in the con-
trary acceptabilities of (17a) and (17b):
(17a) *Anna taught an empty room Greek
(17b) Anna taught Greek to an empty room
The Helen/empty room argument is involved in the
action in a different way in the (a) and (b) examples,
suggesting a difference in Case Relation (on the pos-
sible character of this difference, once more involv-
ing an argument being assigned more that one Case
Relation, see again ‘Defining Case Relations’ below).
More generally, the development of frameworks
in which transformations are reduced to a small num-
ber, including one, or from which they are eliminated
altogether, poses the question of the syntactic rele-
vance of Case Relations in a different way – or rather
different possible ways. This is one respect in which
different variants of Case Grammar have evolved
in response to decisions about other aspects of the
grammar than are encompassed by the basic Case
Grammar hypothesis.
Varieties of Case Grammar
Fillmorean Case Grammar evolved as an alternative to
the kind of transformational grammar expounded in
Chomsky (1965), with subject formation instated as
one of a number of transformational rules. Anderson
(1968, 1971) talks of rules of realization (including
‘sequencing’), implying nontransformational mapping
of (unordered) Case structures onto surface structures
enriched with sequence and configurations; but only
a very limited range of constructions is taken into
consideration there. And Anderson (1977) envisages
complex (transformational) derivational relationships
between initial unordered structures and Surface,
including prelexical application of syntactic rules
(cf. similar developments over the same period within
Generative Semantics (see Generative Semantics).
Partly in reaction to such developments, Starosta
(1973, 1978, 1987, 1988) and others have formu-
lated a framework, Lexicase (see Lexicase), which
eschews transformations, and, indeed, syntactic deri-
vations altogether. Syntax is monostratal and Case
Relations and Case Forms (including case inflexions)
are marked as features on lexical items, the former on
nouns, the latter on nouns, verbs, and prepositions.
Thus, corresponding to (3) and (4) above we might
have (18), with no Deep/Surface distinction (modeled
on Starosta, 1987: 65):

AGT and PAT are Case Relation features, roughly
corresponding to A and N; Nom, Acc, Sorc, and Goal
are Case Form features. The relationship between the
[þAGT] noun in (18a) and the Means ([þMNS]) noun
in (18b) is expressed by the rule of lexical derivation
that forms the adjectival verb in (18b) from the transi-
tive verb in (18a). Corresponding to the Case Frame
Features discussed above, we have Contextual Fea-
tures such as [þ[þAGT]] and [þ[þPAT]] associated
lexically with predicates. Contextual Features may be
either inherent or given by lexical redundancy: e.g., all
verbs are redundantly [þ[þPAT]] (what Starosta refers
to as Patient Centrality: see ‘Defining Case Relations’
below). The Subject Selection Hierarchy is also
expressed by lexical redundancies such as (19)
(Starosta, 1987: 67):
Example (19) requires that an item that occurs with a
[þAGT] must also occur with a [þPAT] (generaliz-
able as Patient Centrality), and also that the [þAGT]
is [þNom], Subject, and the [þPAT] is [þAcc],
Object.
Case Grammar 225
In general, the grammar is reduced to what can
be expressed via relationships between individual
lexical items, though the status of long-distance
dependencies remains uncertain. We should note too
that some critics have found it difficult to see how
basic word order settings (such as Head-Modifier
vs. Modifier-Head) can be regarded as part of the
lexicon.
It is still possible within such a restrictive frame-
work to reconstruct the fundamental basis for the
Case Grammar hypothesis, the primacy of Case Rela-
tions vis-à-vis Case Forms; specifically, in terms of
redundancies such as that in (19). But lexical primacy
of Case Relations is a property shared by a number
of other proposals, such as those made within the
tradition of Functional Grammar (see Functional
Grammar: Martinet), as developed by Dik (1978;
also 1987) and others. Are these also Case Gram-
mars? Starosta himself describes various Valency
Grammars (see Valency Grammar) as such. This is
to some extent a terminological matter. However, the
central thrust of work in Case Grammar (what was
called above the strong hypothesis) has involved the
syntactic primacy of Case Relations and the exclusion
of grammatical relations, etc. from the lexicon (cf.
‘Some Fundamentals’ above). Other developments
suggest that this can be maintained within a restric-
tive theory that nevertheless does not abandon the
syntax/lexicon division.
The descriptions proposed by Anderson (1977) in-
volve complex syntactic derivations. But they are
conceived of as resulting from the interaction of a
small number of universal syntactic rules, and possi-
bly only one involving structure change (Raising),
regulated by universal constraints, such as Strict
Cyclicity. Roughly, in terms of this last, cyclic
structure-changing rules must apply only in derived
(nonmonoclausal) environments or in an environ-
ment resulting from the application of a cyclic rule.
Thus, a derivation whereby the Subject of the finite
verb in (20) is Raised out of a subordinate clause,
conforms to Strict Cyclicity:
(20) Fran seems to like cheese
whereas monoclausal rules such as Dative and the
traditional Passive, whether interpreted as move-
ments or relation changes, are illegitimate. Such a
requirement outlaws all the Advancements of Rela-
tional Grammar, for instance, if conceived in deri-
vational terms. Raising, indeed, it has been argued
(e.g., Anderson, 1982, 1984, 1986), provides a para-
digm instance of the syntactic role of Case Relations
and of the appropriateness of the strong Case Gram-
mar hypothesis.
226 Case Grammar
In (20), the Raised Subject of the (nonfinite) subor-
dinate clause assumes the Subject function in the main
(cyclic) clause. In (21) the Raised Subject becomes the
Object of the finite verb:
(21) Nobody expected Fran to like cheese
(Such a formulation clearly rejects attempts to deny
such a [derived] status to the Fran argument in [21].)
The derived relations involved present us with a fa-
miliar pattern of distribution, that labeled ‘ergative.’
The status of Subject in (20) and Object in (21) is
exactly what one would expect of a Neutral argu-
ment; in (21), it is denied subjecthood by the Experi-
encer argument of the finite verb. Raising confers
the Neutral Case Relation in the cyclic clause on the
Subject argument of the subordinate verb.
Formulations of Raising invoking grammatical
relations or configurations, once again, obscure this
generalization. More interestingly still, this interac-
tion of relations is as predicted by the Case Grammar
hypothesis. The identification of grammatical rela-
tions is derived, determined by the Hierarchy; thus,
the identity of the Subject of the cyclic clause is not
available on the cycle of rules applying to that clause
(in the absence of an arbitrary ordering of rules);
but, if the Subject is identified cyclically, then its
identity is available on the next cycle. This is exactly
what the formulation of Raising requires: the argu-
ment involved is identified as the Subject of the lower
clause (now available, on the Raising cycle) and as
Neutral (a Case Relation) in the cyclic clause; its gram-
matical relation in the upper clause is given by the
Hierarchy. Indeed, if this argument had to be identified
in the formulation of Raising by its grammatical rela-
tion in the cyclic clause, such a formulation would
stand as a counter-example to the predictions of the
Case Grammar hypothesis.
Dative and Passive, also, in so far as they involve
manipulation of derived properties within a single
clause, also violate the Case Grammar hypothesis, as
they do Strict Cyclicity. The two hypotheses converge
in excluding them as monoclausal rules. The Dative
relationship with examples such as (16) can be
allowed for in terms of partially shared Case Features.
Such an account is not available, however, for Pas-
sive. But as an alternative to the lexical proposal
described above, a cue can be taken (as it has been
in a number of approaches) from the overtly two-verb
structure involved.
Say (Passive) be is a Raising verb, and its Subject
is Raised out of the subordinate clause associated
with the accompanying nonfinite (e.g., Anderson,
1991). It differs from a Raising verb like seem only
in that the Raised argument is not the Subject of
the nonfinite verb; rather, it is the argument next
down on the Subject Selection Hierarchy. This
stipulation allows for all of (22), with the bound-
aries of the subordinate clause marked by square
brackets):
(22a) Albert was [killed by Emma]
(22b) That was [known by/to everybody]
(22c) The bed was [slept in by a parrot]
In each instance, the Hierarchically highest argu-
ment (Agentive, Experiencer, Agentive/Neutral, re-
spectively) is ignored by Raising, and is marked
with a preposition characteristic of the Case Relation
involved. (On the Agentive/Neutral assigned to (22c)
see ‘Defining Case Relations’ below.)
More recently, it has been claimed (cf. again
Anderson, 1991) that Raising (including Passive) is
projectively structure-building; more generally, that
syntactic structure is built up monotonically on the
basis of the valencies (specified crucially in terms of
Case Relations) of individual lexical items. Such
developments serve to enable us to bring into sharper
focus the differences between the lexical Case Gram-
mar advocated by Starosta and the tradition within
which Case Relations are seen as syntactically basic.
Crucially involved is the validity of a syntactic/
lexical distinction. Advocates of the distinction (e.g.,
Anderson, 1984) argue, for instance, for a differenti-
ation between syntactic and lexical passives (derived
adjectives); it is unclear how, if legitimate, this dis-
tinction is to be reconstructed in purely lexical terms.
Another central question for the lexical approach
(apart from those mentioned above) is: how are the
alleged asymmetries between the roles of Case Rela-
tions and Case Forms to be accounted for? This
involves both the syntactic asymmetry associated
with Strict Cyclicity (deployed in the description of
Raising given above) and the lexical asymmetry asso-
ciated with the claimed failure of lexical rules to make
reference to Case Forms.
Case Grammar approaches (including perhaps
Functional Grammar) are united in highlighting the
Contrastive status of Case Relations: they have to be
stipulated lexically. Many other aspects of syntactic
and lexical structure are redundant, derivative of
Case specifications and e.g., parametric settings for
basic word order. The Case Relations are also seman-
tically identified, though distributionally distinctive.
Such a view has been influential in the evolution
of other, distinctively labeled frameworks, such as
Role and Reference Grammar (see Semantics in Role
and Reference Grammar). In the main line
of development in transformational grammar (epito-
mized by Chomsky, 1972, 1981, 1995), the Case
Grammar hypothesis was initially rejected, but over
time transformational syntax came to embrace Case

Relations (under the unfortunate name of Thematic
Relations, or Theta Roles), and eventually to aban-
don Deep Structure. In these respects, the Minimalist
program can be identified as a variant of Case Gram-
mar. On the other hand, Anderson (1989, 1991, 1997)
and Böhm (1998), in view of the semanticity of the
Case Relations, see Case Grammar as a subpart of
Notional Grammar, wherein all the basic elements of
the syntax, including word classes, though distribu-
tionally motivated, are identified on the basis of
semantic properties displayed by their prototypical
members.
As ‘Varieties of Case Grammar’ has in part illu-
strated, other aspects of Case Grammar have been
much more contentious. To some extent, this reflects
choice among theoretical alternatives relatively inde-
pendent of the Case grammar hypothesis. Indepen-
dence of hypotheses within grammatical systems,
however, is only ever relative. Thus, whereas Fillmore
(1968a, 1971a) remains rather undecided concerning
the appropriate representation of syntactic struc-
tures including Cases, others (e.g., Robinson, 1970;
Anderson, 1971; Tarvainen, 1987, and cf. Tesnière,
1959) have argued that Case Relations, specifically,
are most appropriately expressed by Dependency
structures (see Dependency Grammar). In terms of
the framework of Anderson, 1971, for instance, (23)
would correspond to (4), with Case nodes dependent
on the V(erb) and governing the N(oun); Erg ¼
Ergative (roughly, Agentive; see ‘Defining Case Rela-
tions’) and Nom ¼ Nominative (Neutral):
The correlation between the dependency hypothesis,
and other aspects of syntax, and the Case Grammar
hypothesis itself is controversial. But perhaps the
least agreed-on aspect of Case Grammar has been
the constitution of the set of Case Relations them-
selves, an issue that remains unresolved. And the
characterization of these in turn has consequences
for these other issues concerning the parameters of a
Case Grammar.
Case Grammar 227
Defining Case Relations
The arguments of a predicate identify the entities
involved in the situation described by the predicate.
The nature of the roles played by these entities can be
discriminated in more or less detail. In a sense, each
predicate prescribes a unique set of roles. But it is
possible to generalize over various ‘fields’ of the vo-
cabulary; and in certain institutionalized situations,
in particular, these roles are made lexically explicit
in the language. Thus, in the situations described by
English verbs such as sell, buy, barter, etc., one role is
occupied by a Customer; in those described by con-
cede, justify, accuse, etc., there occurs a Defendant,
perhaps (see e.g., Fillmore, 1971c, 1972: Sect. 42,
1977b). More generally still, we can recognize that
in many situations it is possible to attribute to a
particular entity the role of Source of the Action, the
Agentive role.
The Customer in (24a) and the Defendant in (24b)
are both Agentive, as Sources of the immediate
Action described by the verb:
(24a) Algernon bought a Lada from Bert
(24b) Algernon justified his decision unconvincingly
However, there is no simple mapping between such
generalized roles and the more specific institutiona-
lized functions. The Customer in (25), for instance,
is not presented as the Source of the immediate
Action:
(25) Bert sold a Lada to Algernon
even though the same ‘real-world’ event may be being
referred to by (24a) and (25). This observation under-
mines such critiques as that offered by Dowty (1989).
Dowty’s program for eliminating Case Relations
from the syntax has been pursued, however, in vari-
ous ways, as in the tradition exemplified by Hale and
Keyser (2002), generally at the cost of acceptance of a
very abstract view of syntax and of the syntacticiza-
tion of lexical structure.
Much of Fillmore’s work since the early 1970s has
been concerned with the cognitive structures, Frames
(see Frame Analysis), within which detailed
role specifications are articulated. However, it is
generalized roles such as Agentive that Case Gram-
marians identify as Case Relations, those semantic
functions that are basic to the lexicon and/or syntax.
There has been some agreement, and much disagree-
ment, concerning the set of roles that fulfill this func-
tion in the grammar. (For a survey of early work see
Somers, 1987.)
The set of Case Relations offered in Fillmore
(1968a) was tentative and not intended as necessarily
exhaustive; he suggests (Fillmore, 1968a: 24–25):
228 Case Grammar
. Agentive (A), the case of the typically animate per-
ceived instigator of the action identified by the
verb;
. Instrumental (I), the case of the inanimate force
or object causally involved in the action or state
identified by the verb;
. Dative (D), the case of the animate being affected
by the state or action identified by the verb;
. Factitive (F), the case of the object or being result-
ing from the action or state identified by the verb,
or understood as a part of the meaning of the verb;
. Locative (L), the case that identifies the location or
spatial orientation of the state or action identified
by the verb;
. Objective (O), the semantically most neutral case,
the case of anything representable by a noun whose
role in the action or state identified by the verb is
identified by the semantic interpretation of the verb
itself; conceivably the concept should be limited
to things that are affected by the action or state
identified by the verb.
Other possibilities are mentioned elsewhere. Fillmore
(1971b: Sect. 4) proposes a rather different set as ‘‘the
case notions that are most relevant to the subclassifi-
cation of verb types’’: it includes a Counter-Agent,
and splits the Dative into various other Cases, includ-
ing a new one, the Experiencer (see further below).
Fillmore (1971a) contains a slightly different list, in
particular lacking Result (regarded there as a Goal)
and Counter-Agent and including Location, Time,
and Path.
Starosta (1988) suggests a set somewhat reduced
compared to his and Fillmore’s earlier proposals.
Cook (1978: 299), for instance, proposes only
Agent, Experiencer, Benefactive, Object, and Loca-
tive, while Longacre (1976: 27–34) has Experiencer,
Patient, Agent, Range, Measure, Instrument, Loca-
tive, Source, Goal, and Path. These sets at least
show some overlap; much less of this is evident in,
for example, the rather more exotic set proposed by
Tarvainen (1987). Such uncertainty over the set of
Cases, also well illustrated by the introductory dis-
cussion to the sample lexicon of Stockwell et al.
(1973: Chap. 12, Sect. II.A), has often been cited in
criticism of the Case Grammar framework (e.g.,
Chapin, 1972). It might, indeed, be regarded as a
sign of lack of responsibility to describe a particular
Case as a ‘wastebasket’ (Fillmore, 1971a: 42). Unless
a theory of Case is properly constrained, new Cases
are liable to crawl out of (or be rescued from;
Radden, 1978) the ‘wastebasket’ or from even less
desirable spots.
It should, however, be pointed out that the same
challenge, or problem, confronts any framework that
includes semantic functions or thematic roles (Gruber,
1965; Jackendoff, 1983, and descendants), whose sta-
tus (as already implied) is now seen by a number of
non-Case Grammarians as central to the grammar (cf.
e.g., the discussions and references in Wilkins, 1988).
Moreover, the determination of the set of syntactic
categories as a whole remains contentious. How, for
instance, does one group and hierarchize the classes
indicated by the labels universal quantifier (e.g., all),
distributive quantifier (every), existential quantifier
(e.g., some), adjectival quantifier (e.g., many), quan-
tificational adjective (e.g., numerous, various), cardi-
nal numeral, ordinal numeral, superlative adjective,
. . . (see e.g., Anderson, 1989)?
On the other hand, this Defendant has to concede
that the resolution of the question of the constitution
of the set of semantic functions is rather more crucial
for a framework in which they play such a fundamen-
tal role as is advocated by Case Grammarians. Thus,
much effort has been devoted within Case Grammar
not merely to the establishing of definitions and se-
mantic/syntactic properties of the individual Cases
(cf. e.g., Fillmore’s [1972: Sect. 32] discussion of
Experiencer and personally), but also to the formula-
tion of general principles governing the distribution
of Cases and (less commonly) of a general substantive
theory of the category of Case.
Some Case Relations seem to be well established:
Agentives and Neutrals, for instance, are generally
invoked, with agreement over the central instances
of such; and their status as Cases is supported by
many of the phenomena alluded to in ‘Some Funda-
mentals’ and ‘Defining Case Relations.’ And a Place
or Locative Case is generally acknowledged, though
its relation to Source and Goal (and Path) is conten-
tious. It is also generally agreed that predicates of
experience such as like involve a distinct Case, which
Fillmore (1968a) dubbed Dative; but the scope of this
Case is controversial, with Fillmore (1971a, 1971b),
as seen above, for instance, reassigning some former
Datives to Goal or Neutral and relabeling the rest
Experiencer (Fillmore, 1971a: 42):
. . . where there is a genuine psychological event or men-
tal state verb, we have the Experiencer; where there is a
non-psychological verb which indicates a change of
state, such as one of dying or growing, we have the
Object; where there is a transfer or movement of some-
thing to a person, the receiver as destination is taken as
the Goal.
However, as we will see, there are also problems with
this revised version.
Many investigators recognize an Instrumental Case
Relation, as illustrated by the a hammer argument
in (26):

(26a) The vandals dented the BMW with a hammer
(26b) A hammer dented the BMW
And some (cf. e.g., Fillmore, 1971a: Sect. 9) have
recognized a Path:
(27) Henry traveled through Celle
Anderson (1971, 1977), however, rejects both of
these as Cases, as well as most of the others that
have been proposed, in favor of a very restricted set
of Case Relations.
Much of this disagreement can be understood in
terms of diverse interpretations of the distributional
and substantive constraints that Case Relations con-
form to. The nature of these constraints and the dif-
ferences in their application can perhaps best be
appreciated in terms of an examination of a Case on
whose validity most researchers seem to be agreed,
the Agentive.
We can provide Agentive with a distinctive semantic
definition, perhaps along the lines of one of those
given above, and we can associate phrases thus
defined with a distinctive distribution, particularly
in relation to their role in the Subject Selection
Hierarchy. Occurrence of Agentive also correlates
with other semanticosyntactic properties: zero-
manifestation in imperatives (Kill Albert! etc.), adver-
bial selection:
(28a) Emma killed Albert in cold blood/deliberately
(28b) *Albert died in cold blood/deliberately
where interpretation of (28b) requires some extension
of our normal understanding of the meaning and the
argument type normally associated with die. Agen-
tives are also, perhaps, ‘‘typically animate’’ (Fillmore,
1968a), even human, as in these examples.
Some phrases that share their basic distribution
with Agentives like Emma in (28a) are not human,
or even animate, however:
(29a) Lightning killed Albert
(29b) Albert was killed by lightning
and they lack many of the associated properties. This
can perhaps be allowed for in terms of Fillmore’s
‘typically animate’; perhaps, to elaborate on this
somewhat, lightning in (29) is a nonprototypical
Agentive. But what of (30) and the like?
(30a) The poison killed Albert
(30b) Albert was killed by the poison
For Fillmore (1968a), the poison is an Instrumental,
which in the presence of an Agentive (even if not
overt) is necessarily marked by with:
(31a) Emma killed Albert with the poison
(31b) Albert was killed with the poison (by Emma)
Case Grammar 229
But the Case of the poison in (30a) is in fact indeter-
minate, given Fillmore’s definitions (either A or I), or
a nonexistent ambiguity is predicted for its role here.
One solution to this dilemma is to suggest that
Instrumentals only ever occur with predicates that
also take an Agentive (an instrument presupposes an
agent) and to regard the poison in (30) as Agentive:
it is again a nonprototypical Agentive that we inter-
pret as normally fitting into a frame or scene that
includes an (unspecified) ultimate agent. Likewise,
there is no distributional reason to recognize a dis-
tinct Force Case (Huddleston, 1970) associated with
lightning in (29): volition and the capacity to wield an
instrument are not necessarily to be attributed to
nonprototypical Agentives.
The fact that the poison in (30) and (31) is now
interpreted as bearing two different Cases is analo-
gous to the situation we associated with the Customer
role above: an entity bearing the same role, say In-
strument, in a ‘real-world’ situation may be repre-
sented linguistically in different ways (cf. [24a] and
[25]), in this instance as Agentive or Instrumental.
(See Anderson, 1977: Chap. 1; and for a more general
description of Instrumentals, Nilsen, 1973.) If the
subjects of (29a) and (30a) are not Instrumentals,
then prototypical Instrumentals such as those realized
in (31) do not participate in Subject and Object Selec-
tion; indeed, arguably, they are not an independent
component of the subcategorization requirements of
any predicate. To put it in its strongest form, it is
being claimed that Instrumentals are available with
any Agentive predicate. Of course, the class of Instru-
mental will vary with the class of Agentive predicate:
one travels by car rather than with (a) car (unless one
is merely accompanying it). If the availability of
Instrumentals can be allowed for by redundancy,
i.e., their occurrence need never be stipulated by the
Case Features of any predicate, then they can be
removed from the set of primary Cases. They are
not Participant but Circumstantial (Halliday, 1967/
1968; Anderson, 1977, 1986); not Actants (Tesnière,
1959).
The drawing of a distinction between Participant
and Circumstantial is the first step in arriving at a
delimitation of the set of (Participant) Case Relations.
It is only to potential Participants that distributional
criteria such as Fillmore’s (1971a) principles of ‘con-
trast’ and ‘complementarity’ can be fully applied (see
below); circumstantials require a rather different
approach.
Circumstantials largely correspond to what many
Case Grammarians have dubbed Outer Cases. (It is
less clear to what extent Circumstantials as character-
ized here also correspond in general to Fillmore’s
Modal Cases.) And perhaps a less controversial
230 Case Grammar
Circumstantial is what Fillmore calls the Outer Loca-
tive, as in (32):
(32a) Nigel made lots of money in London
(32b) In London Nigel made lots of money
The Outer Locative (given appropriate choice of lexi-
cal items) can appear with any predicate, and, for
example, is readily fronted. Contrast the (inner) Loc-
ative in (33):
(33a) Nigel kept lots of money in a sock
(33b) ?In a sock Nigel kept lots of money
The (inner) Locative is part of the Case Frame (in its
absence the lexical item keep has a different sense:
‘retain’), and it can be accompanied by an Outer
Locative:
(34a) Nigel kept lots of money in a sock in London
(34b) In London Nigel kept lots of money in a sock
Example (34b) lacks the additional interpretation
available with (a) with respect to which in London
modifies sock.
Anderson (1977: Chap. 1) argues that a number of
proposed (Propositional) Cases are Circumstantial.
Thus, Time, for instance, as in (35), is always Cir-
cumstantial:
(35) Brenda left on Tuesday
For Anderson, the temporal phrases in (36) and (37)
are, respectively, Source and Goal, and Neutral:
(36) The concert lasted from seven to eleven
(37) A long period elapsed
These arguments are associated here with verbs
that normally require that their Source-and-Goal or
Neutral argument involve temporal reference. And
Tuesday in (38) is a nonprototypical Experiencer:
(38) Tuesday saw Brenda’s departure
Such a proposal is based on a strategy of eliminating,
as distinctions in Case, contrasts that are basically
signaled elsewhere. As such, it can be said to repre-
sent an implementation of Fillmore’s (1971a: 40–41)
principle of ‘complementarity.’
Fillmore (1971a: Sect. 3) also offers two assump-
tions that he terms principles of ‘contrast.’ The second
principle, not explicitly formulated as such, is con-
cerned with the establishment of contrasts in Case
Relation associated with a single (syntactic) position.
Fillmore illustrates this with comparative construc-
tions and with the Subjects of the same predicate
in (39):
(39a) I am warm
(39b) This jacket is warm
(39c) Summer is warm
(39d) The room is warm
On one interpretation, I in (39a) is an Experiencer
(and warm a psychological predicate); this jacket in
(39b) is an Instrument; summer in (39c) is a Time;
the room in (39d) is a Locative/Location. These
assignments are supported by the recurrence of such
distinctions in Subject position with other predi-
cates (Fillmore discusses sad), but it is unclear what
the syntactic consequences of some of the posited
distinctions might be.
Fillmore’s discussion of comparatives (only Noun
Phrases of identical Case can be compared) is also
inconclusive in this respect, in that it is apparent
that many other semantic factors are involved in de-
termining the wellformedness of such constructions.
And implementation of ‘complementarity’ would
suggest that (39c) and (39d) (at least) do not involve
a distinction in Case (rather, of referential domain).
Application of a ‘contrast’ principle here necessitates
that the rest of the environment be kept constant, and
so the possibility of ‘complementarity’ is eliminated.
The other principle of ‘contrast’ discussed by
Fillmore (1971a) is the one-instance-per-clause prin-
ciple: a single clause will contain at most one (possi-
bly compound) Noun Phrase associated with a
particular Case. This has been generally accepted
even outside Case Grammar, as in Chomsky’s Theta
Criterion; and it seems to be well supported. The
principal area of dissent concerns Neutral, which
Anderson (1971; also 1977: Chap. 1) suggests occurs
twice in equatives (The guy over there is the man she
loves, etc.). He associates this with a further property
that has been attributed to Neutral; that it is obliga-
tory with every predicate – what Starosta (1987; also
1978) refers to as Patient Centrality.
This principle of ‘contrast’ has been frequently
coupled with a companion principle requiring that
each NP bear at most one Case Relation (Fillmore,
1968a: 24; cf. again the Theta Criterion). However,
it has been argued that this is quite generally inap-
propriate (not just with respect to specific Cases).
At issue are, among other things, sentences like
those in (40):
(40a) Bert has moved the bookcase
(40b) The bookcase has moved
(40c) Bert has moved
Also see on this and other areas, such as the see/look
Case Frames, Huddleston, 1970; Anderson, 1968:
App., 1971: Chap. 1. In (40a) Bert and the bookcase
are fairly uncontroversially A and N, respectively;
and in (40b) the bookcase is once more Neutral. But
what of Bert in (40c)? It is clearly Neutral: the refer-
ent of Bert undergoes the movement; and its status as

such is required by Patient Centrality. But on one
interpretation at least, Bert is also the source of the
action, Agentive. And there are semantic and syntac-
tic consequences (adverb modification, Unergativity,
etc.); some of these are also illustrated by the sen-
tences from Eastern Pomo given in (2) above.
For a contrary view, however, see Starosta, 1987,
for instance, where this distinction is not represented.
Somers (1987: Chap. 8) surveys some of the argu-
ments involved. Starosta (1988: Sect. 4.3) introduces
a third ‘case-like’ category (besides Case Forms and
Case Relations), namely Macroroles (cf. Foley
and van Valin, 1984), of which there are two: Actor
and Undergoer. The Actor is the Agent of a transitive
clause or the Patient of an intransitive one. These
are ‘‘established to account primarily for morpho-
syntactic rather than situational generalizations’’
(Starosta, 1988: 145). But one might have expected
them to allow for such phenomena as others have
associated with attribution of more than one Case
Relation to a single argument, while maintaining
the one-instance-per-NP constraint. However, ‘‘it
appears that Actor, like Patient, is present in every
clause’’ (Starosta, 1988: 146). Thus, both the book-
case in (40b) and Bert in (40c) would apparently be
[þactr, þPAT]. The semantic distinction remains
uncaptured. Actor also does not seem to accord well
with the syntactic functions Starosta attributes to it.
Thus, ‘‘the actant which may be omissible in impera-
tives . . . is the Actor’’ (Starosta, 1988: 151). But not
all intransitive Patients show unmarked imperativiza-
tion: this is true of (40b) as well as of the Patients
associated with verbs such as stumble, blister, etc.
under their normal (nonmetaphorical, non-play-
acting) interpretation.
Anderson (1977: Chap. 2, in particular) deploys
‘complementarity’ and nonunary Case assignments
for NPs to argue, without recourse to Macroroles,
for a very reduced set of (Participant) Cases. For
instance, he suggests that Path is a combination of
Source and Goal; that Goal is a variant of Locative
(with a predicate that also takes a Source, a direction-
al predicate). Experiencers are interpreted as a com-
bination of Locative with a Case Relation which,
uncombined with Locative, characterizes Agentives:
a Case Relation he calls Ergative. Thus, the Case
Relations in (40) are respectively represented as in
(41a–c) and those in (7a) and (39a) as, respectively,
(41d, 41e):
(41a) Erg Abs
(41b) Abs
(41c) ErgþAbs
(41d) ErgþLoc Abs
(41e) ErgþLocþAbs
Case Grammar 231
(where Anderson’s Abs(olutive) is Neutral, the Nom
of J. M. Anderson, 1971). He proposes (Anderson,
1977: 115) a set of four Cases, given in (42), with
each Case characterized in terms of combinations of
the notional features Place and Source, such that Abs
is unmarked and Erg is a non-Place Source, source of
the event or situation, physical or mental, potentially
in control of it:
See also, more recently, Ostler, 1980.
These characterizations incorporate a general sub-
stantive principle determining the character of Case
Relations, to complement the distributional and indi-
vidual properties mentioned above. They instantiate
one articulation of the Localist Hypothesis (cf. Local-
ism), whose earlier history is charted by Hjelmslev
(1935/1937), in terms of which the domain of Case is
structured by components utilized in our perception
of spatial situations: there are no necessarily ‘ab-
stract’ Case Relations. The hypothesis is one attempt
to provide a general definition of Case, avoiding the
problems of uncertainty and overlap associated with
notional definitions particular to individual Cases.
The importance of a nonparticularist approach to
Case is forcibly expressed by Hjelmslev (1935: 4):
Délimiter exactement une catégorie est impossible sans
une idée précise sur les faits de signification. Il ne suffit
pas d’avoir des idées sur les significations de chacune des
formes entrant dans la catégorie. Il faut pouvoir indiquer
la signification de la catégorie prise dans son ensemble.
Apart from within the Localist tradition (including its
partial, unwitting adoption by Gruber, 1965 and
Jackendoff, 1976, 1983), it is only recently (with
developments in Cognitive Grammar (see Cognitive
Grammar) and elsewhere) that such a viewpoint has
been to the forefront in the mainstream of the struc-
turalist linguistic tradition in the last few decades.
The postulation of a universal theory of Case is,
of course, not to say that the ‘same’ situation will
be expressed in terms of the same Case Frame in dif-
ferent languages, or that what can be an Erg in lan-
guage X will necessarily correspond to an Erg in
language Y (cf. e.g., Dahl, 1987). The English Experi-
encer (ErgþLoc) in (42) is alien to a large number of
languages, for instance. Rather, these Relations form
the basis for constructing clause structures in any
language, and their applicability is limited primarily,
232 Case Grammar
within the Localist tradition, by the spatial proto-
types with which they are associated.
Among the many uncertainties and contentious
issues surrounding notions of Case, some of which
are surveyed here, perhaps the least explored is the
character and status of Circumstantials. Anderson
(1986) suggests that, despite their apparent diversity,
the set of Circumstantials can be described using the
same set of (combinations of) Case Relations as are
appropriate to distinguishing Participants, and that
the hierarchy of Circumstantials in terms of their
closeness of relation to the central proposition is
associated with the specificity of the verb class with
which they are compatible. Thus, Instrumentals, in so
far as they are compatible only with Agentive verbs,
are more tightly integrated than Outer Locatives or
circumstantial time phrases. But here in particular,
much research remains to be done (in any frame-
work). For some discussion, see again, e.g., Somers,
1987: Chap. 1.
See also: Case; Cognitive Grammar; Dependency Gram-
mar; Frame Analysis; Functional Grammar: Martinet;
Generative Semantics; Lexicase; Minimalism; Semantics
in Role and Reference Grammar; Valency Grammar.
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234 Castrén, Matthias Alexander (1813–1852)
Castrén, Matthias Alexander (1813–1852)
F Karisson, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Matthias Alexander Castrén (1813–1852) was the
founder of scholarly Uralic (Finno-Ugric and Samoyed)
studies and an early pioneer of linguistic field work
and ethnolinguistics.
Castrén was born in Finland in southern Lapland
and went to school in Oulu. He studied classical and
Oriental languages at the University of Helsinki
and obtained his Cand. Phil. degree in 1836. He was
a good friend of the central characters of the national
awakening movement in Finland, Johan Ludvig
Runeberg, Elias Lönnrot, and Zacharias Topelius,
and this affected his course of life. But the person
who influenced him the most was A. J. Sjögren
(1794–1855), an academician in the Imperial Acade-
my in St. Petersburg. Sjögren had himself made long
field trips during most of the 1820s to the western
Finno-Ugric populations in Russia, and he inspired
Castrén to extend the explorations eastward. Sjögren
also was instrumental in arranging funding from the
Academy.
Castrén had already done fieldwork in 1838–1839
in Lapland and Karelia, mainly to collect mythology
and folklore. In 1841–1844 he conducted his first
long field trip, to western and central Russia. Castrén
studied Yurak Samoyed (Nenets) in Arkhangel’sk
and then continued along the Pechora to the Komis
(Zyryans). His grammar of Komi (Komi-Zyrian)
(Elementa grammatices Syrjaenae) was published in
1844. Castrén crossed the Urals and ended up in
Obdorsk, where his health started to falter and he
was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the lungs. During
this long trip he became convinced that Finnish and
Samoyed were related. In 1845 his basic grammar of
Mari, Low (Cheremis) appeared.
Castrén’s decisive journey lasted from 1845 to 1849
and covered an area extending over Siberia beyond the
Yenissei and Ob’, from the coastal tundra of the Arctic
Sea all the way to the Altay and Sayan mountains,
even transgressing the Chinese border. In addition to
extensive archeological and ethnographic material,
he collected data on all Samoyed languages, including
Kamassian (Kamas), of which he found the last 150
speakers east of Krasnoyarsk, Khanty (Ostyak), the
isolated and highly complex Ket (Yenissei-Ostyak)
language and the related Kott language, two dialects
of Turkic, Buryat Mongolian (Buriat, Mongolia), and
Evenki (Tungus). All in all, Castrén traveled more
than 50 000 km.
Castrén’s first comparative study (1839) treated
nominal inflection in Finnish, Estonian, and Sámi.
He formulated a program for further studies in the
field. Castrén rejects the old speculations concerning
the biblical origin of Finnish and proceeds to a con-
crete comparison of morphological categories. He
deals with morphophonological alternations like
vowel harmony and consonant gradation (see Finn-
ish) as well as number and case inflection. He was
the first to demonstrate that the stop alternations
inFinnish, Estonian, and Sámi depend in part upon
the structure of the following syllable (open or
closed).
Castrén’s most important contribution is his com-
parative grammar of the Samoyed languages. This
600-page posthumous work contains descriptions
of all the five Samoyed languages investigated by
Castrén, especially their sounds and morphological
properties, and provides outlines of the development
of the languages and their hypothesized common
source. This work constitutes the foundation of
comparative Uralic studies.
Castrén’s study (1850) of pronominal suffixes
in Finno-Ugric, Samoyed, Turkic, Mongolian, and
Tungusic languages attempts to show that these
languages are related and form the Altaic language
family. However, posterity has not accepted this
hypothesis.
In 1851, Castrén was appointed the first professor
of Finnish at the University of Helsinki, but after only
one year in office he died of complications related to
his tuberculosis. Even upon his deathbed he struggled
with his comparative Samoyed grammar, which
(along with many of his other writings) was published
posthumously by the academician Anton Schiefner in
St. Petersburg (Castrén, 1853–1862).
See also: Anthropological Linguistics: Overview; Finnish;
Uralic Languages.
Bibliography
Castrén M A (1853–1862). Nordische Reisen und For-
schungen. Im Auftrage der Kaiserlichen Akademie
der Wissenschaften herausgegeben von Anton Schiefner.
St. Petersburg. 1–7.
Estlander B (1929). Mathias Aleksanteri Castrén. Hänen
matkansa ja tutkimuksensa. Helsinki: Otava. [Also in
Swedish.]
Hovdhaugen E, Karlsson F, Henriksen C & Sigurd B
(2000). The history of linguistics in the Nordic countries.
Jyväskylä: Societas Scientiarum Fennica.
Korhonen M (1986). Finno-Ugrian language studies in
Finland 1828–1918. The history of learning and science
in Finland 1828–1918. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum
Fennica.
238 Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning
Searle J (1983). Intentionality. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Stalnaker R (1997). ‘Reference and necessity.’ In Hale B &
Wright C (eds.) A companion to the philosophy of
language. Oxford: Blackwell. 534–553.
Catalan
M W Wheeler, University of Sussex, Brighton, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Geography and Demography
The territories where Catalan is natively spoken
cover 68 730 km2, of which 93% lies within Spain
(see Figure 1). They are:
1. The Principality of Andorra
2. In France: North Catalonia – almost all of the
département of Pyrénées-Orientales
3. In Spain: Catalonia, except for the Gascon-
speaking Vall d’Aran; the eastern fringe of Aragon;
most of Valencia (the Comunitat Valenciana), ex-
cepting some regions in the west and south that
have been Aragonese/Spanish-speaking since at
least the 18th century; El Carxe, a small area of
the province of Murcia, settled in the 19th centu-
ry; and the Balearic Islands
4. In Italy: the port of Alghero (Catalan L’Alguer) in
Sardinia
Table 1 shows the population of these territories
(those over 2 years of age in Spain) and the percen-
tages of the inhabitants who can understand, speak,
and write Catalan. Information is derived from the
2001 census in Spain together with surveys and other
estimates; the latter are the only sources of language
data in France and Italy. The total number of speakers
of Catalan is a little under 7.5 million. Partly as a
result of the incorporation of Catalan locally into the
education system, there are within Spain a significant
number of second-language speakers who are includ-
ed in this total. Virtually all speakers of Catalan are
bilingual, using also the major language of the state
they live in. (Andorrans are bilingual in Spanish or
French, or are trilingual.)
Genetic Relationship and Typological
Features
Catalan is a member of the Romance family and a fairly
prototypical one, as befits its geographically central
position in the European Romance area. Some particu-
larly noteworthy characteristics are pointed out here
Stampe D (1977). ‘Toward a causal theory of linguis-
tic representation.’ Midwest Studies in Philosophy 2,
42–63.
(for more details see Wheeler, 1988). In historical pho-
nology, note the palatalization of initial /l-/ and loss of
stem-final /n/ that became word final, for example,
0
LEONEM > lleó [Le"o] ‘lion.’ Original intervocalic -C -,
-TJ-, -D- became /w/ in word-final position and were
lost elsewhere, for examples, PLACET > plau ["plaw]
‘please.3.SING,’ PLACEMUS > plaem [ple"em] ‘please.
1.PL.’ As the previous examples also illustrate, post-
tonic nonlow vowels were lost, so that a dominant
pattern of phonological words is of consonant-final
oxytones. The full range of common Romance verbal
inflection is retained, including inflected future (sen-
tirà ‘hear.3.SING.FUT’), widely used subjunctives, and a
contrast between present perfect (ha sentit ‘has
heard’) and past perfective (sentı́ ‘heard.3.SING.
PERF’). In addition to the inherited past perfec-
tive form, now largely literary, Catalan developed
a periphrastic past perfective using an auxiliary that
was originally the present of ‘go’ (va sentir ‘AUX.
PERF.3.SING hear.INF’). In some varieties of Catalan,
this construction has developed a subjunctive (vagi
sentir ‘AUX.PERF.SUBJ.3.SING hear.INF’), introducing,
uniquely in Romance, a perfective/imperfective as-
pect distinction in the subjunctive. Considerable use
is made of pronominal and adverbial clitics that at-
tach to verb forms in direct and indirect object func-
tions or partitive or adverbial functions, quite often in
clusters of two or three, as in (1).
(1) us n’hi envi-en
2.PL.OBJ PART.LOC send-3.PL
‘‘they send some to you (PL)
there’’
Most of the pronominal/adverbial clitics have several
contextually conditioned forms; thus, the partitive
clitic shows variants en ! n’ ! -ne. Clitic climbing is
commonly found with a pronominal complement of a
verb that is itself the complement of a (semantic)
modal, as in (2). This example also shows the (op-
tional) gender agreement of a perfect participle with a
preceding direct object clitic.
(2) no l’he sab-ud-a agafa-r
not DO.3.SING.F. know- catch-INF
have.1.SING PART-F
‘‘I haven’t been able to catch it (FEM)’’
 Catalan 239

Figure 1 Catalan-speaking areas and dialects.

A fair number of items in the basic vocabulary are Dialects

etymologically distinct from the corresponding
Although there are significant dialect differences in
terms in neighboring Romance languages, for exam-
Catalan, the dialects are to a high degree mutually
ple, estimar ‘to love,’ ganivet ‘knife,’ gens ‘not at all,’
intelligible. They are conventionally divided into two
massa ‘too,’ pujar ‘to go up,’ tardor ‘autumn,’ and tou
groups, on the basis of differences in phonology as
‘soft.’
240 Catalan
Table 1 Catalan language demography and competences
Territory Population
Andorra 66 000
North Catalonia 363 000
Catalonia 6 215 000
Aragon fringe 50 000
Valencia 4 145 000
Balearics 822 000
Alghero/L’Alguer 38 000
Total 11 699 000
well as some significant features of verb morphology;
there are some interesting lexical differences, too. The
eastern dialect group (see Figure 1) includes North
Catalan or rossellonès (in France), central Catalan
(in the eastern part of Catalonia), Balearic, and
alguerès (in Alghero/L’Alguer). The western group
consists of Northwestern Catalan (western and
southern Catalonia and eastern Aragon) and Valen-
cian. The main diagnostic heterogloss distinguishing
the two major dialect groups involves vowel reduc-
tion in unstressed syllables: In the eastern dialects /a/
is pronounced [e] in unstressed syllables and, with
some exceptions, /e/ and /e/ are also reduced to [e],
whereas /o/ and /O/ are reduced to [u].
History
Catalan is a variety of Latin that developed originally
on a small territory on either side of the eastern
Pyrenees. Expansion of this territory, the Marca His-
panica of the Carolingian empire, is associated with a
process of developing political independence, begin-
ning with the separation (A.D. 988) of the county of
Barcelona from the trunk of the Carolingian domain.
Eventual fusion with the crown of Aragon (1162)
gave new momentum to this projection. In 1151, a
treaty between the kings of Aragon and Castile had
carved up the future conquest of territories then
under Arab control, so that Valencia would fall to
the crown of Aragon while lands further west would
be attached to Castile. The kingdom of Valencia was
captured in the 1230s and was populated by speakers
from various parts of Catalonia and Aragon, although
a numerous subordinate population of Arabic-
speaking moriscos, as they were called, remained
until their expulsion in 1609. The Balearic Islands
were conquered between 1229 and 1287 and were
resettled by speakers largely from eastern Catalonia.
Sicily was also captured for the house of Barcelona
(1282), as was Sardinia (1323–1327); Catalan was
widely used as an official language in Sicily until the
15th century and in Sardinia until the 17th century. In
Understand Speak Write
Catalan (%) Catalan (%) Catalan (%)
97 91 (No data)
59 41 10
95 75 50
95 90 (No data)
85 48 23
90 68 26
53 46 (No data)
89 64 37
Sardinia, only the port of Alghero was subject to
Catalan resettlement, and it has remained Catalan-
speaking to the present day. The original expansion
southward of Catalan following the reconquest ex-
tended as far as Murcia and Cartagena, although the
kingdom of Murcia became Spanish-speaking during
the 15th century.
The chancellery of the kingdom of Aragon was
trilingual, using Latin, Catalan, and Aragonese as
the occasion required. A substantial body of Catalan
literature in various prose and verse genres was pro-
duced before decline set in in the 16th century. In
15th-century Valencia the court was already bilin-
gual, and after the merger of the Aragonese and
Castilian crowns in 1479 Spanish (Castilian) gradu-
ally increased in prestige throughout the Catalan
territories, with the urban and literate classes becom-
ing bilingual. From the 16th century, Catalan came
increasingly under Spanish influence in vocabulary,
syntax, pronunciation, and orthography as a result
of the social and cultural prestige of Castile. It
was not until the 19th century that a substantial
Catalan literary and cultural revival took place,
which continues to the present. Standardization of
the modern language was achieved in the early 20th
century.
Since the Second World War, most of the Catalan-
speaking territories have experienced a substantial
immigration of non-Catalan speakers. In France,
these have been pieds noirs resettled from Algeria
and retired people from various parts of France.
In Catalonia and Valencia, the population almost
doubled between 1950 and 1975 as people from
less-developed southern Spain sought employment
in the manufacturing and service industries. Majorca
and Ibiza (Eivissa) have attracted a workforce from
many parts of Spain, feeding the tourist industry.
Many immigrants have wished to acquire Catalan,
or at least have wished their children to do so, as an
aid to integration, but until the late 1970s there were
few opportunities to realize this. These large Spanish-
speaking communities have added to the institutional

and cultural pressures in favor of the use of Spanish in
the Catalan territories.
In 1659, Philip IV of Spain ceded the northern part
of Catalonia (essentially the modern département of
Pyrénées-Orientales) to the French crown. From that
point, North Catalonia became subject to the linguis-
tic unification policies of the French state. French
became the official language in 1700 and has had a
marked influence on the vocabulary of North Catalan
and, in recent times, on its phonology as well. Min-
orca was under British rule during most of the 18th
century, and there is a handful of Minorcan Angli-
cisms in the vocabulary dating from that period. The
dialect of Alghero is, not surprisingly, heavily influ-
enced by Sardinian and even more so by Italian in all
components of the language.
Present Sociolinguistic Situation
The status, situation, and prospects of the Catalan
language are significantly different in each of the
territories in which it is spoken, although each of
those in Spain shares, in some way, the consequences
of Catalan’s having been for centuries an oppressed
minority language. The cultural decline and loss of
prestige affecting Catalan from the 16th century on-
ward has already been mentioned. The defeat of the
Catalans in the war of the Spanish Succession (1714)
initiated a series of measures, extending throughout
the 18th and 19th centuries, that imposed the use
of Spanish in public life, for example, in accounts, in
preaching, in the theater, in the criminal courts,
in education, in legal documents, in the civil registers,
and on the telephone. In the 20th century, these meas-
ures were mostly repeated and supplemented by the
imposition of Spanish in catechism, by the prohibi-
tion of the teaching of Catalan, and by sanctions
against people refusing to use Spanish. The Second
Republic (1931–1939) to a large extent removed
these restrictions, but Franco’s victory in the Spanish
Civil War was followed in 1940 by a total ban on the
public use of Catalan. Despite a gradual relaxation
allowing some publication of books and magazines,
Catalan remained excluded from nearly all public
institutions until Spain’s adoption of a democratic
constitution in 1978.
In the early 1980s, Catalonia, Valencia, and the
Balearics obtained their statutes of autonomy, involv-
ing co-official status for Spanish and Catalan. All of
these statutes promote language normalization, the
goal of which is universal bilingualism without diglos-
sia. In Catalonia, the expressed aim of the Generalitat
(the autonomous government) goes further than this:
It seeks to make the local language the normal me-
dium of public life, with Spanish having a secondary
Catalan 241
role as an auxiliary language or a home language
for its native speakers. In Catalonia, the teaching of
Catalan is obligatory in all schools, and primary and
secondary education through the medium of Catalan
now reaches at least 60% of the population. In
Valencia and the Balearics, the de facto policy has
been to promote effective knowledge of Catalan
through education and to enhance its status while
largely preserving a diglossic relationship between
Spanish and Catalan. In Valencia, significant politi-
cal forces reject the name Catalan for the local lan-
guage and insist on the term Valencian. Although
the Balearic Islands Council passed a linguistic
normalization law in 1986, progress has been incon-
sistent, although Catalan is widely available in the
education system which includes some Catalan-medi-
um education.
In Andorra, Catalan has always been the sole offi-
cial language. In 1993, Andorra adopted a new con-
stitution, and the government has been pursuing an
active Andorranization policy, involving Catalan-
medium education. The status of Catalan in North
Catalonia is parallel to that of the other traditional
minority languages in France. Language shift was all
but universal after the Second World War, so that
most native speakers are (as of 2004) over 60 years
old. Catalan has at best an occasional, decorative role
in public life. In primary schools, some 30% study
Catalan (as a foreign language) and, in secondary
schools, some 15%.
The current trend is for intergenerational language
shift from Catalan in French Catalonia, in Alghero, in
southern Valencia around Alicante (Alacant), and pos-
sibly in Palma (Majorca). Elsewhere, Catalan is hold-
ing its own, with some evidence of intergenerational
shift toward Catalan in Catalonia.
See also: Andorra: Language Situation; France: Language
Situation; Indo–European Languages; Italy: Language Sit-
uation; Romance Languages; Spain: Language Situation;
Spanish.
Bibliography
Badia i Margarit A M (1951). Gramática histórica catalana.
Barcelona, Spain: Noguer. [Catalan translation Gramà-
tica històrica catalana. Valencia: 3 i 4, 1981.]
Moll F de B (1952). Gramática histórica catalana. Madrid:
Gredos. [Catalan translation Gramàtica històrica cata-
lana. Valencia: Universitat, 1991.]
Nadal J M & Prats M (1982–1996). Història de la llengua
catalana (2 vols.). Barcelona, Spain: Edicions 62.
Pradilla M À (ed.) (1999). La llengua catalana al tombant
del mil.lenni: aproximació sociolingüı́stica. Barcelona,
Spain: Empúries.
242 Catalan
Solà J, Lloret M R, Mascaró J & Pérez Saldanya M (eds.)
(2002). Gramàtica del català contemporani (3 vols.).
Barcelona, Spain: Empúries.
Wheeler M W (1988). ‘Catalan.’ In Harris M & Vincent N
(eds.) The Romance languages. London: Routledge.
170–208.
Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches
G Morrill, Polytechnic University of Catalonia,
Barcelona, Spain
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
According to Frege, it is certain possibly complex
expressions, and not in general the words, which are
the primary bearers of meaning. Thus, while phrase
structure grammar classifies words and phrases by
atomic categories or types, what Bar-Hillel (1964)
dubbed ‘categorial grammar’ is characterized by the
classification of words and phrases into atomic
and complex fractional types according to their com-
pleteness or incompleteness as expressions (Husserl,
1913; Ajdukiewicz, 1935; Bar-Hillel, 1953). Lambek
(1958) gave a calculus in this spirit for which was
provided a Gentzen-style sequent system. Deductive
approaches to categorial grammar were thus born.
In the next section we present an introduction
to categorial grammar. In the section ‘Deductive
Systems’ we review categorical calculus, sequent cal-
culus, natural deduction, and proof nets. The techni-
cal appendix provides a contemporary definition of
categorial formalism.
Categorial Grammar
In Categorial Grammar (see also Combinatory Cate-
gorial Grammar) the categories or types by which
linguistic expressions are classified are defined recur-
sively on the basis of a small set of atomic types by
means of two operators, / (over) and \ (under). Atom-
ic types (for example, S for declarative sentence, N for
referring nominal and CN for count noun) are types,
and if A and B are types, so are the functor types B/A
and A\B. Expressions of type B/A are those which
concatenate with argument As on the right to form Bs
and expressions of type A\B are those which concate-
nate with argument As on the left to form Bs. (Some
authors write B\A for A\B; we keep to the original
notation by which cancellation is under adjacency.)
Thus, for example, whereas phrase structure grammar
Wheeler M W (in press). The phonology of Catalan.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Wheeler M W, Yates A & Dols N (1999). Catalan: a com-
prehensive grammar. London: Routledge.
might have a rule N ! DefArt CN showing that a
definite article combines with a count noun to form a
referring nominal, categorial grammar may express the
same information by assigning a definite article the
functor type N/CN, showing that it combines with a
count noun on the right to form a referring nominal.
Let us write a: A to indicate that the expression a is
of type A. Then a categorial lexicon might include the
following type assignments:
(1) cat: CN
Mary: N
likes: (N\S)/N
sleeps: N\S
that: (CN\CN)/(S/N)
the: N/CN
What type assignments follow from what? It is easy to
see that the following are valid, where concatenation
is indicated by þ:
(2)
Furthermore, where a is a variable and coindexed
overline indicates the withdrawal of a type assign-
ment statement, the following are valid:
(3)
In the rules E stands for elimination, because the
operator is eliminated reading from premises to con-
clusion, and I stands for introduction, because the
operator is introduced reading from premises to con-
clusion. There are the following derivations of the
sentence ‘the cat sleeps’ and the relative clause ‘that
Mary likes.’
(4)
242 Catalan
Solà J, Lloret M R, Mascaró J & Pérez Saldanya M (eds.)
(2002). Gramàtica del català contemporani (3 vols.).
Barcelona, Spain: Empúries.
Wheeler M W (1988). ‘Catalan.’ In Harris M & Vincent N
(eds.) The Romance languages. London: Routledge.
170–208.
Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches
G Morrill, Polytechnic University of Catalonia,
Barcelona, Spain
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
According to Frege, it is certain possibly complex
expressions, and not in general the words, which are
the primary bearers of meaning. Thus, while phrase
structure grammar classifies words and phrases by
atomic categories or types, what Bar-Hillel (1964)
dubbed ‘categorial grammar’ is characterized by the
classification of words and phrases into atomic
and complex fractional types according to their com-
pleteness or incompleteness as expressions (Husserl,
1913; Ajdukiewicz, 1935; Bar-Hillel, 1953). Lambek
(1958) gave a calculus in this spirit for which was
provided a Gentzen-style sequent system. Deductive
approaches to categorial grammar were thus born.
In the next section we present an introduction
to categorial grammar. In the section ‘Deductive
Systems’ we review categorical calculus, sequent cal-
culus, natural deduction, and proof nets. The techni-
cal appendix provides a contemporary definition of
categorial formalism.
Categorial Grammar
In Categorial Grammar (see also Combinatory Cate-
gorial Grammar) the categories or types by which
linguistic expressions are classified are defined recur-
sively on the basis of a small set of atomic types by
means of two operators, / (over) and \ (under). Atom-
ic types (for example, S for declarative sentence, N for
referring nominal and CN for count noun) are types,
and if A and B are types, so are the functor types B/A
and A\B. Expressions of type B/A are those which
concatenate with argument As on the right to form Bs
and expressions of type A\B are those which concate-
nate with argument As on the left to form Bs. (Some
authors write B\A for A\B; we keep to the original
notation by which cancellation is under adjacency.)
Thus, for example, whereas phrase structure grammar
Wheeler M W (in press). The phonology of Catalan.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Wheeler M W, Yates A & Dols N (1999). Catalan: a com-
prehensive grammar. London: Routledge.
might have a rule N ! DefArt CN showing that a
definite article combines with a count noun to form a
referring nominal, categorial grammar may express the
same information by assigning a definite article the
functor type N/CN, showing that it combines with a
count noun on the right to form a referring nominal.
Let us write a: A to indicate that the expression a is
of type A. Then a categorial lexicon might include the
following type assignments:
(1) cat: CN
Mary: N
likes: (N\S)/N
sleeps: N\S
that: (CN\CN)/(S/N)
the: N/CN
What type assignments follow from what? It is easy to
see that the following are valid, where concatenation
is indicated by þ:
(2)
Furthermore, where a is a variable and coindexed
overline indicates the withdrawal of a type assign-
ment statement, the following are valid:
(3)
In the rules E stands for elimination, because the
operator is eliminated reading from premises to con-
clusion, and I stands for introduction, because the
operator is introduced reading from premises to con-
clusion. There are the following derivations of the
sentence ‘the cat sleeps’ and the relative clause ‘that
Mary likes.’
(4)
 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches 243

(5) Categorical Calculus

An arrow A ! B comprises a source syntactic type A
and a target syntactic type B. An arrow is valid if and
only if in every interpretation, [[A]] is a subset of
[[B]]. There is the following calculus of valid arrows
(Lambek, 1958):
(9)

These will be our running examples in the presenta-

tion of deductive systems in the next section.
By way of motivation of categorial grammar,
consider right node raising and left node raising
coordination:

(6a) John likes and Mary dislikes London.

(6b) John showed Mary Paris and Suzy Berlin.
The conjuncts are nonconstituents on a phrase struc-
ture view of grammar; however, in categorial gram-
mar the conjuncts can be analyzed as units so that For example, the following shows that the types for
the node raising can be treated as coordination of ‘the cat sleeps’ in order yield a sentence:
like-type constituents:
(10)
(7a)

(7b)
Where R abbreviates CN\CN and TV abbreviates
(N\S)/N, the following shows that ‘that Mary likes’
yields an R:
(11)

Deductive Systems
In addition to the division operators \ and / there is a
product operator ! such that A!B signifies the concat-
enation of an A and a B. The interpretation of the The rules of the categorical calculus are elegant but,
categorical operators is summarized: as we see, the proofs are not very economical. Fur-
thermore, given an arrow to be proved there is no
(8) [[A!B]] ¼ {s1 þ s2| s1 2 [[A]] and s2 2 [[B]]}
obvious strategy to search for a proof because in
[[A\C]] ¼ {s| for all s0 2 [[A]], s0 þ s 2 [[C]]}
the rule Trans of (9b) the type B is an unknown
[[C/B]] ¼ {s| for all s0 2 [[B]], s þ s0 2 [[C]]}
reading from conclusion to premises. This situation
The purpose of deductive systems is to provide is improved in the sequent calculus.
sound and complete calculi for this interpretation
Sequent Calculus
(Buszkowski, 1986; Pentus, 1994). We consider in
turn categorial calculus, sequent calculus, natural de- A sequent G ) A comprises a nonempty sequence of
duction, and proof nets. antecedent types G and a succedent type A. A sequent
244 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches

A0, . . ., An ) A is valid if and only if in every inter- Natural Deduction

pretation, if s0 2 [[A0]], . . ., sn 2 [[An]] then s0 þ . . .
In natural deduction (Barry et al., 1991), proofs are
þ sn 2 [[A]]. There is the following calculus of valid
ordered trees with hypothesis types at leaves and a
sequents (Lambek, 1958):
conclusion type at the root, with coindexation indi-
(12) cating the closing of hypotheses under hypothetical
reasoning. Proofs are combined and extended at the
roots starting from single types. A proof with left-
(13) to-right unclosed leaves A0, . . ., An asserts that in
every interpretation, if s0 2 [[A0]], . . ., sn 2 [[An]] then
s0 þ . . . þ sn belongs to the root type.
(14)
(18)

These divide into the identity rules (12) and the logical
rules (13) and (14). For each operator there is a left (L)
logical rule in which the operator appears in the ante-
cedent of the conclusion and a right (R) logical rule in
which the operator appears in the succedent of the
conclusion. (19)
With the exception of Cut, which introduces the
unknown type A reading from conclusion to premises,
every rule contains one less operator in the premises
than in the conclusion. Now the calculus enjoys Cut
elimination, that is to say that every provable sequent
As with the calculus of the ‘Categorial Grammar’ sec-
can be proved without the use of Cut (Lambek, 1958).
tion, which is a labeled form of natural deduction, for
Hence, the calculus provides a decision procedure,
each operator there is a rule of elimination (E) such that
backward-chaining from the sequent to be proved in
the operator is eliminated reading from premise to
the finite Cut-free search space. For example:
conclusion and a rule of introduction (I) such that the
(15) operator is introduced reading from premise to conclu-
sion. In \I, A must be the leftmost hitherto unclosed
hypothesis and cannot be the last such; in /I, B must be
the rightmost hitherto unclosed hypothesis and cannot
be the last such. In "E, A and B must be the only
unclosed hypotheses in the indicated subderivation.
(16)
For example:
(20)

(21)
However, the Cut-free search space still contains
proofs which differ in inessential orderings of rules.
For example, the following is equivalent to (15):
(17)

Natural deduction provides quite an economic
proof syntax because it does not iterate the contexts
of sequent calculus inferences. However, it does not
provide an obvious proof search procedure because
on the one hand, working from leaves to root, it is
not clear which hypotheses to make and later close,
and on the other hand, working from root to leaves,
/E and \E introduce an unknown. In the next section
we present proof nets, which combine the represen-
tational and computational advantages of sequent
calculus and natural deduction.
Proof Nets
When we inspect the sequent calculus we see that it is
predictable which sequent rule will apply to an oper-
ator in a proof of a sequent. To the main operator * in
an antecedent type will apply the rule *L, to the main
operator * in a succedent type will apply the rule *R,
and to a subordinate operator * will apply *L or
*R according to the propagation of subtypes in the
unfolding of a proof. This means we can anticipate
the antecedent or succedent position of a type in a
proof.
Let there be two polarities: input (!) and output (" ),
corresponding respectively to antecedent (L) and suc-
cedent (R) position. A polar type Ap is a type together
with a polarity p. A polar type tree is the result of
unfolding a polar type up to its atomic leaves accord-
ing to the following logical links:
(22)
(23)
In each link, the premises above the line are the
immediate subtypes of the conclusion below the
line, marked with polarity according to the propaga-
tion to antecedent or succedent position. The links
(22a–d) and (23a, b) correspond respectively to \L,
\R, /L, /R, !L, and !R, showing just the active types
without the iterated contexts. They are marked i or ii
according as the rule is unary (the premises belong to
the same subproof) or binary (the premises belong to
different subproofs). Note that in the output unfold-
ings the left-to-right order of the subtypes is switched.
The intuition behind this is that output polarity hides
an implicit negation, and in a noncommutative sys-
tem the negation/reverse of A first and then B second
Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches 245
is the negation/reverse of B first and the negation/
reverse of A second.
A proof frame is a list of polar type trees compris-
ing an output type followed by at least one input type.
A proof structure is the result of connecting in a proof
frame every leaf with one other with the same atomic
type and complementary polarity. These connections
are called axiom links. A proof structure is a proof net
if and only if:
(24a) (Acyclicity) Every cycle crosses both edges of
some i-link.
(24b) (Planarity) The axiom linking is planar in the
ordering of the leaves induced by the list
ordering of the frame, i.e., the axiom linking
can be drawn in the half-plane without
crossing lines.
(24c) (No subtending) No axiom link connects the
left and right descendent leaves of an output
division node.
(For acyclicity see Danos and Regnier, 1989; for
planarity see Roorda, 1991; for no subtending
see de Groote and Retoré, 2003.) A proof net
over a proof frame A" , A!0, . . ., A!n asserts that in
every interpretation, if s0 2 [[A0]], . . ., sn 2 [[An]] then
s0 þ . . . þsn 2 [[A]]. For example:
(25)
(26)
Notice that, the cycle in (26) does indeed cross both
edges of a i-link so that it complies with acyclicity.
Introducing now the semantic dimension, a proof
net analysis contains implicitly the semantic reading
of a proof (de Groote and Retoré, 1996). The seman-
tic form is recovered following a deterministic seman-
tic trip through the net. The semantic trip starts
upwards at the unique output root and proceeds
according to the instructions in (27)–(28), generating
the successive characters of the semantic form as
indicated. The trip bounces at input roots inserting
246 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches
the associated lexical semantics. It ends downwards
back at the origin having crossed each edge twice,
once in each direction.
(27)
(28)
For example, the result of performing the semantic
trip on (25) is (29) and the result of performing the
semantic trip on (26) is (30a), which is equivalent to
(30b).
(29) (sleep (i cat))
(30a) (lxlylz((& (y z)) (x z)) lx((like x) m))
(30b) lylz((& (y z)) ((like z) m))
Conclusion
We have illustrated deductive approaches to the
Lambek calculus, the nucleus of categorial grammar.
We have seen a variety of calculi leading up to proof
nets, which for their parsimony and economy can
claim to be the syntactic structures of deductive cate-
gorial grammar. Recent work has concentrated on
generalizations of the basic calculus, extending its
linguistic coverage while trying to preserve its attrac-
tive logical properties (Morrill, 1994; Carpenter,
1997; Moortgat, 1997). Perhaps the most challenging
contemporary aspect is the development of
corresponding theories of proof nets (see e.g., Moot
and Puite, 2002; Fadda, 2004; Fadda and Morrill,
2005).
Technical Appendix
We are interested in modeling the two dimensions
of language: form and meaning. Categorial grammar
classifies expressions simultaneously with respect
to these two dimensions. We refer to the first as
prosodics, signifying word order abstracted from
mode of articulation, e.g., verbalization or signing,
but potentially including intonational contours or
their analogue. We refer to the second as semantics,
signifying logical semantics abstracted from illocu-
tion, but potentially including focus or other
discourse semantic notions. Syntax is seen as the
bridge between these two dimensions.
In the first section we present prosodic representa-
tion and interpretation and in the second section
semantic representation and interpretation. In the
third section we present categorial syntactic types
and their bidimensional interpretation.
Prosodics
A prosodic structure is a semigroup, i.e., an algebra
(L, þ) of arity (2) such that þ is associative:
(31) s1þ(s2þ s3) ¼ (s1þs2)þs3
Let there be a set B of prosodic constants. Then the
set C of prosodic forms is defined by:
(32) C :: ¼ B | C þ C
That is, the prosodic forms are the terms of a pro-
sodic algebra. A prosodic interpretation comprises a
prosodic structure (L, þ) and a prosodic valuation
mapping from B into L. The prosodic value [a]w 2L
of a prosodic form a with respect to a prosodic
interpretation with prosodic valuation w is defined
by:
(33) [a]w ¼ w(a) for a 2 B
[a þ b]w ¼ [a]w þ [b]w
Two prosodic forms a and b are equivalent, a ffi b, if
and only if [a]w ¼ [b]w in every prosodic interpreta-
tion. Since prosodic structures are associative we
have:
(34) a þ (b þ g) ffi (a þ b) þ g
Hence, we may omit parentheses in prosodic forms.
Semantics
The functional exponentiation of a set X to a set Y,
X " Y is the set of all functions mapping from Y into
X. The cartesian product of a set X with a set Y, X $
Y, is the set of all ordered pairs with first element in X
and second element in Y. The set T of semantic types
is defined by:
(35) T :: ¼ e | t | T ! T | T & T
A semantic structure is a T-indexed family of sets
{Dt}tET such that De is a nonempty set of entities, Dt is
the set {Ø, {Ø}} of truth values, and
(36) Dt1 !t2 ¼ Dt2 " Dt1
Dt1&t2 ¼ Dt1 $ Dt2
Let there be a set Vt of semantic variables for each
semantic type t and a set Ct of semantic constants for
each semantic type t, including the logical semantic
constants:
 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches 247

(37) _, &, ! 2 Ct!(t!t) provided f{c/x} is free

!2Ct!t p1(f, c) ffi f
8, 9 2 C(e!t)!t p2(f, c) ffi c
i 2 C(e!t)!e lx(f x) ffi f Z-conversion
provided x is not free in f
The sets Ft of semantic terms for each semantic type (p2f, pf) ffi f
t are defined by:
(38) Ft:: ¼ Vt| Ct| (Ft’!tFt’)| p1Ft&t’| p2Ft’&t Syntax
Ft’!t:: ¼ lVt’Ft
Ft&t’:: ¼ (Ft,Ft’) The set F of syntactic types is defined on the basis of a
set A of atomic syntactic types as follows:
An occurrence of a semantic variable x in a semantic
term is bound if and only if it falls within a subterm of (42) F :: ¼ A | F$F | F\F | F/F
the form lxf; otherwise it is free. The result f{c/x} of Let there be a basic type map t mapping from A into
substituting semantic variable x (of semantic type t) T. This induces the type map T from F into T such
by semantic term c (of semantic type t) in semantic that:
term f is the result of replacing by c every free
occurrence of x in f; the substitution is free if and (43) T(P) ¼ t(P) for P 2 A
T(A$B) ¼ T(A)&T(B)
only if no semantic variable becomes bound in the
T(A\C) ¼ T(A)!T(C)
process of replacement. A semantic form is a semantic T(C/B) ¼ T(B)!T(C)
term with no free variables.
A semantic interpretation comprises a semantic A syntactic interpretation comprises a prosodic
structure {Dt}t2 T, a semantic assignment g mapping structure (L, þ), a semantic structure {Dt}teT, and a
from each Vt into Dt, and a semantic valuation f syntactic valuation F mapping each P 2 A into a
mapping from each Ct into Dt such that: subset of L&Dt(P). Then the syntactic value [ [A] ]F,
a subset of L&DT(A), for each syntactic type A is
(39) f(_)(m) ¼ m0 |!m[m0
given by:
f(&)(m) ¼ m0 |!m\m0
f(!)(m) ¼ m0 |!({Ø}\m)[m0 (44) [[P]]F ¼ F(P) for P 2 A
f(!)(m) ¼ {Ø}\m [[A$B]]F ¼ {(s1+s2, hm1, m2i)| (s1, m1)2[[A]]F
f(8)(m) ¼ Intersection of m(m0 ) for all m0 2De and (s2, m2)2[[B]]F}
f(9)(m) ¼ Union of m(m0 ) for all m0 2 De [[A\C]]F ¼ {(s, m)| for all (s0 , m0 )2[[A]]F, (s0 þ s,
f(i)({m}) ¼ m m(m0 ))2[[C]]F}
The semantic value [f]gf 2 Dt of a semantic term f 2 [[C\B]]F ¼ {(s, m)| for all (s0 , m0 )2[[B]]F, (s þ s0 ,
m(m0 ))2[[C]]F}
Ft with respect to a semantic interpretation with
semantic assignment g and semantic valuation f is A semiotic interpretation comprises a prosodic inter-
defined by: pretation, a semantic interpretation, and a syntactic
(40) [x]f g ¼ g(x) for x 2 Vt interpretation, with the same prosodic and semantic
[c]f g ¼ f(x) for c 2 Ct structures. A type assignment statement a!f: A com-
[(f c)]f g ¼ [f]f g([c]f g) functional prises a syntactic type A, a semantic form f of type
application T(A) and a prosodic form a. A semiotic interpretation
[p1f]f g ¼ fst([f]f g) first projection satisfies a type assignment statement a!f: A if and
[p2f]f g ¼ snd([f]f g) second only if h[a], [f]i2[[A]]. A semiotic interpretation
projection satisfies a set S of type assignment statements if and
[lxtf]f g ¼ Dt m|! functional only if it satisfies every type assignment statement
[f]f (g!{<x, g(x>)[{<x, m>} abstraction s2S. A set s of type assignment statements models a
[(f, c)]f g ¼ h[f]f g, [c]f gi pair
type assignment statement s, S| ¼ s, if and only if
formation
every semiotic interpretation that satisfies S satisfies
Note that, the semantic value of a semantic form is s. A lexicon comprises a set of type assignment state-
invariant with respect to semantic assignment. ments. The language model L(S) defined by a lexicon
Two semantic forms f and c are equivalent, f ffi c, S is the set of all type assignment statements that S
g g
if and only if [f]f ¼ [c]f in every semantic interpreta- models:
tion. We have:
(45) L( ) ¼ {s| |=s}
P P

(41) lxf ffi ly(f{y/x}) a-conversion

provided y is not free in f and f{y/x} is free This is like the declarative semantics of logic pro-
(lxf c) ffi f{c/x} b-conversion grams wherein the meaning of a program is the set
248 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches
of all ground atoms which it entails, or a logical
theory which is the set of all consequences of an
axiomatization.
For example, the language model defined by the
lexicon (46) includes the type assignment statements
in (47):
(46) cat–cat: CN
likes–like: (N\S)/N
Mary–m: N.
sleeps–sleep: N\S
that–lxlylz((& (y z)) (x z)): (CN\CN)/(S/N)
that–i: N/CN
(47a) the þ cat þ sleeps–(sleep (i cat)): S
(47b) that þ Mary þ likes–lylz((& (y z))
((like z) m)): CN\CN
See also: Combinatory Categorial Grammar.
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Information, Vienna.
Fadda M (2004). ‘Non-associativity and balanced proof
nets.’ In Proceedings of Categorial Grammars: an Effi-
cient Tool for Natural Language Processing, Montpellier,
France. 46–58.
Fadda M & Morrill G (2005). ‘The Lambek calculus with
brackets.’ In Scott P, Casadio C & Seely R (eds.) Lan-
guage and grammar: studies in mathematical linguistics
and natural language. Stanford, CA: CSLI.
Husserl E (1913). Logische Untersuchungen (2nd edn.).
Halle, Germany: Max Niemeyer.
Lambek J (1958). ‘The mathematics of sentence structure.’
American Mathematical Monthly 65, 154–170.
Moortgat M (1997). ‘Categorial type logics.’ In van
Benthem J & ter Meulen A (eds.) Handbook of logic and
language. Amsterdam/New York: Elsevier/Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press. 93–177.
Moot R & Puite Q (2002). ‘Proof nets for the multimodal
Lambek calculus.’ Studia Logica 71(3), 415–442.
Morrill G (1994). Type logical grammar: categorial logic of
signs. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic.
Pentus M (1994). ‘Language completeness of the Lambek
calculus.’ In Proceedings of the Eighth Annual IEEE
Symposium of Logic in Computer Science. 487–496.
Roorda D (1991). Resource logics: proof-theoretical inves-
tigations. Ph.D. thesis, University of Amsterdam.
begins before the plosive burst – to positive values –
the voice sets in after the plosive sound – listeners
typically sort these phonemes into one category or
another. Such effects have become known as Categor-
ical Perception, although CP may involve not only
perceptual categorization, but also categorization
of mental representations, and decision-making
processes.
Over time, the operational definition of CP has
changed from a restrictive view to a more general
one, and this has led to some dispute over which
findings constitute examples of CP. A conservative
definition of CP requires the fulfillment of four cri-
teria: (1) distinct labeling of stimulus categories;
(2) failure to discriminate within categories; (3) a
248 Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches
of all ground atoms which it entails, or a logical
theory which is the set of all consequences of an
axiomatization.
For example, the language model defined by the
lexicon (46) includes the type assignment statements
in (47):
(46) cat–cat: CN
likes–like: (N\S)/N
Mary–m: N.
sleeps–sleep: N\S
that–lxlylz((& (y z)) (x z)): (CN\CN)/(S/N)
that–i: N/CN
(47a) the þ cat þ sleeps–(sleep (i cat)): S
(47b) that þ Mary þ likes–lylz((& (y z))
((like z) m)): CN\CN
See also: Combinatory Categorial Grammar.
Bibliography
Ajdukiewicz K (1935). ‘Die Syntaktische Konnexität.’
Studia Philosophica 1, 1–27.
Bar-Hillel Y (1953). ‘A quasi-arithmetical notation of
syntactic description.’ Language 19, 47–58.
Bar-Hillel Y (1964). Language and information. Reading,
MA: Addison-Wesley.
Barry G, Hepple M, Leslie N & Morrill G (1991). ‘Proof
figures and structural operators.’ In Fifth Conference of
the European Chapter of the Association for Computa-
tional Linguistics, Berlin.
Buszkowski W (1986). ‘Completeness results for Lambek
syntactic calculus.’ Zeitschrift für Mathematische Logik
und Grundlagen der Mathematik 32, 13–28.
Categorical Perception in Animals
J Fischer, German Primate Center, Goettingen,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The label ‘Categorical Perception’ (CP) is commonly
used to describe the observation that continuous var-
iation in a sensory stimulus is recoded into discrete
categories. The classic example is the distinction of
voiced and voiceless plosive consonants, such as /da/
and /ta/. These phonemes are mainly but not exclu-
sively distinguished by the time lag between the plo-
sive burst and the onset of voicing, i.e., the so-called
‘voice onset time’ (VOT). Although VOT may vary
continuously between negative values – the voicing
Carpenter B (1997). Type-logical semantics. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Danos V & Regnier L (1989). ‘The structure of multi-
plicatives.’ Archive for Mathematical Logic 28, 181–203.
de Groote P & Retoré C (1996). ‘On the semantic readings
of proof-nets.’ In Kruijff G-J, Morrill G & Oehrle R T
(eds.) Proceedings of Formal Grammar 1996. Prague.
57–70.
de Groote P & Retoré C (2003). Proof-theoretic methods in
computational linguistics. Lecture notes of the
15th European Summer School in Logic, Language and
Information, Vienna.
Fadda M (2004). ‘Non-associativity and balanced proof
nets.’ In Proceedings of Categorial Grammars: an Effi-
cient Tool for Natural Language Processing, Montpellier,
France. 46–58.
Fadda M & Morrill G (2005). ‘The Lambek calculus with
brackets.’ In Scott P, Casadio C & Seely R (eds.) Lan-
guage and grammar: studies in mathematical linguistics
and natural language. Stanford, CA: CSLI.
Husserl E (1913). Logische Untersuchungen (2nd edn.).
Halle, Germany: Max Niemeyer.
Lambek J (1958). ‘The mathematics of sentence structure.’
American Mathematical Monthly 65, 154–170.
Moortgat M (1997). ‘Categorial type logics.’ In van
Benthem J & ter Meulen A (eds.) Handbook of logic and
language. Amsterdam/New York: Elsevier/Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press. 93–177.
Moot R & Puite Q (2002). ‘Proof nets for the multimodal
Lambek calculus.’ Studia Logica 71(3), 415–442.
Morrill G (1994). Type logical grammar: categorial logic of
signs. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic.
Pentus M (1994). ‘Language completeness of the Lambek
calculus.’ In Proceedings of the Eighth Annual IEEE
Symposium of Logic in Computer Science. 487–496.
Roorda D (1991). Resource logics: proof-theoretical inves-
tigations. Ph.D. thesis, University of Amsterdam.
begins before the plosive burst – to positive values –
the voice sets in after the plosive sound – listeners
typically sort these phonemes into one category or
another. Such effects have become known as Categor-
ical Perception, although CP may involve not only
perceptual categorization, but also categorization
of mental representations, and decision-making
processes.
Over time, the operational definition of CP has
changed from a restrictive view to a more general
one, and this has led to some dispute over which
findings constitute examples of CP. A conservative
definition of CP requires the fulfillment of four cri-
teria: (1) distinct labeling of stimulus categories;
(2) failure to discriminate within categories; (3) a

Figure 1 Idealized labeling and discrimination functions. (Top)
The graded continuum between the two end-points 0 and 10 is
partitioned into two categories, A and B. The labeling function
is nonlinear. (Bottom) Discrimination function for discrimination
of stimuli that fall within a category (e.g., 2 and 3) and across
categories (e.g., 5 and 6). The same physical variation may be
difficult to distinguish when it falls within a category and easy to
distinguish when it straddles the category boundary.
discrimination peak at the category boundary; and
(4) a close agreement between labeling and discrimi-
nation functions (Studdert-Kennedy et al., 1970;
see Figure 1). More loosely, CP has been defined
as a compression of within-category and/or a separa-
tion of between-category differences (Harnad, 1987).
Correspondingly, so-called ‘perceptual anchors’ or
‘prototypes’ refer to the compressed region within a
category, whereas ‘boundary effects’ occur when a
given variation of a stimulus is reported as the
‘same’ when it lies within a category and is reported
as ‘different’ when it straddles the boundary between
two categories (Kuhl, 1991).
In the auditory domain, CP was initially believed to
be restricted to the perception of speech sounds and
considered to be special to speech (Liberman, 1957).
This claim sparked interest in the question of whether
animals would exhibit CP of human speech tokens
(Kuhl, 1987). In an influential study, Kuhl and Miller
(1975) trained chinchillas (Chinchilla chinchilla) to
discriminate between different human speech tokens.
Subjects were trained to distinguish the end-points of
the voiced–voiceless continuum between /da/ and /ta/.
Categorical Perception in Animals 249
Figure 2 Mean percentage of /d/ responses by chinchilla and
human subjects to synthetic speech sounds simulating a contin-
uum ranging from /da/ to /ta/. The animals had been trained on
the end-points of the continuum (0 and þ80 ms VOT) and then
tested with stimuli ranging from þ10 to þ70 ms. Reprinted with
permissions from Kuhl P & Miller J D (1975). Science 190, 69–72. !
1975 AAAS. Permission from AAAS is required for all other uses.
VOT in these experiments ranged between 0 and
80 ms. In the test trials, animals placed the phonetic
boundary at approximately 40 ms (Figure 2) and they
also extended their generalization to other conso-
nants differing with regard to VOT (Kuhl and
Miller, 1978). Similarly, Morse and Snowdon (1975)
demonstrated CP of speech tokens in rhesus monkeys
(Macaca mulatta). The finding that animals perceived
the phonetic boundaries in similar places as English-
speaking people initially led to the hypothesis that the
observed boundaries may be innate and linked to the
mammalian auditory system. However, category
boundaries have been shown to be flexible and vari-
able across different languages (Repp and Liberman,
1987). More importantly, a number of animal studies
indicated that they may exhibit CP of their own
sounds. These findings support the view that categor-
ical boundaries are not innate, but are established
through experience.
Several studies employing operant training proce-
dures revealed that nonhuman primates show CP of
certain features of their own species’ vocalizations
(e.g., May et al., 1989). Moreover, a number of stud-
ies investigated animals’ natural responses to graded
variations of their own sounds. Female mice reliably
responded with retrieval behavior to variations of
ultrasonic pup vocalizations that fell within the natu-
ral range of the frequency bandwidth, but there
was a distinct drop in the propensity to respond to
calls whose bandwidth exceeded the category bound-
ary (Ehret and Haack, 1981). Snowdon and Pola
(1978) showed that the pygmy marmoset (Cebuella
pygmaea), a New World monkey, responded in a
categorical fashion to the playback of synthetic
250 Categorical Perception in Animals
Figure 3 Proportion of stimulus presentations that were fol-
lowed by a pygmy marmoset emitting a closed mouth trill (CMT)
within 5 s of the playback of a closed mouth trill, in relation to trill
duration. NULL represents the response when no auditory stimu-
lus was presented. Reprinted from Animal Behaviour, 26, Snowdon
C T & Pola Y V, Interspecific and intraspecific responses to
synthesized pygmy marmoset vocalizations, 192–206, Copyright
(1978), with permission from Elsevier.
modifications of single acoustic parameters in their
trills (Figure 3).
A further set of studies adopted a specific playback
technique, the ‘habituation–dishabituation’ paradigm
(also ‘habituation–recovery’; Fischer et al., 2001) pre-
viously used in human infant research (Fantz, 1964;
Eimas et al., 1971). With this technique, a series of
stimuli is presented until the subject ceases to re-
spond. Subsequently, a putatively distinct stimulus is
presented. A recovery in response suggests that this
stimulus is placed in a different category than those
used for habituation, whereas a failure to respond to
this test stimulus suggests that it is placed in the same
category as those used for habituation. Using this
method, Nelson and Marler (1989) studied swamp
sparrow (Melospiza georgiana) responses to variation
in note duration, a feature characteristic for different
populations of this species. In these experiments,
animals showed renewed territorial responses only
when the note duration was switched to a length of
the other category, whereas they failed to do so
when the same absolute variation fell within a given
category. Crickets (Teleogryllus oceanicus) exhibit
categorical perception of the frequency of tones,
depending on whether they fall in the species-specific
range or whether they simulate the presence of bats,
one of their main predators (Wyttenbach et al.,
1996). Fischer (1998) also adopted the habitation–
dishabituation paradigm and demonstrated that
Barbary macaques (Macaca sylvanus) responded in
a categorical fashion to continuous variation between
Figure 4 Looking time after playback of a series of Barbary
macaque shrill barks given to two different disturbances, human
observers and dogs. Graphs depict habituation in response to
repeated presentation of calls given in response to observers. In
the test, either a call given in response to a dog (A) or a novel call
given in response to the observer (B) was played. Test stimuli
differed from habituation stimuli by similar acoustic amounts,
measured in terms of scores derived from a multivariate acoustic
analysis. Unpublished material from Fischer (1996).
two subtypes of alarm calls (Figure 4). These calls
varied with regard to a suite of variables. Experience
with the population-typical variants of calls appeared
to influence the categorization of sounds, supporting
the view that experience with the stimuli can influ-
ence the location of category boundaries. Interesting-
ly, baboons showed continuous responses to the
graded variation between two subtypes of their loud
calls (Fischer et al., 2001).
Both methodological approaches to the study of CP
in animals – operant conditioning and observation of
natural responses – have been criticized for methodo-
logical shortcomings: Studies that employed operant
conditioning may have established categories through
the training, and therefore the observed categoriza-
tion may simply be an outcome of generalization
of the training stimuli. On the other hand, those
studies that relied on natural responses could not
demonstrate that subjects were unable to distinguish
between categories (Snowdon, 1979). Accordingly,

Nelson and Marler (1990) concluded that studies
involving operant conditioning were aimed at identi-
fying the ‘just noticeable difference’ (jnd), whereas
those relying on the animals’ natural responses iden-
tified the ‘just meaningful difference’ (jmd), and it has
been suggested that the term ‘categorical responses’
be used for the latter and the term ‘categorical
perception’ be reserved for the former.
Irrespective of the actual label used, however, it
seems warranted to conclude that nonlinear responses
to continuous variation in sound features are com-
mon among species from a variety of taxa, including
insects, rodents, birds, and nonhuman primates. This
finding supports the view that CP in the broad sense
is an expression of categorical effects in the percep-
tion and representation of biologically meaningful
stimulus variation.
See also: Animal Communication: Deception and Honest
Signaling; Animal Communication: Dialogues; Animal
Communication: Overview; Animal Communication: Sig-
nal Detection; Animal Communication: Vocal Learning;
Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Non-human
Primates; Communication in Grey Parrots; Development
of Communication in Animals; Non-human Primate Com-
munication; Traditions in Animals.
Bibliography
Ehret G & Haack B (1981). ‘Categorical perception
of mouse pup ultrasounds by lactating females.’ Natur-
wissenschaften 68, 208.
Eimas P D, Siqueland E R, Jusczyk P & Vigorito J (1971).
‘Speech perception in infants.’ Science 171, 303–306.
Fantz R L (1964). ‘Visual experience in infants: Decreased
attention to familiar patterns relative to novel ones.’
Science 146, 668–670.
Fischer J (1996). Perzeption von Lautkategorien bei Berber-
affen. Dissertation. Berlin: Free University Berlin.
Fischer J (1998). ‘Barbary macaques categorize shrill barks
into two call types.’ Animal Behaviour 55, 799–807.
Fischer J, Metz M, Cheney D L & Seyfarth R M (2001).
‘Baboon responses to graded bark variants.’ Animal
Behaviour 61, 925–931.
Harnad S (1987). Categorical perception. Cambridge
University Press: Cambridge.
Categorical Perception in Animals 251
Kuhl P K (1987). ‘Categorization by animals and infants.’
In Harnad S (ed.) Categorical perception. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 355–386.
Kuhl P K (1991). ‘Human adults and human infants show a
‘‘perceptual magnet effect’’ for the prototypes of speech
categories, monkeys do not.’ Perception and Psychophys-
ics 50, 93–107.
Kuhl P K & Miller J D (1975). ‘Speech perception by the
chinchilla: Voiced-voiceless distinction in alveolar plosive
consonants.’ Science 190, 69–72.
Kuhl P K & Miller J D (1978). ‘Speech perception by the
chinchilla: Identification functions for synthetic VOT
stimuli.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
63, 905–917.
Liberman A M (1957). ‘Some results of research on speech
perception.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
29, 117–123.
May B, Moody D B & Stebbins W C (1989). ‘Categorical
perception of conspecific communication sounds by
Japanese macaques, Macaca fuscata.’ Journal of the
Acoustical Society of America 85, 837–847.
Morse P A & Snowdon C T (1975). ‘An investigation of
categorical speech discrimination by rhesus monkeys.’
Perception and Psychophysics 17, 9–16.
Nelson D A & Marler P (1989). ‘Categorical perception of
a natural stimulus continuum – Birdsong.’ Science 244,
976–978.
Nelson D A & Marler P (1990). ‘The perception of
birdsong and an ecological concept of signal space.’
In Stebbins W C & Berkley M A (eds.) Comparative
perception 2: Complex signals. New York: Wiley.
443–478.
Repp B H & Liberman A M (1987). ‘Phonetic category
boundaries are flexible.’ In Harnad S (ed.) Categorical
perception. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
89–112.
Snowdon C T (1979). ‘Response of nonhuman animals to
speech and to species-specific sounds.’ Brain Behaviour
and Evolution 16, 409–429.
Snowdon C T & Pola Y V (1978). ‘Interspecific and intra-
specific responses to synthesized pygmy marmoset voca-
lizations.’ Animal Behaviour 26, 192–206.
Studdert-Kennedy M, Liberman A M, Harris K S & Cooper
F S (1970). ‘Motor theory of speech perception.’ Psycho-
logical Review 173, 16–43.
Wyttenbach R A, May M L & Hoy R R (1996). ‘Categori-
cal perception of sound frequency by crickets.’ Science
273, 1542–1544.
252 Categorizing Percepts: Vantage Theory
Categorizing Percepts: Vantage Theory
K Allan, Monash University, Victoria, Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Vantage theory (VT) is a theory of cognitive categori-
zation in terms of point of view or ‘vantage.’ The
underlying assumption is that categorization reflects
human needs and motives. VT was created by the late
Robert E. MacLaury as a way of explaining the mean-
ings and development of color terms across languages
when he found prototype theory and fuzzy-set logic
inadequate to the task (see MacLaury 1986, 1987,
1991, 1995, 1997, 2002). VT explains
. how people construct categories by analogy to the
way they form points of view in space–time;
. how categories are organized;
. how categories divide; and
. the relations between categories.
In VT, cognition consists of selective attention to
perception. To form a category, selected perceptions
and reciprocal emphases on similarity and difference
must be integrated in a principled way. A vantage is a
point of view constructed by analogy to physical
experience as though it were one or more ‘space–
motion coordinates’ on a spatial terrain. Reminiscent
of gestalt theory is MacLaury’s claim that a category
is the sum of its coordinates, plus their arrangement
into one or more vantages by selective emphasis. ‘‘The
maker of the category, in effect, names the ways he
constructs it rather than the set of its components as
detached from himself’’ (1997: 153).
The categorizer’s perspectives can be illustrated by
an ornithologist ‘zooming in’ to see a mallard among
the ducks on a lake, or alternatively ‘zooming out’ to
see the assembled mallards, widgeon, and pintails as
ducks. The mallard is the ‘fixed coordinate’; the rest a
‘mobile coordinate.’ In both views, there is a pair of
coordinates that we can loosely differentiate as
‘species’ and ‘genus.’
Figure 1 Red focus in the composite ‘warm’ category; cf.
MacLaury (1997: 145).
Imagine mapping warm-category colors (red,
yellow) in an array of colored blocks representing
the entire color spectrum. If each of the terms
‘red’ and ‘yellow’ is mapped differently, there is a
single vantage. If there is coextensive mapping
(evidence of a composite ‘warm’ color) with red
focus [see Color Terms], red will dominate at the
primary level of concentration, Level 1 in Figure 1,
and attention is on ‘similarity,’ S, as the mobile coor-
dinate. At Level 2 concentration, attention to the
mobile coordinate yellow notes its similarity to
red (as a warm color). At Level 3, there is attention
to D, the ‘difference’ of fixed coordinate yellow from
red. Here, yellow is recessive. Thus does VT model
the dominant–recessive pattern of coextensive nam-
ing. The dominant vantage includes reinforced atten-
tion to similarity; the recessive vantage reinforces
attention to difference. Thus, a category is composed
of
. selected perceptions;
. reciprocal and mutable emphases on similarity and
difference; and
. at least one arrangement of these coordinates into
levels of concentration—which is the vantage.
VT has been applied to many cognitive fields: the
category of person in 16th century Aztec; literacy
choices for Yaquis in Arizona; choice of orthography
in Japan; semantic extensions in English, French,
Spanish, and Zapotec; lexical choices in French; vari-
eties of Japanese women’s speech; terms of address in
Japanese; the process of argumentation; and foreign
language learning.
See also: Cognitive Linguistics; Cognitive Semantics;
Color Terms.
Bibliography
MacLaury R E (1986). Color in Mesoamerica, vol. 1. Ph.D.
diss., UCB. No. 8718073. Ann Arbor: UMI University
Microfilms.
MacLaury R E (1987). ‘Coextensive semantic ranges:
Different names for distinct vantages of one category.’
In Need B, Schiller E & Bosch A (eds.) Papers from
the Twenty-Third Annual Meeting of the Chicago Lin-
guistics Society. Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society.
268–282.
MacLaury R E (1991). ‘Social and cognitive motivations of
change: Measuring variability in color semantics.’
Language 67, 34–62.

MacLaury R E (1995). ‘Vantage theory.’ In Taylor J R &
MacLaury R E (eds.) Language and the cognitive con-
strual of the world. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 231–276.
MacLaury R E (1997). Color and cognition in Mesoamer-
ica: Constructing categories as vantages. Austin: Univer-
sity of Texas Press.
MacLaury R E (ed.) (2002). Language Sciences 24. Special
Edition on Vantage Theory.
Category-Specific Knowledge
B Z Mahon and A Caramazza, Harvard University,
Cambridge, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Principles of Organization
Theories of the organization of conceptual knowl-
edge in the brain can be distinguished according
to their underlying principles. One class of theories,
based on the neural structure principle, assumes that
the organization of conceptual knowledge is gov-
erned by representational constraints internal to the
brain itself. Two types of neural constraints have been
invoked: modality-specificity and domain-specificity.
The second class of theories, based on the correlated
structure principle, assumes that the organization of
conceptual knowledge in the brain is a reflection
of the statistical co-occurrence of object properties
in the world. Neuropsychological evidence, and
more recently findings from functional neuroimag-
ing, have figured centrally in attempts to evaluate
extant theories of the organization of conceptual
knowledge. Here we outline the main theoretical per-
spectives as well as the empirical phenomena that
have been used to inform these perspectives.
Modality-Specific Hypotheses
The first class of theories based on the neural struc-
ture principle assumes that the principal determinant
of the organization of conceptual knowledge is the
sensory-motor modality (e.g., visual, motor, verbal)
through which the information was acquired or is
typically processed. For instance, the knowledge
that hammers are shaped like a T would be stored
in a semantic subsystem dedicated to representing
the visual structure of objects, while the information
that hammers are used to pound nails would be repre-
sented in a semantic subsystem dedicated to func-
tional knowledge of objects. There have been many
proposals based on the modality-specific assumption
(Beauvois, 1982; Warrington and McCarthy, 1983,
Category-Specific Knowledge 253
Taylor J R & MacLaury R E (eds.) (1995). Language and
the cognitive construal of the world. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Relevant Website
http://klio.umcs.lublin.pl/!adglaz/vt.html.
1987; Warrington and Shallice, 1984; Allport, 1985;
Martin et al., 2000; Humphreys and Forde, 2001;
Barsalou et al., 2003; Cree and McRae, 2003; Crutch
and Warrington, 2003; Gallese and Lakoff, in press).
One way to distinguish between these proposals
concerns whether, and to what extent, conceptual
knowledge is assumed to be represented indepen-
dently of sensory-motor processes. At one extreme
are theories that assume conceptual content reduces
to (i.e., actually is) sensory-motor content (e.g.,
Allport, 1985; Pulvermuller, 2001; Barsalou et al.,
2003; Gallese and Lakoff, in press). Central to such
proposals is the notion of simulation, or the automatic
reactivation of sensory-motor information in the
course of conceptual processing. Toward the other
end of the continuum are modality-based hypotheses
of the organization of conceptual knowledge that
assume that sensory-motor systems may be damaged
without compromising the integrity of conceptual
knowledge (Martin et al., 2000; Plaut, 2002; Crutch
and Warrington, 2003; for discussion, see Mahon and
Caramazza, in press).
Domain-Specific Hypotheses
A second class of proposals based on the neural struc-
ture principle assumes that the principal determi-
nant of the organization of conceptual knowledge
is semantic category (e.g., Gelman, 1990; Carey
and Spelke, 1994; Caramazza and Shelton, 1998;
Kanwisher, 2000). For instance, in this view, it may
be argued that conceptual knowledge of conspecifics
and conceptual knowledge of animals are repre-
sented and processed by functionally dissociable
processes/systems. Crucially, in this view, the first
order principle of organization of conceptual proces-
sing is semantic category and not the modality
through which that information is typically pro-
cessed. One proposal along these lines, the Domain-
Specific Hypothesis (Caramazza and Shelton, 1998),
argues that conceptual knowledge is organized by
specialized (and functionally dissociable) neural

MacLaury R E (1995). ‘Vantage theory.’ In Taylor J R &
MacLaury R E (eds.) Language and the cognitive con-
strual of the world. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. 231–276.
MacLaury R E (1997). Color and cognition in Mesoamer-
ica: Constructing categories as vantages. Austin: Univer-
sity of Texas Press.
MacLaury R E (ed.) (2002). Language Sciences 24. Special
Edition on Vantage Theory.
Category-Specific Knowledge
B Z Mahon and A Caramazza, Harvard University,
Cambridge, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Principles of Organization
Theories of the organization of conceptual knowl-
edge in the brain can be distinguished according
to their underlying principles. One class of theories,
based on the neural structure principle, assumes that
the organization of conceptual knowledge is gov-
erned by representational constraints internal to the
brain itself. Two types of neural constraints have been
invoked: modality-specificity and domain-specificity.
The second class of theories, based on the correlated
structure principle, assumes that the organization of
conceptual knowledge in the brain is a reflection
of the statistical co-occurrence of object properties
in the world. Neuropsychological evidence, and
more recently findings from functional neuroimag-
ing, have figured centrally in attempts to evaluate
extant theories of the organization of conceptual
knowledge. Here we outline the main theoretical per-
spectives as well as the empirical phenomena that
have been used to inform these perspectives.
Modality-Specific Hypotheses
The first class of theories based on the neural struc-
ture principle assumes that the principal determinant
of the organization of conceptual knowledge is the
sensory-motor modality (e.g., visual, motor, verbal)
through which the information was acquired or is
typically processed. For instance, the knowledge
that hammers are shaped like a T would be stored
in a semantic subsystem dedicated to representing
the visual structure of objects, while the information
that hammers are used to pound nails would be repre-
sented in a semantic subsystem dedicated to func-
tional knowledge of objects. There have been many
proposals based on the modality-specific assumption
(Beauvois, 1982; Warrington and McCarthy, 1983,
Category-Specific Knowledge 253
Taylor J R & MacLaury R E (eds.) (1995). Language and
the cognitive construal of the world. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Relevant Website
http://klio.umcs.lublin.pl/!adglaz/vt.html.
1987; Warrington and Shallice, 1984; Allport, 1985;
Martin et al., 2000; Humphreys and Forde, 2001;
Barsalou et al., 2003; Cree and McRae, 2003; Crutch
and Warrington, 2003; Gallese and Lakoff, in press).
One way to distinguish between these proposals
concerns whether, and to what extent, conceptual
knowledge is assumed to be represented indepen-
dently of sensory-motor processes. At one extreme
are theories that assume conceptual content reduces
to (i.e., actually is) sensory-motor content (e.g.,
Allport, 1985; Pulvermuller, 2001; Barsalou et al.,
2003; Gallese and Lakoff, in press). Central to such
proposals is the notion of simulation, or the automatic
reactivation of sensory-motor information in the
course of conceptual processing. Toward the other
end of the continuum are modality-based hypotheses
of the organization of conceptual knowledge that
assume that sensory-motor systems may be damaged
without compromising the integrity of conceptual
knowledge (Martin et al., 2000; Plaut, 2002; Crutch
and Warrington, 2003; for discussion, see Mahon and
Caramazza, in press).
Domain-Specific Hypotheses
A second class of proposals based on the neural struc-
ture principle assumes that the principal determi-
nant of the organization of conceptual knowledge
is semantic category (e.g., Gelman, 1990; Carey
and Spelke, 1994; Caramazza and Shelton, 1998;
Kanwisher, 2000). For instance, in this view, it may
be argued that conceptual knowledge of conspecifics
and conceptual knowledge of animals are repre-
sented and processed by functionally dissociable
processes/systems. Crucially, in this view, the first
order principle of organization of conceptual proces-
sing is semantic category and not the modality
through which that information is typically pro-
cessed. One proposal along these lines, the Domain-
Specific Hypothesis (Caramazza and Shelton, 1998),
argues that conceptual knowledge is organized by
specialized (and functionally dissociable) neural
254 Category-Specific Knowledge
circuits innately determined to the conceptual proces-
sing of different categories of objects. However, not
all Domain-Specific theories assume that the organi-
zation of the adult semantic system is driven by innate
parameters (e.g., Kanwisher, 2000).
Feature-Based Hypotheses
The class of hypotheses based on the correlated
structure principle has focused on articulating the
structure of semantic memory at the level of semantic
features. There are many and sometimes diverging
proposals along these lines; common to all of them
is the assumption that the relative susceptibility to
impairment (under conditions of neurological dam-
age) of different concepts is a function of statistical
properties of the semantic features that comprise
those concepts. For instance, on some models, the
degree to which features are shared by a number of
concepts is contrasted with their relative distinc-
tiveness (Devlin et al., 1998; Garrard et al., 2001;
Tyler and Moss, 2001). Another dimension that is
introduced by some theorists concerns dynamical
properties of damage in the system; for instance,
Tyler and Moss assume that features that are more
correlated with other features will be more resistant
to damage, due to greater reciprocal activation (or
support) from those features with which they are
correlated (but see Caramazza et al., 1990). Distinc-
tive features, on the other hand, will not receive as
much reciprocal support, and will thus be more
susceptible to damage. More recently, theorists have
expanded on the original proposal of Tyler and
colleagues, adding dimensions such as familiarity,
typicality, and relevance (e.g., Cree and McRae,
2003; Sartori and Lombardi, 2004). Feature-based
models of semantic memory have in general empha-
sized an empirical, bottom up, approach to modeling
the organization of semantic memory, usually draw-
ing on feature generation tasks (e.g., Garrard et al.,
2001; Tyler and Moss, 2001; Cree and McRae, 2003;
Sartori and Lombardi, 2004). For this reason, fea-
ture-based models have been useful in generating
hypotheses about the types of parameters that
may contribute to the organization of conceptual
knowledge.
Clues from Cognitive Neuropsychology
Neuropsychological studies of patients with semantic
impairments have figured centrally in developing and
evaluating the hypotheses outlined above. Of partic-
ular importance has been a clinical profile described
as category-specific semantic deficit. Patients with
category-specific semantic deficits present with
disproportionate or even selective difficulty for
conceptual knowledge of stimuli from one semantic
category compared to other semantic categories. For
instance, the reports of category-specific impairment
by Warrington and her collaborators (e.g., Warring-
ton and McCarthy, 1983, 1987; Warrington and
Shallice, 1984) documented patients who were im-
paired for living things compared to nonliving things,
or the reverse: greater difficulty with nonliving things
than living things. Since those seminal reports, the
phenomenon of category-specific semantic deficit
has been documented by a number of investiga-
tors (for recent reviews of the clinical evidence, see
Humphreys and Forde, 2001; Tyler and Moss, 2001;
Capitani et al., 2003).
The clinical profile of category-specific semantic
deficits is in itself quite remarkable, and can be
striking. Consider some aspects of the following
case of category-specific semantic deficit for living
animate things. Patient EW (Caramazza and Shelton,
1998) was 41% correct (7/16) for naming pictures of
animals but was in the normal range for naming
pictures of non-animals (e.g., artifacts, fruit/vegeta-
bles) when the pictures from the different semantic
categories were matched jointly for familiarity and
visual complexity. EW was also severely impaired for
animals (60%; 36/60 correct) in a task in which the
patient was asked to decide, yes or no, whether
the depicted stimulus was a real object or not. In
contrast, EW performed within the normal range
for making the same types of judgments about non-
animals. On another task, EW was asked to decide
whether a given attribute was true of a given item
(e.g., Is it true that eagles lay eggs?). EW was severely
impaired for attributes pertaining to animals (65%
correct) but within the normal range for non-animals.
EW was equivalently impaired for both visual/per-
ceptual and functional/associative knowledge of liv-
ing things (65% correct for both types of knowledge)
but was within the normal range for both types of
knowledge for non-animals.
The phenomenon of category-specific semantic
deficits frames what has proven to be a rich question:
How could the conceptual system be organized such
that various conditions of damage can give rise
to conceptual impairments that disproportionately
affect specific semantic categories? There is emerging
consensus that any viable answer to this question
must be able to account for the following three facts
(for discussion, see Caramazza and Shelton, 1998;
Tyler and Moss, 2001; Capitani et al., 2003; Cree
and McRae, 2003; Samson and Pillon, 2003).
Fact I: The grain of the phenomenon: Patients can
be disproportionately impaired for either living ani-
mate things (i.e., animals) compared to living inani-
mate things (i.e., fruit/vegetables (e.g., Hart and

Gordon, 1992; Caramazza and Shelton, 1998) or liv-
ing inanimate things compared to living animate
things (e.g., Hart et al., 1985; Crutch and Warrington,
2003; Samson and Pillon, 2003). Patients can also be
impaired for nonliving things compared to living
things (Hillis and Caramazza, 1991).
Fact II: The profile of the phenomenon: Category-
specific semantic deficits are not associated with dis-
proportionate impairments for modalities or types of
information (e.g., Caramazza and Shelton, 1998;
Laiacona and Capitani, 2001; Farah and Rabinowitz,
2003; Samson and Pillon, 2003). Conversely, dispro-
portionate impairments for modalities or types of
information are not necessarily associated with cat-
egory-specific semantic deficits (e.g., Lambon-Ralph
et al.,1998; Miceli et al., 2001).
Fact III: The severity of overall impairment: The
direction of category-specific semantic deficits (i.e.,
living things worse than nonliving things, or vice
versa) is not related to the overall severity of semantic
impairment (Garrard et al., 1998; Zannino et al.,
2002).
Explaining Category-Specific Semantic Deficits
Most of the empirical and theoretical work in catego-
ry-specific semantic deficits has been driven by
an attempt to evaluate a theoretical proposal first
advanced by Warrington, Shallice, and McCarthy
(Warrington and McCarthy, 1983, 1987; Warrington
and Shallice, 1984): the Sensory/Functional Theory.
The Sensory/Functional Theory is an extension of
the modality-specific semantic hypothesis (Beauvois,
1982) discussed above. In addition to assuming that
the semantic system is functionally organized by
modality or type of information, the Sensory/Func-
tional Theory assumes that the recognition/identifica-
tion of items from different semantic categories (e.g.,
living things compared to nonliving things) differen-
tially depends on different modality-specific semantic
subsystems. In general, Sensory/Functional theories
assume that the ability to identify/recognize living
things differentially depends on visual/perceptual
knowledge, while the ability to identify/recognize
nonliving things differentially depends on function-
al/associative knowledge (for data and/or discussion
of the assumption that different types or modalities of
information are differentially important for different
semantic categories, see Farah and McClelland,
1991; Caramazza and Shelton, 1998; Garrard et al.,
2001; Tyler and Moss, 2001; Cree and McRae,
2003). There are several versions of the Sensory/
Functional Theory, each of which has emphasized a
different correspondence between the type or modal-
ity of information and the category of items that
differentially depends on that type of information.
Category-Specific Knowledge 255
For instance, it has been proposed that color informa-
tion is more important for fruit/vegetables than ani-
mals (e.g., Humphreys and Forde, 2001; Cree and
McRae, 2003; Crutch and Warrington, 2003) while
biological motion information is more important for
animals than for fruit/vegetables (e.g., Cree and
McRae, 2003). Another version of the Sensory/Func-
tional Theory (Humphreys and Forde, 2001) holds
that there is greater perceptual crowding (due to
greater perceptual overlap) at a modality-specific
input level for living things than for nonliving
things. Thus, damage to this visual modality-specific
input system will disproportionately affect proces-
sing of living things compared to nonliving things
(see also Tranel et al., 1997; Dixon, 2000; Laws
et al., 2002).
Common to theories based on the Sensory/Function-
al Assumption is that at least some category-specific
semantic deficits can be explained by assuming damage
to the modality or type of information upon which
recognition/identification of items from the impaired
category differentially depends (for discussion see
Humphreys and Forde, 2001). Other authors have
argued that the fact that category-specific semantic
deficits are not necessarily associated with deficits to a
modality or type of knowledge (see Fact II above)
indicates that the phenomenon does not provide sup-
port for Sensory/Functional theories (for discussion,
see Caramazza and Shelton, 1998; Tyler and Moss,
2001; Capitani et al., 2003; Cree and McRae, 2003;
Samson and Pillon, 2003).
Caramazza and Shelton (1998) argued for a
Domain-Specific interpretation of category-specific
semantic deficits that emphasized the hypothesis
that the grain of category-specific semantic deficits
will be restricted to a limited set of categories. Spe-
cifically, because the Domain-Specific Hypothesis
(Caramazza and Shelton, 1998) assumes that the
organization of conceptual and perceptual processing
is determined by innate constraints, the plausible
categories of category-specific semantic impairment
are ‘animals,’ ‘fruit/vegetables,’ ‘conspecifics,’ and
possibly tools. Recent discussion of this proposal
(Caramazza and Mahon, in press; see also Shelton
et al., 1998) has capitalized on using the category
‘conspecifics’ as a test case. Consistent with expecta-
tions that follow from the Domain-Specific Hypoth-
esis, patients have been reported who are relatively
impaired for knowledge of conspecifics but not
for animals or objects (e.g., Kay and Hanley, 1999;
Miceli et al., 2000) as well as the reverse: equivalent
impairment for animals and objects but spared
knowledge of conspecifics (Thompson et al., 2004).
Thus, the domain of conspecifics can be spared
or impaired independently of both objects and other
256 Category-Specific Knowledge
living things, and importantly, an impairment
for conspecifics is not necessarily associated with a
general impairment for living things compared to
nonliving things.
Another line of research has sought an account of
category-specific semantic deficits in terms of feature-
based models of semantic memory organization. For
instance, the Organized Unitary Content Hypoth-
esis (OUCH) (Caramazza et al., 1990) makes
two principal assumptions. First, conceptual features
corresponding to object properties that often co-
occur will be stored close together in semantic
space; and second, focal brain damage can give rise
to category-specific semantic deficits either because
the conceptual knowledge corresponding to objects
with similar properties is stored in adjacent neural
areas, or because damage to a given property will
propagate damage to highly correlated properties.
While the original OUCH model is not inconsistent
with the currently available data from category-
specific semantic deficits, it is too unconstrained to
provide a principled answer to the question of why
the various facts are as they are.
Other feature-based models have emphasized the
differential susceptibility to impairment of different
types of semantic features. These models often as-
sume random (or diffuse) damage to a conceptual
system that is not organized by modality or object
domain. For instance, in order to account for catego-
ry-specific semantic deficits, the semantic memory
model advanced by Tyler and Moss (2001) makes
three assumptions bearing on the relative susceptibil-
ity to impairment of different classes of semantic
features: (a) Living things have more shared features
than nonliving things, or put differently, nonliving
things have more distinctive/informative features
than living things; (b) For living things, biological
function information is highly correlated with shared
perceptual properties (e.g., can see/has eyes). For arti-
facts, function information is highly correlated with
distinctive perceptual properties (e.g., used for spear-
ing/has tines). (c) Features that are highly correlated
with other features will be more resistant to damage
than features that are not highly correlated (see also
Devlin et al., 1998; Garrard et al., 2001; Cree and
McRae, 2003). This proposal, termed the Conceptual
Structure Account, predicts that a disproportionate
deficit for living things will be observed when damage
is relatively mild, while a disproportionate deficit for
nonliving things will only arise when damage is so
severe that all that is left in the system are the highly
correlated shared perceptual and function features of
living things. Recent work investigating the central
prediction of the theory through cross sectional ana-
lyses of patients at varying stages of Alzheimer’s
disease has not found support for this prediction
(Garrard et al., 1998; Zannino et al., 2002).
Clues from Functional Neuroimaging
Increasingly, the neuropsychological approach is
being complemented by functional neuroimaging
studies of category-specificity. There is a large body
of evidence from functional neuroimaging that
demonstrates differentiation by semantic domain
within modality-specific systems specialized for pro-
cessing object form and object-associated motion.
Specifically, within the ventral object processing sys-
tem, areas on the inferior surface of the temporal
lobes process object-associated form and texture,
while areas on the lateral surfaces of the temporal
lobes process object-associated movement (Kourtzi
and Kanwisher, 2000; Beauchamp et al., 2002,
2003). Within both form/texture- and motion-specific
areas of the ventral object processing system, there is
differentiation by semantic category. On the inferior
surface of the temporal lobe (e.g., fusiform gyrus),
more lateral areas are differentially involved in the
processing of living things, while more medial regions
are differentially involved in the processing of nonliv-
ing things. Furthermore, human face stimuli, in com-
parison to non-face stimuli (including animals
without faces), differentially activate distinct regions
of the inferior temporal cortex (Kanwisher et al.,
1999). On the lateral surface of the temporal lobes,
more superior regions (e.g., superior temporal sulcus)
are differentially involved in the processing of motion
associated with living things, while more inferior
regions (e.g., middle temporal gyrus) are differentially
involved in the processing of motion associated
with nonliving things (for review, see Kanwisher,
2000; Martin and Chao, 2001; Beauchamp et al.,
2002, 2003; Bookheimer, 2002; Caramazza and
Mahon, 2003, in press).
All of the theoretical frameworks outlined above
have been applied to the data from functional neuro-
imaging. One widely received view, the Sensory/Motor
Theory, developed by Martin, Wiggs, Ungerleider, and
Haxby (1996; see also Martin et al., 2000) assumes
that conceptual knowledge of different categories of
objects is stored close to the modality- specific input/
output areas that are active when we learn about
and interact with those objects. Other authors have
interpreted these patterns of activation within a
Domain-Specific Framework (e.g., Kanwisher, 2000;
Caramazza and Mahon, 2003, in press), while
still others have interpreted these findings within a
distributed semantic memory model that emphasizes
experience-dependent and/or feature-based properties
of concepts (e.g., Tarr and Gauthier, 2000; Levy et al.,

2001; Martin and Chao, 2001; Bookheimer, 2002;
Devlin et al., 2002). Regardless of what the correct
interpretation of these functional neuroimaging data
turns out to be, they suggest a theoretical approach
in which multiple dimensions of organization can
be distinguished. In particular, whether the category-
specific foci of activation are interpreted within
the Domain-Specific Framework or within a feature-
based framework, these data suggest the inference
that the organization of conceptual knowledge in the
cortex is driven both by the type or modality of
the information as well as its content-defined semantic
category.
Conclusion
The three proposals that we have reviewed (the
Sensory/Functional Theory, the Domain-Specific
Hypothesis, and the Conceptual Structure Account)
are contrary hypotheses of the causes of category-
specific semantic deficits. However, the individual
assumptions that comprise each account are not nec-
essarily mutually contrary as proposals about the
organization of semantic memory. In this context,
it is important to note that each of the hypotheses
discussed above makes assumptions at a different
level in a hierarchy of questions about the organiza-
tion of conceptual knowledge. At the broadest level is
the question of whether or not conceptual knowledge
is organized by Domain-Specific constraints. The
second question is whether conceptual knowledge is
represented in modality-specific semantic stores
specialized for processing/storing a specific type of
information, or is represented in an amodal, unitary
system. The third level in this hierarchy of questions
concerns the organization of conceptual knowledge
within any given object domain (and/or modality-
specific semantic store): the principles invoked
by feature-based models may prove useful for articu-
lating answers to this question (for further discussion
of the various levels at which specific hypotheses
have been articulated, see Caramazza and Mahon,
2003).
Different hypotheses of the organization of con-
ceptual knowledge are more or less successful at
accounting for different types of facts. Thus, it is
important to consider the specific assumptions
made by each hypothesis in the context of a broad
range of empirical phenomena. The combination of
neuropsychology and functional neuroimaging is
beginning to provide promising grounds for raising
theoretically motivated questions concerning the or-
ganization of conceptual knowledge in the human
brain.
Category-Specific Knowledge 257
Acknowledgments
Preparation of this manuscript was supported in part
by NIH grant DC04542 to A. C., and by an NSF
Graduate Research Fellowship to B. Z. M. Portions
of this article were adapted from Caramazza and
Mahon (2003) and Caramazza and Mahon (in press).
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Catford, John C. (b. 1917)
J G Harris, Kirkland, WA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
J. C. Catford, Professor Emeritus of linguistics at the
University of Michigan, USA, was born in Edinburgh,
Scotland, in 1917. He studied at the Universities of
Edinburgh, Paris, and London. He is, in the opinion
of many, one of the greatest living linguists of the 20th
and 21st centuries.
At age 14, inspired by Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion,
he became deeply interested in phonetics, which he
studied in Sweet’s Primer of phonetics, and with
encouragement from Daniel Jones (the leading British
phonetician of the time). As a schoolboy he became
competent in phonetic analysis and production,
applying this skill to many English dialects and for-
eign languages. Having had an audition at the British
Broadcasting Corporation, at 17 he began a long
association with the BBC and parallel careers as a
phonetician/linguist and a radio actor. At this time,
his enthusiasm for phonetics broadened into a general
interest in linguistics, on which he read widely in the
works of Sweet, Jespersen, Sapir, Bloomfield, and
others.
Specializing in French at Edinburgh University, he
passed an academic year in France as an ‘‘assistant
d’anglais’’ in a French lycée. During this time, he
earned the Diplôme de Phonétique Générale of the
Institut de Phonétique of the University of Paris,
where he also attended lectures by Marcel Cohen
and André Martinet. In 1939, he interrupted his stud-
ies to accept an invitation to teach at the British
Council’s Institute of English Studies in Athens for
one year. The start of World War II prevented his
Catford, John C. (b. 1917) 259
Warrington E K & McCarthy R (1983). ‘Category specific
access dysphasia.’ Brain 106, 859–878.
Warrington E K & McCarthy R (1987). ‘Categories
of knowledge: further fractionations and an attempted
integration.’ Brain 110, 1273–1296.
Warrington E K & Shallice T (1984). ‘Category-specific
semantic impairment.’ Brain 107, 829–854.
Zannino G D, Perri R, Carlesimo G A, Pasqualettin P &
Caltagirone C (2002). ‘Category-specific impairment
in patients with Alzheimer’s disease as a function of
disease severity: a cross-sectional investigation.’ Neu-
ropsychologia 40, 2268–2279.
return to Britain, so the one year became seven, dur-
ing which he applied phonetics and linguistics in
teaching English in Greece, Egypt, and Palestine,
acquiring knowledge of Modern Greek, Arabic, and
Hebrew. He also met speakers of Caucasian lan-
guages and was fascinated by their phonetics and
grammar.
Returning to the UK in 1946, he studied general
linguistics (with J. R. Firth) and Slavonic linguistics
at London University, earning his living as a radio
actor, specializing in ‘exotic’ dialects and foreign
accents, i.e., doing applied phonetics, including the
analysis of the sound systems of numerous languages,
dialects, and even individuals, and then synthesizing
approximately the same sounds in his own vocal
tract.
In 1952, he returned to Edinburgh University to
work full time on the Linguistic Survey of Scotland,
where he designed a phonological, rather than
phonetic, questionnaire for field work. In 1957, he
created and became Director of the Edinburgh
University School of Applied Linguistics – believed
to be the first academic institution to specialize in
the application of linguistic theory and data to prac-
tical problems such as language teaching and trans-
lation. In 1964, he was invited to the University of
Michigan as a professor of linguistics and Director
of the English Language Institute, subsequently
Chairman of the Department of Linguistics, and
Director of the Phonetics Laboratory. He taught
phonetics and phonology, applied linguistics, transla-
tion theory, comparative-historical linguistics, and
several other topics. He also developed his interest in
Caucasian languages in two field trips to the USSR. In
1973, he conducted a seminar in Israel for Circassian

Tarr M J & Gauthier I (2000). ‘FFA: a flexible fusiform area
for subordinate-level visual processing automatized by
expertise.’ Nature Neuroscience 3, 764–769.
Thompson S A, Graham K S, Williams G, Patterson K,
Kapur N & Hodges J R (2004). ‘Dissociating person-
specific from general semantic knowledge: roles of the
left and right temporal lobes.’ Neuropsychologia 42,
359–370.
Tranel D, Logan C G, Frank R J & Damasio A R (1997).
‘Explaining category-related effects in the retrieval of
conceptual and lexical knowledge for concrete entities.’
Neuropsychologia 35, 1329–1339.
Tyler L K & Moss H E (2001). ‘Towards a distributed
account of conceptual knowledge.’ Trends in Cognitive
Science 5, 244–252.
Catford, John C. (b. 1917)
J G Harris, Kirkland, WA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
J. C. Catford, Professor Emeritus of linguistics at the
University of Michigan, USA, was born in Edinburgh,
Scotland, in 1917. He studied at the Universities of
Edinburgh, Paris, and London. He is, in the opinion
of many, one of the greatest living linguists of the 20th
and 21st centuries.
At age 14, inspired by Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion,
he became deeply interested in phonetics, which he
studied in Sweet’s Primer of phonetics, and with
encouragement from Daniel Jones (the leading British
phonetician of the time). As a schoolboy he became
competent in phonetic analysis and production,
applying this skill to many English dialects and for-
eign languages. Having had an audition at the British
Broadcasting Corporation, at 17 he began a long
association with the BBC and parallel careers as a
phonetician/linguist and a radio actor. At this time,
his enthusiasm for phonetics broadened into a general
interest in linguistics, on which he read widely in the
works of Sweet, Jespersen, Sapir, Bloomfield, and
others.
Specializing in French at Edinburgh University, he
passed an academic year in France as an ‘‘assistant
d’anglais’’ in a French lycée. During this time, he
earned the Diplôme de Phonétique Générale of the
Institut de Phonétique of the University of Paris,
where he also attended lectures by Marcel Cohen
and André Martinet. In 1939, he interrupted his stud-
ies to accept an invitation to teach at the British
Council’s Institute of English Studies in Athens for
one year. The start of World War II prevented his
Catford, John C. (b. 1917) 259
Warrington E K & McCarthy R (1983). ‘Category specific
access dysphasia.’ Brain 106, 859–878.
Warrington E K & McCarthy R (1987). ‘Categories
of knowledge: further fractionations and an attempted
integration.’ Brain 110, 1273–1296.
Warrington E K & Shallice T (1984). ‘Category-specific
semantic impairment.’ Brain 107, 829–854.
Zannino G D, Perri R, Carlesimo G A, Pasqualettin P &
Caltagirone C (2002). ‘Category-specific impairment
in patients with Alzheimer’s disease as a function of
disease severity: a cross-sectional investigation.’ Neu-
ropsychologia 40, 2268–2279.
return to Britain, so the one year became seven, dur-
ing which he applied phonetics and linguistics in
teaching English in Greece, Egypt, and Palestine,
acquiring knowledge of Modern Greek, Arabic, and
Hebrew. He also met speakers of Caucasian lan-
guages and was fascinated by their phonetics and
grammar.
Returning to the UK in 1946, he studied general
linguistics (with J. R. Firth) and Slavonic linguistics
at London University, earning his living as a radio
actor, specializing in ‘exotic’ dialects and foreign
accents, i.e., doing applied phonetics, including the
analysis of the sound systems of numerous languages,
dialects, and even individuals, and then synthesizing
approximately the same sounds in his own vocal
tract.
In 1952, he returned to Edinburgh University to
work full time on the Linguistic Survey of Scotland,
where he designed a phonological, rather than
phonetic, questionnaire for field work. In 1957, he
created and became Director of the Edinburgh
University School of Applied Linguistics – believed
to be the first academic institution to specialize in
the application of linguistic theory and data to prac-
tical problems such as language teaching and trans-
lation. In 1964, he was invited to the University of
Michigan as a professor of linguistics and Director
of the English Language Institute, subsequently
Chairman of the Department of Linguistics, and
Director of the Phonetics Laboratory. He taught
phonetics and phonology, applied linguistics, transla-
tion theory, comparative-historical linguistics, and
several other topics. He also developed his interest in
Caucasian languages in two field trips to the USSR. In
1973, he conducted a seminar in Israel for Circassian
260 Catford, John C. (b. 1917)
teachers, on the Cyrillic orthography and the gram-
mar of Adyghe, so that Circassian children in Israel
could become literate in their own language.
After his retirement in 1986, he was Visiting
Professor at the University of the Bosphorus, Istanbul,
at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and at the Uni-
versity of California, Los Angeles. In 1988–1993, he
was Executive Editor (translation) for the Encyclo-
pedia of language and linguistics (Oxford, Pergamon
Press, 1994), and wrote the encyclopedia articles
‘Caucasian languages,’ ‘Articulatory phonetics,’ and
‘Translation, overview.’
His major contributions have been in phonetic
taxonomy, aerodynamic phonetics, phonation types,
Scots dialectology, Caucasian phonetics, applied lin-
guistics, and translation theory. His Fundamental
problems in phonetics (1977), A practical introduc-
tion to phonetics (1988), and articles on ‘Phonation
types’ (1964) and ‘The articulatory possibilities of
man’ (1968) are classics in the field.
See also: Applied Linguistics: Overview and History;
Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Jespersen, Otto (1860–
1943); Johnson, Samuel (1709–1784); Jones, Daniel
(1881–1967); Martinet, André (1908–1999); Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Shaw, George Bernard (1856–1950); Sweet,
Henry (1845–1912).
Bibliography
Catford J C (1939). ‘On the classification of stop conso-
nants.’ Le Maı̂tre Phonétique 3d ser. 65, 2–5. [Repub-
lished in Jones W & Laver J (eds.) Phonetics in
Linguistics. London: Longman, 1973. 43–46.]
Catford J C (1957). ‘Vowel systems of Scots dialects.’
Transactions of the Philological Society 107–117 [For
application see Linguistics Atlas of Scotland, vol. 3].
Caucasian Languages
B G Hewitt, SOAS, Doncaster, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Around 38 languages are deemed to be indigenous to
the Caucasus; often difficult demarcation between
language and dialect explains the uncertainty. The
ancestral homelands are currently divided between:
1. Russia’s north Caucasian provinces (Circassian,
Abaza, Ingush, Chechen, Avaro-Ando-Tsezic,
Lako-Dargic, northern Lezgic);
Catford J C (1964). ‘Phonation types.’ In Abercrombie D
et al. (eds.) In honour of Daniel Jones. Longmans.
26–37.
Catford J C (1965). A linguistic theory of translation.
London: Oxford University Press.
Catford J C (1968). ‘The Articulatory possibilities of man.’
In Malmberg B (ed.) Manual of phonetics. Amsterdam:
North Holland Publishing Co. 309–333.
Catford J C (1976). ‘Ergativity in Caucasian languages.’ In
Actes du 6e Congrès de l’asociation linguistique du
nord-est. Montreal: Univ. de Montréal. 1–57.
Catford J C (1977). Fundamental problems in phonetics.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Catford J C (1981). ‘Observations on the recent history
of vowel classification.’ In Aster & Henderson (eds.)
Towards a history of phonetics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh
Press.
Catford J C (1982). ‘Marking and frequency in the English
verb.’ In Language form and linguistic variation; cur-
rent issues in linguistic theory, vol. 15. Amsterdam:
Benjamins. 11–27.
Catford J C (1988a). ‘Notes on the phonetics of Nias.’ In
McGinn R (ed.) Studies in Austronesian linguistics.
Athens, OH: Ohio University. 151–172.
Catford J C (1988b). A practical introduction to phonetics.
Oxford: Clarendon Press. [2nd edn., 2001.]
Catford J C (1988c). ‘Functional load and diachronic pho-
nology.’ In Tobin Y (ed.) The Prague School and its
legacy. Amsterdam: Benjamins. 3–19.
Catford J C (1991). ‘The classification of Caucasian lan-
guages.’ In Lamb S et al. (eds.) Sprung from some com-
mon source. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
232–268.
Catford J C (1992). ‘Caucasian phonetics and general pho-
netics.’ In Paris C (ed.) Caucasologie et mythologie com-
parée. Actes du colloque international du CNRS, IVe
Colloque de Caucasologie. Paris: Peeters. 193–216.
Catford J C (1998). ‘Sixty years in linguistics.’ In Koerner
E F K (ed.) First person singular III, autobiographies
by North American scholars in the language science.
Amsterdam: Benjamins. 3–38.
2. de facto independent Abkhazia (Abkhaz, Mingre-
lian, Svan, Georgian, Laz);
3. Georgia (Georgian, Mingrelian, Svan, Laz, Bats,
Chechen, Avar, Udi);
4. Azerbaijan (Lezgi, Budukh, Kryts’, Khinalugh,
Rutul, Ts’akhur, Avar, Udi) Turkey (Laz, Georgian).
Diaspora-communities of North (especially north-
west) Caucasians can be found across former
Ottoman territories, particularly Turkey, where
the majority Circassian and Abkhazian popula-
tions reside and where the term ‘Cherkess’ often
260 Catford, John C. (b. 1917)
teachers, on the Cyrillic orthography and the gram-
mar of Adyghe, so that Circassian children in Israel
could become literate in their own language.
After his retirement in 1986, he was Visiting
Professor at the University of the Bosphorus, Istanbul,
at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, and at the Uni-
versity of California, Los Angeles. In 1988–1993, he
was Executive Editor (translation) for the Encyclo-
pedia of language and linguistics (Oxford, Pergamon
Press, 1994), and wrote the encyclopedia articles
‘Caucasian languages,’ ‘Articulatory phonetics,’ and
‘Translation, overview.’
His major contributions have been in phonetic
taxonomy, aerodynamic phonetics, phonation types,
Scots dialectology, Caucasian phonetics, applied lin-
guistics, and translation theory. His Fundamental
problems in phonetics (1977), A practical introduc-
tion to phonetics (1988), and articles on ‘Phonation
types’ (1964) and ‘The articulatory possibilities of
man’ (1968) are classics in the field.
See also: Applied Linguistics: Overview and History;
Bloomfield, Leonard (1887–1949); Jespersen, Otto (1860–
1943); Johnson, Samuel (1709–1784); Jones, Daniel
(1881–1967); Martinet, André (1908–1999); Sapir, Edward
(1884–1939); Shaw, George Bernard (1856–1950); Sweet,
Henry (1845–1912).
Bibliography
Catford J C (1939). ‘On the classification of stop conso-
nants.’ Le Maı̂tre Phonétique 3d ser. 65, 2–5. [Repub-
lished in Jones W & Laver J (eds.) Phonetics in
Linguistics. London: Longman, 1973. 43–46.]
Catford J C (1957). ‘Vowel systems of Scots dialects.’
Transactions of the Philological Society 107–117 [For
application see Linguistics Atlas of Scotland, vol. 3].
Caucasian Languages
B G Hewitt, SOAS, Doncaster, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Around 38 languages are deemed to be indigenous to
the Caucasus; often difficult demarcation between
language and dialect explains the uncertainty. The
ancestral homelands are currently divided between:
1. Russia’s north Caucasian provinces (Circassian,
Abaza, Ingush, Chechen, Avaro-Ando-Tsezic,
Lako-Dargic, northern Lezgic);
Catford J C (1964). ‘Phonation types.’ In Abercrombie D
et al. (eds.) In honour of Daniel Jones. Longmans.
26–37.
Catford J C (1965). A linguistic theory of translation.
London: Oxford University Press.
Catford J C (1968). ‘The Articulatory possibilities of man.’
In Malmberg B (ed.) Manual of phonetics. Amsterdam:
North Holland Publishing Co. 309–333.
Catford J C (1976). ‘Ergativity in Caucasian languages.’ In
Actes du 6e Congrès de l’asociation linguistique du
nord-est. Montreal: Univ. de Montréal. 1–57.
Catford J C (1977). Fundamental problems in phonetics.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Catford J C (1981). ‘Observations on the recent history
of vowel classification.’ In Aster & Henderson (eds.)
Towards a history of phonetics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh
Press.
Catford J C (1982). ‘Marking and frequency in the English
verb.’ In Language form and linguistic variation; cur-
rent issues in linguistic theory, vol. 15. Amsterdam:
Benjamins. 11–27.
Catford J C (1988a). ‘Notes on the phonetics of Nias.’ In
McGinn R (ed.) Studies in Austronesian linguistics.
Athens, OH: Ohio University. 151–172.
Catford J C (1988b). A practical introduction to phonetics.
Oxford: Clarendon Press. [2nd edn., 2001.]
Catford J C (1988c). ‘Functional load and diachronic pho-
nology.’ In Tobin Y (ed.) The Prague School and its
legacy. Amsterdam: Benjamins. 3–19.
Catford J C (1991). ‘The classification of Caucasian lan-
guages.’ In Lamb S et al. (eds.) Sprung from some com-
mon source. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
232–268.
Catford J C (1992). ‘Caucasian phonetics and general pho-
netics.’ In Paris C (ed.) Caucasologie et mythologie com-
parée. Actes du colloque international du CNRS, IVe
Colloque de Caucasologie. Paris: Peeters. 193–216.
Catford J C (1998). ‘Sixty years in linguistics.’ In Koerner
E F K (ed.) First person singular III, autobiographies
by North American scholars in the language science.
Amsterdam: Benjamins. 3–38.
2. de facto independent Abkhazia (Abkhaz, Mingre-
lian, Svan, Georgian, Laz);
3. Georgia (Georgian, Mingrelian, Svan, Laz, Bats,
Chechen, Avar, Udi);
4. Azerbaijan (Lezgi, Budukh, Kryts’, Khinalugh,
Rutul, Ts’akhur, Avar, Udi) Turkey (Laz, Georgian).
Diaspora-communities of North (especially north-
west) Caucasians can be found across former
Ottoman territories, particularly Turkey, where
the majority Circassian and Abkhazian popula-
tions reside and where the term ‘Cherkess’ often
 Caucasian Languages 261

indiscriminately applies to any North Caucasian. has an ancient tradition of writing, but during the
Circassians are found in Syria, Israel, and Jordan, Soviet period the languages in bold all enjoyed liter-
home also to a significant Chechen population. Speak- ary status. Publishing in Mingrelian, Laz, Ts’akhur,
er numbers range from 500 (Hinukh) to 3–4 million Aghul, Rutul, and Udi was tried in the 1930s but
(Georgian). Many of the languages are endangered. discontinued, though there have been some post-
Three families are usually recognized: Soviet attempts to publish more widely (including
Dido).
A. South Caucasian (Kartvelian)
Georgian
Svan Phonetics and Phonology
Mingrelian (Megrelian)
All Caucasian languages have voiced vs. voiceless
Laz (Ch’an)
aspirate vs. voiceless ejective plosives, affricates, and
occasionally fricatives, to which some add a fortis
[Scholars in Georgia regard Mingrelian and
series (voiceless unaspirated or geminate). North
Laz as codialects of Zan]
West Caucasian is characterized by large consonantal
B. North West Caucasian
inventories coupled with minimal vowel systems, con-
Abkhaz
sisting of at least the vertical opposition open /A/ vs.
Abaza
closed /e/. Ubykh possessed 80 phonemes (83 if the
Ubykh (extinct from 1992)
plain velar plosives attested only in loans are admit-
West Circassian (Adyghe)
ted), with every point of articulation between lips and
East Circassian (Kabardian)
larynx utilized and displaying the secondary features
of palatalization, labialization, and pharyngalization –
C. Nakh-Daghestanian
Daghestanian pharyngalization is normally assigned
(a) Nakh (North Central Caucasian)
to vowels (Table 1).
Chechen
Some recent analyses of Daghestanian languages
Ingush
have produced inventories rivaling those of the
Bats (Ts’ova Tush)
North West Caucasian, though no parallel minimality
(b) Daghestanian (North East Caucasian)
among the vowels is posited. One analysis of Archi
assigns it 70 consonants (Table 2).
1. Avaro-Ando-Tsezic(/Didoic):
Noticeable here, is the presence of 10 laterals,
Avaric: Avar
though some specialists recognize no more than
Andic: Andi, Botlikh, Godoberi, K’arat’a
three or four.
(Karata), Akhvakh, Bagvalal, T’indi
(Tindi), Ch’amalal (Chamalal)
Tsezic: Tsez (Dido), Khvarshi, Hinukh, Table 1 Consonantal phonemes for Ubykh
Bezht’a (Bezhta) (K’ap’uch’a), Hunzib
p b p’ m w
(these last two are sometimes regarded as
p¿ b¿ p¿, m¿ w¿
codialects) f
v¿
2. Lako-Dargic: t d t’ n r
Lakic: Lak tw dw tw’
’ s z
Dargic: Dargwa (Dargi(n)) – some treat
’ C !
K’ubachi, Chiragh, and Megeb as full w w w
’ Cw !
w

languages ’ s Z
sw Zw
3. Lezgic: ’ § Z
’ l
Lezgi(an), Tabasaran (Tabassaran), Rutul
j
(Mukhad), Ts’akhur (Tsakhur), Aghul, (k) (g) (k’) x X
Udi, Archi, Budukh, Khinalugh, Kryts’ kj gj kj’
(Kryts) kw gw kw’
q q’ w R
q¿ q¿’ w¿ R¿
Some challenge the Lezgic status of Archi, Khinalugh, qj qj’ wj Rj
Budukh, and Kryts.’ Mutual intelligibility basically qw qw’ ww Rw
q¿w q¿w’ w¿w R¿w
exists between Laz and Mingrelian, Abkhaz, and
h
Abaza, West and East Circassian. Only Georgian
262 Caucasian Languages

Table 2 Consonantal system of Archi Table 6 Hunzib basic vowel system

p b p’ p: m w i $i u
t d t’ t: n r E e O
tw dw A Q
’ ts:’ s s: z
tsw tsw’ sw s:w zw
ts ts’ :’ s s: Z Table 7 Chiragh Dargwa vowel system
w w
’ sw s:w Zw
’ : / l i(:) u(:)
w w w
’ :w E(:)
j A(:)
k g k’ k:
kw gw kw’ k:w
q q’ q:’ w w: R
Table 8 Udi vowel system
qw qw’ ww w:w Rw
h ¿ i i¿ (y) u u¿
h E E¿ (œ) e O O¿
(a) A A¿

Table 3 Georgian-Avar-Andi vowel system

Table 9 Chechen vowel system
i u
E O i i: y y: u u:
A je ie Hœ yœ wo uo
e e: o o:
a a: A A:

Table 4 Svan’s upper Bal vowel system

i i: y y: u u: length (Table 7). Udi has been analyzed in Table 8,

e e: whilst Chechen presents the complicated system
E E: œ œ: O O: (Table 9).
a a: A A: Most, if not all, of these can be nasalized as a result
of the weakening of a following /n/.
Stress is sometimes distinctive (Abkhaz-Abaza)
Table 5 Bezht’a basic vowel system but usually not. Tonal distinctions have been pro-
i y u posed for some of the Daghestanian languages
E œ O (Andi, Akhvakh, Ch’amalal, Khvarshi, Hinukh,
a A Bezht’a, Tabasaran, Ts’akhur, Ingush, and Budukh).

Kartvelian occupies a mid-position with between
28 and 30 consonants (see Georgian). Georgian shares
with Avar and Andi the simple five-vowel triangle
(Table 3).
Schwa is added to this in the other Kartvelian lan-
guages, while the various Svan dialects have length
and/or umlaut, Upper Bal having the richest system
(Table 4).
Triangular or quadrilateral vowel systems are
attested in Nakh-Daghestanian (Table 5).
All but /y, E, œ/ possess long counterparts, and the
nasalized vowels: / , , , , , :, , :/ have also been
recognized. Table 6 shows the Hunzib basic vowels.
All these Hunzib vowels have long counterparts,
and fluctuating nasalization on short vowels has been
observed.
The simplest (near-)quadrilateral system is attested
in Chiragh Dargwa, with four pairs distinguished by
Morphology
North West Caucasian sememes are typically
C(C)(V), and minimal case systems combine with
highly polysynthetic verbs, which may contain up to
four agreement prefixes, locational preverbs, orienta-
tional preverbs and/or suffixes, interrogative and con-
junctional elements, and markers of tense-modality,
(non-)finiteness, causation, potentiality, involun-
tariness, polarity, reflexivity, and reciprocality (see
Abkhaz). Kartvelian balances a moderate total of
cases with reasonably complex verbs, which may
contain: agreement with two or three (rarely four)
arguments via two sets of agreement affixes,
directional/perfectivizing preverbs (the large total in
Mingrelian-Laz suggests North West Caucasian influ-
ence), and markers of tense-aspect-modality, causa-
tion, potentiality, version (vocalic prefixes indicating
certain relations between arguments), and voice –
 Caucasian Languages 263

Table 10 Avar locative case endings

Series Essive Allative Ablative

1. ‘on’ -d(.)A -d.E -d(.)A.s:A

2. ‘near’ -q: -q:.E -q:.A
3. ‘under’ - :’ - :’.E - :’.A
4. ‘in (mass)’ - : - :.E - :.A
5. ‘in (space)’ -D (¼ class-marker) -D-E -s:A

Kartvelian is the only family to have a full active-
passive diathetic opposition. Nakh-Daghestanian
has complex nominal systems with both grammatical
and sometimes large numbers of locative cases; Lez-
gi(an), Aghul, and Udi apart, nouns fall into one of
between two and (depending on the analysis) five or
eight (largely covert) classes. Verbs are correspond-
ingly simple: agreement is totally absent from Lez-
gi(an) and Aghul; elsewhere, verbs with an agreement
slot typically allow only class agreement (Andic),
though some languages (Bats, Lak-Dargwa, Taba-
saran, Akhvakh, Archi, Hunzib, and Avar dialects)
have added perhaps rudimentary person agreement,
whilst Udi has person agreement only. Some lan-
guages have a small selection of preverbs. Some dis-
tinguish perfective from imperfective roots. Some
North Caucasian verbs can be construed transitively
or intransitively (?passively), depending on the clausal
structure. Antipassives are also attested.
Avar illustrates a typical system of locative-cases
(Table 10).
Ergativity and some other oblique case function are
often merged in a single morph.
Deictic systems range from two-term (Mingrelian,
Ubykh, Kryts’), through three-term (Georgian,
Abkhaz, Circassian), to five-term in a swathe of
Daghestanian, and even six-term (Lezgi(an), Godo-
beri).
Counting systems are predominantly vigesimal, at
least up to ‘99’ (though Bats is vigesimal throughout),
but some systems are decimal.
Syntax
accusative just for Series II. Laz has extended the
case marker horizontally across its three series for
all transitive subjects. Active–inactive alignment
plays a role in some languages (Bats).
A nominative/absolutive argument is the obligatory
minimum in a clause, and where verbs have class
agreement, this is the determiner for the class marker
(which in some languages also appears on adverbs and
as part of a locative case exponent); the determiner for
person agreement in languages with class agreement
might be this same or a different argument (e.g., the
logical subject), depending on a variety of factors.
Verbs such as want, have, hear are construed indi-
rectly with the logical subject in an oblique case, but,
if Kartvelian and North West Caucasian employ just
the dative/general oblique case for this argument,
greater distinctions can apply in Nakh-Daghestanian:
Avar employs its dative case with verbs of emotion
(love), a locative (Series I essive) with verbs of percep-
tion (see), and the genitive for the possessor in con-
junction with the copula.
Only Kartvelian has the category of subordinating
conjunctions, naturally associated with full clauses
containing indicative or subjunctive finite verbs.
Such structures are rare in North Caucasian, where
one finds a variety of nonfinite (nominalized) verb
forms fulfilling the subordinate role.
Examples:
ilu-di ri :’i b-EZ-A vs. ri :’i b-EZ-A
mother- meat. 3-fry-
Erg Absol3 Past
‘Mother fried the meat’ vs. ‘The meat (was) fried’
(Andi)

Word orders are: Kartvelian and Nakh-Daghestanian is-t’i s:i RArt:Ol- hA

brother-Erg water.Absol boil-Pres
AN, GN, N-Postposition, SOV, though Old Georgian
‘Brother is boiling the water’ (Bezht’a)
was rather NA and NG; North West Caucasian GN,
predominantly NA, N-Postposition, SOV. Some de- vs.
gree of ergativity characterizes all the languages, but
is s:i-d RArt:Ol-dA:- h
in Mingrelian, where the system was originally as brother.Absol water-Instr boil-AntiPass-Pres
illustrated for Georgian (q.v.), the ergative case mark- ‘Brother is regularly engaged in boiling water’
er was extended vertically to replace the original (Bezht’a)
nominative for intransitive (including indirect) verbs
k’Ots-k RAb-i kO-ø- ir-u
in Series II (aorist indicative and subjunctive), where
man-NomA girl-AccB Prev-herB-see-he.AorA
it functions as a Series II nominative allomorph,
the original nominative effectively becoming an vs.
264 Caucasian Languages

RAb-k dO-Rur-u See also: Abkhaz; Georgian.

girl-NomA Prev-die-she.AorA
‘The man saw the girl’ vs. ‘The girl died’
(Mingrelian) Bibliography
k’O -s RAb-i ø-A- ir-E Berg H van den (1995). A grammar of Hunzib (with texts
man-DatB girl-NomA heB-Pot-see-her.PresA and lexicon). Lincom Studies in Caucasian Linguistics
‘The man can see the girl’ (Mingrelian) 01. Munich: Lincom Europa.
vs. Berg H van den (2001). Dargi folktales. Oral stories from
the Caucasus and an introduction to Dargi grammar.
k’O -s RAb-k k-ø-A- ir-u Leiden: Research School CNWS.
man-DatB girl-NomA Prev-heB-Pot-see-her.AorA Berg H van den (2004). ‘The East Caucasian language
‘The man could see the girl’ (Mingrelian) family.’ Special Edition of Lingua. 147–190.
ins:-u-jE j.As j-O :’-u-lA Boeder W (1979). ‘Ergative syntax and morphology in
father-Obl-Dat daughter2.Absol 2-love-TV-Pres language change: the South Caucasian languages.’ In
‘Father loves (his) daughter’ (Avar) Plank F (ed.) Ergativity. New York: Academic Press.
435–480.
ins:-u-d.A w.As-ul r-ix:-u-lA Boeder W (2004). ‘South Caucasian.’ Special edition of
father-Obl-LocI son-Pl.Absol Pl-see-TV-Pres Lingua. 5–89.
‘Father sees (his) sons’ (Avar) Catford J C (1976). ‘Ergativity in Caucasian languages.’ In
ins:-u-l tsu b-ugO Papers from the 6th Meeting of the Northeast Linguistics
father-Obl-Gen horse3.Absol 3-be.Pres Society. Montreal. NELS, 6, 37–48.
‘Father has a horse’ (Avar) Catford J C (1977). ‘Mountain of tongues: the languages
of the Caucasus.’ Annual Review of Anthropology 6,
lAmsgEd-wEn-is bikw-d sgA 283–314.
shade-from-Gen wind-ErgA Prev Charachidzé G (1981). Grammaire de la langue Avar. Paris:
la-ø-j-k’wis-ø, ErE Editions Jean-Favard.
Prev-itB-SV-admit-it.AorA that Chirikba V A (1996). Common West Caucasian. The
minE uswwAr nEnsgA reconstruction of its phonological system and parts of
their each.other.Dat between its lexicon and morphology. Leiden: CNWS.
w.O-l.qmAs-A miZ Deeters G (1930). Das Kharthwelische Verbum. Leipzig:
CompPref-strong-CompSuff sun.NomA Kommissionsverlag von Markert und Petters.
le.m.ar-ø Dumézil G (1975). Le verbe Oubykh. Etudes descriptives et
apparently.be-itA comparatives (avec la collaboration de Tevfik Esenç).
‘The north wind admitted that the sun was Paris: Klincksieck.
apparently the stronger of them’ Dumézil G (1976). ‘Compléments et corrections au Verbe
(Lower Bal Svan) Oubykh (1975) I.’ Bedi Kartlisa (revue de kartvélologie)
XXXIV, 9–15.
teRA-Ze-m teRA-r jAZ nAh.re.j nAh
Greppin J (ed.) (1989–2004). The indigenous languages
sun-wind-the. sun-the. self much more
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Erg/OblIII AbsolI
[ed.]), 1991; 2: North West Caucasus (Hewitt B G
ø-zA.re- A§e-r ø-qe-gwe.re-ø-me- wA-mA [ed.]), 1989; 3: North East Caucasian languages, Part 1
itI-how-strong- itI-Prev-Prev-itIII-not- (Job D M [ed.]), 2004; 4: North East Caucasian lan-
Absol.N/F. admit. guages, Part 2 (Smeets R [ed.]), 1994. Delmar, New
Stat.PresI N/F-ifI York: Caravan Books.
ø-me-wwe-n-Aw ø-wwe-RA Harris A C (2002). Endoclitics and the origins of Udi
itI-not-happen-Fut-AbsI itI-happen-Aor.Fin morphosyntax. Oxford: OUP.
‘It became impossible for the north wind not to Haspelmath M (1993). A grammar of Lezgian. Berlin:
admit how/that the sun is stronger than it’ Mouton de Gruyter.
(Temirgoi West Circassian) Hewitt B G (1987). The typology of Subordination in Geor-
gian and Abkhaz. Berlin: Mouton De Gruyter.
Kinship Hewitt B G (ed.) (1992). Caucasian perspectives. Munich:
Lincom Europa.
Kartvelian is unrelated to any known language or Hewitt B G (1998). ‘Caucasian languages.’ In Price G (ed.)
language family, but the debate continues concerning Encyclopaedia of the languages of Europe. 57–81.
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from Caucasian Albanian. Caucasian languages. Munich: Lincom Europa.

Kibrik A E & Kodzasov S V (1988). Sopostavitel’noe izu-
chenie dagestanskix jazykov. Glagol [Contrastive study
of the Daghestanian languages. The verb]. Moscow:
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Kibrik A E & Kodzasov S V (1990). Sopostavitel’noe izu-
chenie dagestanskix jazykov. Imja. Fonetika [Contrastive
study of the Daghestanian languages. The noun. phonet-
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Klimov G A (1994). Einführung in die kaukasische Sprach-
wissenschaft, translated and expanded by Gippert, J.
Hamburg: Buske.
Klimov G A (1998). Trends in linguistics. Documentation
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Kuipers A H (1960). Phoneme and morpheme in Kabar-
dian. ’S-Gravenhage: Mouton.
Causatives: Semantics
J J Song, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Defining Causative Constructions
The causative construction is a linguistic expression
that denotes a complex situation consisting of two
events: (1) the causing event in which the causer does
something, and (2) the caused event in which the
causee carries out an action or undergoes a change
of condition or state as a result of the causer’s action.
The following example is such a linguistic expression.
(1) The teacher made Matthew paint the house
In (1), the causer (the teacher) did something, and
as a result of that action the causee (Matthew) in turn
carried out the action of painting the house.
The causative construction has two main charac-
teristics. First, the causer noun phrase and the ex-
pression of cause must be foregrounded, with the
causee noun phrase and the expression of effect back-
grounded. The foregrounding of the causer noun
phrase and the expression of cause is achieved by
putting these two expressions in grammatically
more prominent positions in the sentence than the
causee noun phrase and the expression of effect. Sec-
ond, the expression of the causer’s action must be
without specific meaning; all that is encoded by that
expression is the pure notion of cause. For instance,
the sentence in (2), although denoting a causative
situation similar to (1), is not regarded as an exam-
ple of the causative construction but rather as an
example of what may be referred to broadly as
the causal construction.
Causatives: Semantics 265
Nichols J (1997). ‘Chechen phonology.’ In Kaye A S (ed.)
Phonologies of Asia and Africa (including the Caucasus),
vol. 2. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 941–971.
Nikolayev S L & Starostin S A (1994). A North Caucasian
etymological dictionary. Moscow: Asterisk.
Paris C (1974). Système phonologique et phénomènes
phonétiques dans le parler besney de Zennun Köyü
(Tcherkesse oriental). Paris: Klincksieck.
Smeets R (1984). Studies in West Circassian phonology
and morphology. Leiden: Hakuchi Press.
Tuite K (1998). Kartvelian morphosyntax: number agree-
ment and morphosyntactic orientation in South Cauca-
sian languages. Studies in Caucasian Linguistics 12.
Munich: Lincom Europa.
(2) Matthew painted the house because the teacher
instructed him to do so
There are two clear differences between (1) and (2).
First, in (1) the causer noun phrase, the teacher, and
the expression of cause, made, are the subject and the
main predicate of the sentence, respectively (i.e., they
are foregrounded). The causee noun phrase and the
predicate of effect, on the other hand, appear as a
nonsubject noun phrase and a subordinate predicate,
respectively (i.e., they are backgrounded). This situa-
tion is reversed in (2); the causee noun phrase and
the expression of effect appear as the subject and the
predicate of the main clause, respectively, with both
the causer noun phrase and the expression of cause
located in the subordinate clause. Second, in (1)
the expression of the causer’s action, made, lacks
specific lexical content. In (2), on the other hand,
the expression of the causer’s action, instructed has
specific lexical content.
Types of Causative Constructions
The most widely known classification of causatives is
based on the formal fusion between the predicate of
cause and that of effect. In this classification, three
different types of causative are recognized: (1) lexical,
(2) morphological, and (3) syntactic.
The lexical causative type involves suppletion (no
formal similarity between the noncausative verb and
its causative counterpart). In this type, the formal
fusion of the expression of cause and of effect is
maximal, with the effect that the causative verb can-
not be analyzed into two morphemes. Examples of

Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning
A Sullivan, Memorial University of Newfoundland,
St. John’s NL, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Reference, Meaning, and Causal Theories
The theory of reference and the theory of meaning are
two closely related, fundamental strains within the
study of mind and language. The aim of a theory of
meaning is to explain what it is that competent speak-
ers of a given language know, or are able to do, in
virtue of which they are able to use the language to
communicate. The aim of the theory of reference is
to explain what it is in virtue of which words refer to
what they do, how it is that utterances can hook onto
and express information about particular things.
The exact relation between meaning and reference
is a controversial matter (in large part because of the
wide variety of theoretical approaches to meaning).
According to some views, the meaning of an expres-
sion is precisely its referent, and so theories of mean-
ing and of reference are just slightly different roads
in to what is essentially the same task. Opponents of
this notion point to co-referential expressions that
differ in meaning (such as ‘Portugal’ and ‘the country
immediately west of Spain’), or to meaningful expres-
sions that do not seem to refer to anything (‘of’, or
‘for the sake of’), to show that meaning is distinct
from reference. Or again, many theorists hold that
proper names refer but cannot really be said to
have a meaning, or that complete sentences have a
determinate meaning but do not refer to anything.
In any case, the causal theory of reference (i.e.,
words refer to what they do by virtue of a certain
sort of causal relation between word and referent)
and the causal theory of meaning (i.e., words mean
what they do by virtue of a certain sort of causal
relation between word and meaning) are, historically
and conceptually, distinct views. To help avoid con-
fusion, I will distinguish the relevant approach to
reference by calling it ‘the causal-historical theory.’
(‘Historical’ is an appropriate distinguishing mark
because the history of how a word is transmitted
from its original inception to the current speaker
ismuch more important on the causal approach to
reference, as compared with the causal approach
to meaning.)
The Causal-Historical Theory of
Reference
The causal-historical theory of reference was
developed in the 1960s and 1970s. It is explicitly
Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning 235
developed only for proper names (cf. Donnellan,
1970; Kripke, 1972) and natural kind terms (cf.
Kripke, 1972; Putnam, 1975). However, Kaplan
(1977) raises some related points about indexical
expressions, and there have been attempts to fashion
a fully general approach to reference along these
lines (for discussion, see Stalnaker, 1997; Devitt
and Sterenly, 1999). The theory has replaced the
descriptivist approach to reference, different versions
of which were defended by Frege and Russell, as the
orthodox approach to reference. (see Proper Names:
Philosophical Aspects for discussion.)
According to the causal-historical theorists,
descriptivists are wrong to demand that, in order to
significantly use a term, speakers need to have a
uniquely identifying description of its referent. Rath-
er, once a convention is in place, linking a term to its
referent, a deferential intention to comply with this
practice – i.e., to use ‘X’ to refer to what others have
used ‘X’ to refer to – is all that is required in order
to use the term to refer. The view has it that certain
expressions refer to certain things in virtue of a
causal-historical relation between word and object,
initially fixed during a dubbing or baptism and pro-
pagated from there to subsequent speakers, who
implicitly defer to that initial dubbing in using the
expression to refer.
The notion of a causal-historical chain as that
which is criterial in determining reference is devel-
oped more or less independently by Donnellan and
Kripke. Donnellan (1970: 277) concludes an argu-
ment against descriptivism with the claim that ‘‘. . .
in some way the referent must be historically, or, we
might say, causally connected to the speech act.’’
Donnellan (1974: 17) articulates the point at a bit
more length: ‘‘Suppose someone says ‘Socrates was
snub-nosed’, and we ask to whom he is refer-
ring. . . .[T]his calls for a historical explanation; we
search not for an individual who might best fit the
speaker’s descriptions . . . but rather for an individual
historically related to his use of the name.’’ Kripke
(1972: 94–95) uses similar terms to describe his
approach: ‘‘. . . It’s in virtue of our connection with
other speakers in the community, going back to the
referent himself, that we refer to a certain man . . . In
general, our reference depends not just on what we
think ourselves, but on other people in the com-
munity, the history of how the name reached
one, and things like that. It is by following such a
history that one gets to the reference.’’ And again
Kripke (1972: 106): ‘‘. . . reference actually seems to
be determined by the fact that the speaker is a mem-
ber of a community of speakers who use the name.
236 Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning
The name has been passed to him by tradition from
link to link.’’
The causal-historical theory is an externalist ap-
proach to reference, in that reference depends largely
on factors external to the speaker’s head – factors
pertaining to the speaker’s linguistic community and
to the environment in which the expression in ques-
tion evolved. (Descriptivists tend to be internalists,
insofar as they hold that reference is fully determined
by the speaker’s beliefs and discriminative abilities.)
On the causal-historical view, the criteria for the
correct application of a word are not, in general,
introspectively accessible to competent speakers; one
can competently use ‘gold’ or ‘Aristotle’ without
knowing anything that would distinguish Aristotle
from Plato, or gold from fool’s gold. Mistaken or
ignorant speakers can still single out specific referents
via these complex, communal, causal-historical
mechanisms. (see Externalism about Content for
more on this.)
Contra the descriptivists, the causal-historical theo-
rists argue that the meaning of a proper name is
not some kind of descriptive sense (see Direct Refer-
ence; Proper Names: Philosophical Aspects; Refer-
ence: Philosophical Theories for discussion). From
here, the conclusion that the semantic contribution
of a name is just its referent looks compelling. This is
why the theory has led to a resurgence of interest in
the Millian view of proper names (i.e., the meaning of
a name it just its referent) and in the Russellian ap-
proach to singular propositions (i.e., the proposition
expressed by a sentence containing a name – say,
‘Kaplan is in California’ – is individuated solely in
terms of the individual and property that it is about,
as opposed to being individuated in terms of more
finely-grained concepts or meanings). Many think
that the causal-historical chain of transmission story
about how a word refers to something in particular
nicely complements, and fleshes out, these doctrines
of Mill and Russell.
The causal-historical theory does not aim to aim to
give a reductive analysis of reference. For example,
Kripke (1972: 96) says: ‘‘When the name is ‘passed
from link to link,’ the receiver of the name must,
I think, intend to use it with the same reference as
the man from whom he heard it . . . [T]he preceding
account hardly eliminates the notion of reference; on
the contrary, it takes the notion of intending to use the
same reference as a given.’’ (Cf. Kaplan’s [1990] dis-
cussion of the point that the intention to preserve
reference is not itself a causal notion.) Thus, those
who seek to naturalize reference, by reducing the
relation of reference to something more scientifically
respectable, must either significantly alter the causal-
historical view, or look elsewhere.
The Causal Theory of Meaning
In contrast, the causal theory of meaning (also called
the ‘information-theoretic’ approach to meaning) is
explicitly in the business of explaining semantic phe-
nomena in non-semantic terms. The general aim here
is a naturalistic account of the phenomenon of mean-
ing, and the thought is that the notion of causation is
the most promising place from which to start. Dretske
(1981) is a seminal proponent of this approach, and
Fodor (1987, 1990) develops related accounts.
Stampe (1977), another influential proponent, gives
the following programmatic sketch: ‘‘We have causal
theories . . . of knowledge and memory, of belief, of
evidence, of proper and common names, and of refer-
ence. If . . . these phenomena should turn out to have
causal analyses, it will be no mere coincidence. Only
their having something in common would make it
so . . . [The root of this convergence] is that represen-
tation is essentially a causal phenomenon’’ (1977: 81).
The general idea behind the causal theory of
meaning is that linguistic meaning is a species of
causal co-variance. Roughly, the goal is to show that
‘means’ means (more or less) the same thing in (1) and
(2), that both cases are, at root, cases of reliable
correlation:
1. Smoke means fire.
2. ‘Fire’ means fire.
For a word to mean something in particular is
for the word to reliably indicate that thing. Alter-
natively, a word ‘W’ means M if M tends to cause
or bring about tokens of ‘W.’ (The account is
intended to apply not only to tokens of ‘W’ that are
actually uttered, but also, and more fundamentally, to
occurrences of the word in thought.)
If a satisfactory account of meaning were forth-
coming down this avenue, this would be a monu-
mental leap forward for the human and cognitive
sciences. As yet, there is nothing remotely resembling
a satisfactory scientific treatment of meaning; given
the fundamental and pervasive roles that meaningful
thoughts and utterances play in our lives, that is a
rather large gap in our scientific understanding of
human beings.
(Note that Grice [1957] criticizes a view that he
calls ‘the causal theory of meaning’ – the core of
which is the idea that the meaning of an expression
‘E’ is (roughly) the content of the attitude that is
prone to cause a speaker to utter ‘E,’ and that hearing
‘E’ is prone to cause in listeners. This view has not
played a major role in the philosophy of language; but
nonetheless some of Grice’s arguments against it are
echoed in the criticisms, described in the next section,
of the above information-theoretic causal theory.)

Problems and Prospects
There are many problems with the causal-historical
theory of reference (which are discussed at more
length in Reference: Philosophical Theories). Evans
(1973) and Searle (1983) develop counterexamples to
the theory, cases where it seems to be committed to
unwelcome consequences. Furthermore, many of the
semantic views with which the theory has been allied
(such as those of Mill and Russell mentioned earlier in
the second section of this article) are controversial
(see Direct Reference; Proper Names: Philosophical
Aspects for discussion). More generally, the causal-
historical view is just a sketchy picture – it does not
offer anything like specific necessary or sufficient
causal-historical conditions for identifying the refer-
ent of an utterance or inscription. Any utterance
stands in an awful lot of causal relations to an indefi-
nite range of things; to single out precisely which
subset of these ubiquitous causal relations are seman-
tically relevant – let alone precisely which of them are
relevant to determining the referent of a particular
use of a particular expression – is a daunting task that
is as yet barely begun.
The situation is worse for the (more reductionist,
and so more ambitious) causal theory of meaning. It
not only falls prey to the problems that befalls the
causal-historical approach to reference but also gives
rise to some distinctive problems of its own. Basically,
for almost any word-meaning pair ‘W’-M, it is not
difficult to come up with conditions in which things
distinct from M tend to cause ‘W’s, and conditions in
which M does not tend to cause ‘W’s. For instance, in
various sorts of suboptimal conditions, cows might
tend to cause tokens of ‘horse,’ but nonetheless –
regardless of how dark it is (or how far away they
are, what they are disguised as, etc.) – these cows are
distinct from the meaning of ‘horse.’ In the other
direction, if a horse was to ‘baa’ like a sheep, or was
painted with zebra-stripes, or what have you, these
misleading factors would affect its tendency to cause
‘horse’-tokens, but would not have the slightest effect
on the fact that the term ‘horse’ correctly applies to it.
In short, causation is a much more undiscriminating
relation than meaning; and this is the source of all
manner of problems for the project of using causation
to build an account of meaning.
There are many refinements of the basic causal-
theoretic view, intended to skirt these elementary
problems and their many variants. However, the con-
sensus seems to be that this type of causal theory can
only succeed in delivering an account of meaning that
accommodates our intuitions about the normativity
and determinacy of meaning (i.e., respectively, it is
possible to misapply a term, and the terms ‘A’ and ‘B’
Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning 237
can differ in meaning even if all As are Bs) if it
smuggles in semantic notions, and thus helps itself
to meaning, as opposed to offering an account of
meaning (for discussion, see Loewer, 1997).
To sum up: the causal theory of reference is the
view that a word refers to that to which it stands in
the right sort of causal-historical relation. Since the
1970s, it has become the orthodox approach to refer-
ence. However, many problems remain to be worked
out, for this general picture to yield a satisfactory,
comprehensive account of reference. The causal the-
ory of meaning is the view that the meaning of a word
is that which reliably causes tokens of the word to
be thought or uttered. Many take this to be the
most promising avenue for a naturalistic account
of meaning. However, there are reasons to think
that the approach is too crude to yield an adequate
account of linguistic meaning. At best, there are
counterexamples that have yet to be satisfactorily
addressed.
See also: Direct Reference; Externalism about Content;
Proper Names: Philosophical Aspects; Reference: Philo-
sophical Theories; Sense and Reference: Philosophical
Aspects.
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Catalan
M W Wheeler, University of Sussex, Brighton, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Geography and Demography
The territories where Catalan is natively spoken
cover 68 730 km2, of which 93% lies within Spain
(see Figure 1). They are:
1. The Principality of Andorra
2. In France: North Catalonia – almost all of the
département of Pyrénées-Orientales
3. In Spain: Catalonia, except for the Gascon-
speaking Vall d’Aran; the eastern fringe of Aragon;
most of Valencia (the Comunitat Valenciana), ex-
cepting some regions in the west and south that
have been Aragonese/Spanish-speaking since at
least the 18th century; El Carxe, a small area of
the province of Murcia, settled in the 19th centu-
ry; and the Balearic Islands
4. In Italy: the port of Alghero (Catalan L’Alguer) in
Sardinia
Table 1 shows the population of these territories
(those over 2 years of age in Spain) and the percen-
tages of the inhabitants who can understand, speak,
and write Catalan. Information is derived from the
2001 census in Spain together with surveys and other
estimates; the latter are the only sources of language
data in France and Italy. The total number of speakers
of Catalan is a little under 7.5 million. Partly as a
result of the incorporation of Catalan locally into the
education system, there are within Spain a significant
number of second-language speakers who are includ-
ed in this total. Virtually all speakers of Catalan are
bilingual, using also the major language of the state
they live in. (Andorrans are bilingual in Spanish or
French, or are trilingual.)
Genetic Relationship and Typological
Features
Catalan is a member of the Romance family and a fairly
prototypical one, as befits its geographically central
position in the European Romance area. Some particu-
larly noteworthy characteristics are pointed out here
Stampe D (1977). ‘Toward a causal theory of linguis-
tic representation.’ Midwest Studies in Philosophy 2,
42–63.
(for more details see Wheeler, 1988). In historical pho-
nology, note the palatalization of initial /l-/ and loss of
stem-final /n/ that became word final, for example,
0
LEONEM > lleó [Le"o] ‘lion.’ Original intervocalic -C -,
-TJ-, -D- became /w/ in word-final position and were
lost elsewhere, for examples, PLACET > plau ["plaw]
‘please.3.SING,’ PLACEMUS > plaem [ple"em] ‘please.
1.PL.’ As the previous examples also illustrate, post-
tonic nonlow vowels were lost, so that a dominant
pattern of phonological words is of consonant-final
oxytones. The full range of common Romance verbal
inflection is retained, including inflected future (sen-
tirà ‘hear.3.SING.FUT’), widely used subjunctives, and a
contrast between present perfect (ha sentit ‘has
heard’) and past perfective (sentı́ ‘heard.3.SING.
PERF’). In addition to the inherited past perfec-
tive form, now largely literary, Catalan developed
a periphrastic past perfective using an auxiliary that
was originally the present of ‘go’ (va sentir ‘AUX.
PERF.3.SING hear.INF’). In some varieties of Catalan,
this construction has developed a subjunctive (vagi
sentir ‘AUX.PERF.SUBJ.3.SING hear.INF’), introducing,
uniquely in Romance, a perfective/imperfective as-
pect distinction in the subjunctive. Considerable use
is made of pronominal and adverbial clitics that at-
tach to verb forms in direct and indirect object func-
tions or partitive or adverbial functions, quite often in
clusters of two or three, as in (1).
(1) us n’hi envi-en
2.PL.OBJ PART.LOC send-3.PL
‘‘they send some to you (PL)
there’’
Most of the pronominal/adverbial clitics have several
contextually conditioned forms; thus, the partitive
clitic shows variants en ! n’ ! -ne. Clitic climbing is
commonly found with a pronominal complement of a
verb that is itself the complement of a (semantic)
modal, as in (2). This example also shows the (op-
tional) gender agreement of a perfect participle with a
preceding direct object clitic.
(2) no l’he sab-ud-a agafa-r
not DO.3.SING.F. know- catch-INF
have.1.SING PART-F
‘‘I haven’t been able to catch it (FEM)’’

Kibrik A E & Kodzasov S V (1988). Sopostavitel’noe izu-
chenie dagestanskix jazykov. Glagol [Contrastive study
of the Daghestanian languages. The verb]. Moscow:
University Press.
Kibrik A E & Kodzasov S V (1990). Sopostavitel’noe izu-
chenie dagestanskix jazykov. Imja. Fonetika [Contrastive
study of the Daghestanian languages. The noun. phonet-
ics]. Moscow: University Press.
Klimov G A (1994). Einführung in die kaukasische Sprach-
wissenschaft, translated and expanded by Gippert, J.
Hamburg: Buske.
Klimov G A (1998). Trends in linguistics. Documentation
16. Etymological dictionary of the Kartvelian languages.
Berlin: Mouton De Gruyter.
Kuipers A H (1960). Phoneme and morpheme in Kabar-
dian. ’S-Gravenhage: Mouton.
Causatives: Semantics
J J Song, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Defining Causative Constructions
The causative construction is a linguistic expression
that denotes a complex situation consisting of two
events: (1) the causing event in which the causer does
something, and (2) the caused event in which the
causee carries out an action or undergoes a change
of condition or state as a result of the causer’s action.
The following example is such a linguistic expression.
(1) The teacher made Matthew paint the house
In (1), the causer (the teacher) did something, and
as a result of that action the causee (Matthew) in turn
carried out the action of painting the house.
The causative construction has two main charac-
teristics. First, the causer noun phrase and the ex-
pression of cause must be foregrounded, with the
causee noun phrase and the expression of effect back-
grounded. The foregrounding of the causer noun
phrase and the expression of cause is achieved by
putting these two expressions in grammatically
more prominent positions in the sentence than the
causee noun phrase and the expression of effect. Sec-
ond, the expression of the causer’s action must be
without specific meaning; all that is encoded by that
expression is the pure notion of cause. For instance,
the sentence in (2), although denoting a causative
situation similar to (1), is not regarded as an exam-
ple of the causative construction but rather as an
example of what may be referred to broadly as
the causal construction.
Causatives: Semantics 265
Nichols J (1997). ‘Chechen phonology.’ In Kaye A S (ed.)
Phonologies of Asia and Africa (including the Caucasus),
vol. 2. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 941–971.
Nikolayev S L & Starostin S A (1994). A North Caucasian
etymological dictionary. Moscow: Asterisk.
Paris C (1974). Système phonologique et phénomènes
phonétiques dans le parler besney de Zennun Köyü
(Tcherkesse oriental). Paris: Klincksieck.
Smeets R (1984). Studies in West Circassian phonology
and morphology. Leiden: Hakuchi Press.
Tuite K (1998). Kartvelian morphosyntax: number agree-
ment and morphosyntactic orientation in South Cauca-
sian languages. Studies in Caucasian Linguistics 12.
Munich: Lincom Europa.
(2) Matthew painted the house because the teacher
instructed him to do so
There are two clear differences between (1) and (2).
First, in (1) the causer noun phrase, the teacher, and
the expression of cause, made, are the subject and the
main predicate of the sentence, respectively (i.e., they
are foregrounded). The causee noun phrase and the
predicate of effect, on the other hand, appear as a
nonsubject noun phrase and a subordinate predicate,
respectively (i.e., they are backgrounded). This situa-
tion is reversed in (2); the causee noun phrase and
the expression of effect appear as the subject and the
predicate of the main clause, respectively, with both
the causer noun phrase and the expression of cause
located in the subordinate clause. Second, in (1)
the expression of the causer’s action, made, lacks
specific lexical content. In (2), on the other hand,
the expression of the causer’s action, instructed has
specific lexical content.
Types of Causative Constructions
The most widely known classification of causatives is
based on the formal fusion between the predicate of
cause and that of effect. In this classification, three
different types of causative are recognized: (1) lexical,
(2) morphological, and (3) syntactic.
The lexical causative type involves suppletion (no
formal similarity between the noncausative verb and
its causative counterpart). In this type, the formal
fusion of the expression of cause and of effect is
maximal, with the effect that the causative verb can-
not be analyzed into two morphemes. Examples of
266 Causatives: Semantics
this type include, English die vs. kill and German
sterben ‘to die’ vs. töten ‘to kill.’
In the morphological type, the expression of cause
is in the form of a derivational affix, with the ex-
pression of effect realized by a basic verb to which
that affix is attached. In Japanese, for example, the
suffix -(s)ase can apply to basic verbs to derive causa-
tive verbs, for example, ik- ‘[X] to go’ vs. ik-ase- ‘to
cause [X] to go.’ The causative morpheme can be in
the form of not only suffixes but also prefixes, infixes,
and circumfixes.
In the syntactic type, the expression of cause and of
effect are separate verbs, and they occur in different
clauses. This type has already been exemplified by
(1). Swahili provides another good example (Vitale,
1981: 153).
(3) Ahmed a-li-m-fanya mbwa a-l-e
Ahmed he-PAST-him-make dog he-eat-SUBJ
samaki mkubwa
fish large
‘Ahmed made the dog eat a large fish’
The three causative types must be understood to
serve only as reference points. There are languages
that fall somewhere between any two of the ideal
types. For instance, Japanese lexical causative verbs
lie between the lexical type and the morphological
type because they exhibit degrees of physical resem-
blance – from almost identical to totally different – to
their corresponding noncausative verbs, for example,
tome- ‘to cause [X] to stop’ vs. tomar- ‘[X] to stop,’
oros- ‘to bring down’ vs. ori- ‘to come down,’ age- ‘to
raise’ vs. agar- ‘to rise,’ and koros- ‘to kill’ vs. sin- ‘to
die.’
The Semantics of Causatives: Two Major
Types of Causation
As previously described, the causative construction is
a linguistic expression that denotes a situation con-
sisting of two events: (1) the causing event in which
the causer does something, and (2) the caused event in
which the causee carries out an action or undergoes a
change of condition or state as a result of the causer’s
action. There are two mixed but distinct levels of
description contained in this definition: the level of
events and the level of participants. The first level is
where the relationship between the causing event and
the caused event is captured. The second level con-
cerns the interaction between the causer and the cau-
see. Most descriptions of the semantics of causatives
revolve around these two levels of description.
Two major causation types – the distinction
between direct and indirect causation, and the dis-
tinction between manipulative and directive causa-
tion – are discussed in this article because they are
most highly relevant to the three causative types
(lexical, morphological, and syntactic) previously de-
scribed. The first semantic type of causation is based
on the level of events; and the second is based on the
level of participants.
The distinction between direct and indirect causa-
tion hinges on the temporal distance between the caus-
ing event and the caused event. If the caused event is
temporally adjacent to the causing event, without any
other event intervening between them, the overall
causative situation may be regarded as direct. For
example, if X makes Y fall into the river by pushing
Y, the causing event of X pushing Y immediately pre-
cedes the caused event of Y’s falling into the river.
There is no intervening or intermediary event that
plays a role in the realization of the caused event; in
direct causation, the caused event is immediately tem-
porally adjacent to the causing event. As a matter of
fact, the temporal distance between cause and effect in
direct causation may be so close that it sometimes
becomes difficult perceptually, if not conceptually, to
divide the whole causative situation into the causing
event and the caused event (e.g., the cat jumped as
John slammed the door). Thus, direct causation repre-
sents a causative situation in which the causing event
and the caused event abut temporally on one another,
the former immediately preceding the latter.
Indirect causation, on the other hand, involves a
situation in which the caused event may not immedi-
ately follow the causing event in temporal terms.
There will be at least one event intervening between
the causing and caused events. In order for this to be
the case, however, the temporal distance between the
two events must be great enough for the whole caus-
ative situation to be divided clearly into the causing
event and the caused event. For example, X fiddles
with Y’s car, and days later Y is injured in a car
accident due to the failure of the car. In this situation,
the causing event is X’s fiddling with Y’s car and the
caused event is Y’s getting injured in the accident. But
these events are separated temporally from one an-
other by the intermediary event (the failure of the
car). The intervening event plays an important role
in bringing about the caused event. Note that, al-
though this causative situation is indirect, the caused
event is connected temporally with the causing event
in an inevitable flow or chain of events: Y’s accident
caused by the failure of the car and the failure of the
car in turn caused by X’s fiddling with it (e.g., Croft,
1991). There can potentially be more than one event
intervening between the causing event and the caused
event in indirect causation.
The other level of description involves the major
participants of the causative situation, namely the
causer and the causee. Depending on the nature and

extent of the causer’s relationship with the causee
in the realization of the caused event, the causative
situation may be either manipulative or directive. If
the causer acts physically on the causee, then the
causative situation is regarded as manipulative.
The causer manipulates the causee in bringing about
the caused event. The situation used previously to
exemplify direct causation is also manipulative be-
cause the causer physically pushes the causee into
the river. In other words, this particular causative
situation represents direct and manipulative causa-
tion. The causer may rely on an intermediary phys-
ical process or means in effecting the caused event.
For example, if X causes Y to fall by pushing a shop-
ping trolley straight into Y, the causer effects the
caused event through some physical means, as in the
case of direct manipulative causation already dis-
cussed. But this intermediary physical process also
represents an independent event intervening be-
tween the causing event and the caused event – in
fact, this intermediary event itself constitutes a caus-
ative situation consisting of a causing event (X exert-
ing physical force directly on the shopping trolley)
and a caused event (the shopping trolley rolling
straight into Y). The causative situation in question
may thus be regarded as indirect and manipulative
causation.
The causer may also draw on a nonphysical (e.g.,
verbal or social) means in causing the causee to carry
out the required action or to undergo the required
change of condition or state. For example, if medi-
cal doctor X causes patient Y to lie down for a
medical examination by giving Y an instruction or
direction to do so, the causative situation is directive
causation. This particular situation is also direct in
that there is no other event intervening between the
causing event and the caused event – Y’s lying down is
immediately temporally adjacent to X’s uttering the
instruction. Again, directive causation may also be
indirect rather than direct. For example, if X causes
Y to type a letter by giving Z an instruction to cause
Y to do the typing, then we are dealing with indirect
directive causation (e.g., I had the letter typed by Tim
by asking Mary to tell him to do so). The caused event
is separated from the causing event by the intervening
event of Z asking Y to comply with X’s original
instruction.
Causative Continuum and Causation
Types
There is a strong correlation between the causative
and the causation types. The three causative types –
lexical, morphological, and syntactic – can be inter-
preted as forming a continuum of formal fusion or
Causatives: Semantics 267
Figure 1 Continuum of formal fusion.
physical propinquity between the expressions of
cause and of effect, as schematized in Figure 1.
There is a strong tendency for manipulative or
direct causation to be mapped onto the causative
types on the left of the continuum in preference to
those on the right of the continuum. Directive or
indirect causation, on the other hand, is far more
likely to be expressed by the causative types on the
right of the continuum than by those on the left of
the continuum. This is often cited in the literature as
an excellent example in support of iconic motivations
in language. Iconic motivation (or iconicity) is the
principle that the structure of language should, as
closely as possible, reflect the structure of what is
expressed by language (e.g., Haiman, 1985). Recent-
ly, the correlation between the causative and causa-
tion types has been reinterpreted as that between
the degree of difficulty in bringing about the caused
event and the degree of transparency in expressing
the notion of causation (Shibatani, 2002). For ex-
ample, directive (as opposed to manipulative) cau-
sation involves a nonphysical (verbal or social)
means of causing the causee to carry out the re-
quired action or to undergo the required change
of condition or state. Directive causation entails a
higher degree of difficulty in bringing about the
caused event than manipulative causation. For one
thing, in directive causation the causer relies on
the causee’s cooperation; the (prospective) causee
can refuse to comply with the (prospective) causer’s
wish or demand. This higher degree of difficulty in
bringing about the caused event is then claimed to be
reflected by the tendency for directive causation to
be expressed by the causative types to the right, rather
than the left, on the continuum. The notion of causa-
tion is much more transparently encoded in the syn-
tactic causative (i.e., a separate lexical verb of cause)
than in the lexical causative, where the notion of
causation is not expressed by a separate morpheme,
let alone by a separate verb.
Moreover, there is a large amount of cross-
linguistic evidence in support of the case marking
of the causee being determined by semantic factors
relating to the agency, control, affectedness, or even
topicality of the main participants of the causative
situation (e.g., Cole, 1983). In Bolivian Quechua,
for example, the causee noun phrase is marked by
the accusative case if the causee is directly under
the causer’s authority and has no control over his or
268 Causatives: Semantics
her action. If, however, the causee has control over his
or her action but complies voluntarily with the cau-
ser’s wish, the causee noun phrase appears in the
instrumental case. Some linguists have made an at-
tempt to reinterpret such variable case marking
to reflect the conceptual integration of the causee
in the causative event as a whole (Kemmer and
Verhagen, 1994). This fits in well with the view that
the simple noncausative clause pattern serves as a
structural model for morphological causatives
(Song, 1996). The causative of intransitive verbs is
based on the transitive clause pattern, and the causa-
tive of transitive verbs is based on either the ditransi-
tive clause pattern or the transitive clause pattern
with an adjunct.
See also: Affixation; Iconicity; Iconicity: Theory; Inflection
and Derivation; Morphological Typology.
Bibliography
Cole P (1983). ‘The grammatical role of the causee in
universal grammar.’ International Journal of American
Linguistics 49, 115–133.
Comrie B (1976). ‘The syntax of causative construc-
tions: cross-language similarities and divergences.’ In
Shibatani M (ed.) Syntax and semantics 6: the grammar
of causative constructions. New York: Academic Press.
261–312.
Comrie B (1989). Language universals and linguistic typol-
ogy (2nd edn.). Oxford: Blackwell.
Comrie B & Polinsky M (eds.) (1993). Causatives and
transitivity. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Caxton, William (ca. 1415–1491)
W Hüllen, Dusseldorf, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
William Caxton (Cauxton, Causton) was born in
Tenterden, Kent, some time between 1411 and
1422, and died in Westminster in 1491. After an
apprenticeship as a mercer in London, he left for
Bruges in 1446, where he went into business on his
own. He stayed there for 30 years acting as a gover-
nor of the Merchant Adventurers between 1462 and
1465, a post that gave him considerable influence in
the supervision of trade between the Low Countries
and England. After 1468, he was able to establish
close contact with the Duke of Burgundy, who
had married Edward IV’s sister. But after 1470 he
Croft W (1991). Syntactic categories and grammatical
relations: the cognitive organization of information.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Dixon R M W (2000). ‘A typology of causatives:
form, syntax and meaning.’ In Dixon R M W &
Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) Changing valency: case studies in
transitivity. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
30–83.
Haiman J (1985). Natural syntax: iconicity and erosion.
Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Kemmer S & Verhagen A (1994). ‘The grammar of causa-
tives and the conceptual structure of events.’ Cognitive
Linguistics 5, 115–156.
Saksena A (1982). ‘Contact in causation.’ Language 58,
820–831.
Shibatani M (1976). ‘The grammar of causative construc-
tions: A conspectus.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) Syntax and
semantics 6: the grammar of causative constructions.
New York: Academic Press. 1–40.
Shibatani M (2002). ‘Introduction: some basic issues in the
grammar of causation.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) The gram-
mar of causation and interpersonal manipulation.
Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins. 1–22.
Song J J (1995). ‘Review of B. Comrie, and M. Polinsky
(ed.) Causatives and transitivity.’ Lingua 97, 211–232.
Song J J (1996). Causatives and causation: a universal-
typological perspective. London & New York: Addison
Wesley Longman.
Song J J (2001). Linguistic typology: morphology and
syntax. Harlow and London: Pearson Education.
Talmy L (1976). ‘Semantic causative types.’ In Shibatani M
(ed.) Syntax and semantics 6: the grammar of causative
constructions. New York: Academic Press. 43–116.
Vitale A J (1981). Swahili syntax. Dordrecht & Cinnamin-
son: Foris Publications.
relinquished all his commercial and political offices
for good.
Caxton’s interests in printing and in translating
went hand in hand because, in addition to other titles,
he was eager to print his own works. Between 1471
and 1474, he informed himself in Cologne about
printing techniques but published his translation of
The recuyell of the histories of Troy, which he had
begun as a preventive against idleness (Dictionary of
National Biography), in Bruges in the latter year at a
press owned by Colard Mansion. It was the first book
printed with movable letters in the English language.
He then moved to London, where he stayed for the
rest of his life. In 1477, he issued The dictes and
sayings of the philosophers from his own press.
It was the first English book printed in England.
268 Causatives: Semantics
her action. If, however, the causee has control over his
or her action but complies voluntarily with the cau-
ser’s wish, the causee noun phrase appears in the
instrumental case. Some linguists have made an at-
tempt to reinterpret such variable case marking
to reflect the conceptual integration of the causee
in the causative event as a whole (Kemmer and
Verhagen, 1994). This fits in well with the view that
the simple noncausative clause pattern serves as a
structural model for morphological causatives
(Song, 1996). The causative of intransitive verbs is
based on the transitive clause pattern, and the causa-
tive of transitive verbs is based on either the ditransi-
tive clause pattern or the transitive clause pattern
with an adjunct.
See also: Affixation; Iconicity; Iconicity: Theory; Inflection
and Derivation; Morphological Typology.
Bibliography
Cole P (1983). ‘The grammatical role of the causee in
universal grammar.’ International Journal of American
Linguistics 49, 115–133.
Comrie B (1976). ‘The syntax of causative construc-
tions: cross-language similarities and divergences.’ In
Shibatani M (ed.) Syntax and semantics 6: the grammar
of causative constructions. New York: Academic Press.
261–312.
Comrie B (1989). Language universals and linguistic typol-
ogy (2nd edn.). Oxford: Blackwell.
Comrie B & Polinsky M (eds.) (1993). Causatives and
transitivity. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Caxton, William (ca. 1415–1491)
W Hüllen, Dusseldorf, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
William Caxton (Cauxton, Causton) was born in
Tenterden, Kent, some time between 1411 and
1422, and died in Westminster in 1491. After an
apprenticeship as a mercer in London, he left for
Bruges in 1446, where he went into business on his
own. He stayed there for 30 years acting as a gover-
nor of the Merchant Adventurers between 1462 and
1465, a post that gave him considerable influence in
the supervision of trade between the Low Countries
and England. After 1468, he was able to establish
close contact with the Duke of Burgundy, who
had married Edward IV’s sister. But after 1470 he
Croft W (1991). Syntactic categories and grammatical
relations: the cognitive organization of information.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Dixon R M W (2000). ‘A typology of causatives:
form, syntax and meaning.’ In Dixon R M W &
Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) Changing valency: case studies in
transitivity. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
30–83.
Haiman J (1985). Natural syntax: iconicity and erosion.
Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Kemmer S & Verhagen A (1994). ‘The grammar of causa-
tives and the conceptual structure of events.’ Cognitive
Linguistics 5, 115–156.
Saksena A (1982). ‘Contact in causation.’ Language 58,
820–831.
Shibatani M (1976). ‘The grammar of causative construc-
tions: A conspectus.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) Syntax and
semantics 6: the grammar of causative constructions.
New York: Academic Press. 1–40.
Shibatani M (2002). ‘Introduction: some basic issues in the
grammar of causation.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) The gram-
mar of causation and interpersonal manipulation.
Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins. 1–22.
Song J J (1995). ‘Review of B. Comrie, and M. Polinsky
(ed.) Causatives and transitivity.’ Lingua 97, 211–232.
Song J J (1996). Causatives and causation: a universal-
typological perspective. London & New York: Addison
Wesley Longman.
Song J J (2001). Linguistic typology: morphology and
syntax. Harlow and London: Pearson Education.
Talmy L (1976). ‘Semantic causative types.’ In Shibatani M
(ed.) Syntax and semantics 6: the grammar of causative
constructions. New York: Academic Press. 43–116.
Vitale A J (1981). Swahili syntax. Dordrecht & Cinnamin-
son: Foris Publications.
relinquished all his commercial and political offices
for good.
Caxton’s interests in printing and in translating
went hand in hand because, in addition to other titles,
he was eager to print his own works. Between 1471
and 1474, he informed himself in Cologne about
printing techniques but published his translation of
The recuyell of the histories of Troy, which he had
begun as a preventive against idleness (Dictionary of
National Biography), in Bruges in the latter year at a
press owned by Colard Mansion. It was the first book
printed with movable letters in the English language.
He then moved to London, where he stayed for the
rest of his life. In 1477, he issued The dictes and
sayings of the philosophers from his own press.
It was the first English book printed in England.

Between then and his death he produced the incredi-
ble output of about 70 books, almost all of them in
folio, 21 being his own translations. He edited Chau-
cer (providing the editio princeps of the Canterbury
tales), Lydgate, Gower, The chronicle of Brut, and
also pamphlets, horae, and speeches. He translated
French versions of Latin classical literature and of the
philosophers and issued similar translations by
others. For experts in printing techniques, his works
are recognizable by the founts, which, however, he
changed six times, and by such conspicuous signs as
the absence of title pages, of ordinary commas and
full stops, and of catchwords at the foot of each page.
He was the first printer to include woodcuts.
Although he ushered in the new era of printed
culture, his influence on the history of English is
somewhat indirect. He did not contribute to the stan-
dardization of spelling, which was achieved only a
century later. His own personal style, as visible in the
prologues and epilogues of editions, was quite tradi-
tional, with Germanic lexis and syntax, including
alliterations. In his translations, however, he con-
formed with the style of his mostly French authors,
which led to a massive acceptance of French words,
the abundant use of synonyms, elaborate forms of
address, rhetorical figures, etc. Caxton’s connection
with the court of Burgundy may have been the per-
sonal background for this. In doing so and by the
sheer mass of books he produced, he supported and
Cayman Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The official language of the Cayman Islands is
English, with 36 000 speakers. Literacy is 98%.
There also exist sizable minority languages of Haitian
Creole French, French, and Spanish. Cayman Islands
English, although structurally similar to a creole,
seems to have borrowed some creole features of
Jamaican without having undergone creolization.
Unlike many of the other islands in the Caribbean,
the Cayman Islands were not directly subject to the
pressures exerted by slavery and the plantation sys-
tem. Instead, early settlers were turtle fishers and
wreck salvagers. Population growth forced some em-
Cayman Islands: Language Situation 269
reinforced the development of a ‘curial’ (or ‘clergial,’
‘aureate’) style that was typical of the development of
Middle English and brought the language into its
own. His edition of a book of French and English
conversations, which he probably translated himself,
shows a new way of teaching foreign languages in
schools, in which the old habit of printing topically
ordered vocabulary is embedded in a method of pre-
senting natural dialogues and role play.
See also: Classroom Talk; English, Early Modern; English
Spelling: Rationale; Translation: Pragmatics; Western
Linguistic Thought Before 1800.
Bibliography
Blades W (1971). The biography and typography of
William Caxton, England’s first printer. Totowa, NJ:
Rowman and Littlefield.
Blake N F (1969). Caxton and his world. London: Deutsch.
Crotch W J B (1928). The prologues and epilogues of
William Caxton. London: EETS, Oxford University
Press (Reprinted 1973, Millwood, NY: Kraus.).
Hogg R M (ed.) (1992, 1999). The Cambridge history of
the English language, vol. II, Blake N F (ed.): 1066–1476;
vol. III, Lass R (ed.): 1476–1776.
Hüllen W (1999). English dictionaries 800–1700: The topi-
cal tradition. Oxford: Clarendon.
igration to islands off the coast of Central America,
the Bay Islands and Corn Island. Strong trading ties
also exist with Belize and Jamaica. These population
movements and commercial links probably contrib-
uted towards language contact and borrowing; how-
ever, the lack of a large non-English population seems
to have inhibited the development of a true creole.
See also: Haiti: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Holm J (1989). Pidgins and creoles 2: reference survey.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (esp. pp.
479–480).

Between then and his death he produced the incredi-
ble output of about 70 books, almost all of them in
folio, 21 being his own translations. He edited Chau-
cer (providing the editio princeps of the Canterbury
tales), Lydgate, Gower, The chronicle of Brut, and
also pamphlets, horae, and speeches. He translated
French versions of Latin classical literature and of the
philosophers and issued similar translations by
others. For experts in printing techniques, his works
are recognizable by the founts, which, however, he
changed six times, and by such conspicuous signs as
the absence of title pages, of ordinary commas and
full stops, and of catchwords at the foot of each page.
He was the first printer to include woodcuts.
Although he ushered in the new era of printed
culture, his influence on the history of English is
somewhat indirect. He did not contribute to the stan-
dardization of spelling, which was achieved only a
century later. His own personal style, as visible in the
prologues and epilogues of editions, was quite tradi-
tional, with Germanic lexis and syntax, including
alliterations. In his translations, however, he con-
formed with the style of his mostly French authors,
which led to a massive acceptance of French words,
the abundant use of synonyms, elaborate forms of
address, rhetorical figures, etc. Caxton’s connection
with the court of Burgundy may have been the per-
sonal background for this. In doing so and by the
sheer mass of books he produced, he supported and
Cayman Islands: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The official language of the Cayman Islands is
English, with 36 000 speakers. Literacy is 98%.
There also exist sizable minority languages of Haitian
Creole French, French, and Spanish. Cayman Islands
English, although structurally similar to a creole,
seems to have borrowed some creole features of
Jamaican without having undergone creolization.
Unlike many of the other islands in the Caribbean,
the Cayman Islands were not directly subject to the
pressures exerted by slavery and the plantation sys-
tem. Instead, early settlers were turtle fishers and
wreck salvagers. Population growth forced some em-
Cayman Islands: Language Situation 269
reinforced the development of a ‘curial’ (or ‘clergial,’
‘aureate’) style that was typical of the development of
Middle English and brought the language into its
own. His edition of a book of French and English
conversations, which he probably translated himself,
shows a new way of teaching foreign languages in
schools, in which the old habit of printing topically
ordered vocabulary is embedded in a method of pre-
senting natural dialogues and role play.
See also: Classroom Talk; English, Early Modern; English
Spelling: Rationale; Translation: Pragmatics; Western
Linguistic Thought Before 1800.
Bibliography
Blades W (1971). The biography and typography of
William Caxton, England’s first printer. Totowa, NJ:
Rowman and Littlefield.
Blake N F (1969). Caxton and his world. London: Deutsch.
Crotch W J B (1928). The prologues and epilogues of
William Caxton. London: EETS, Oxford University
Press (Reprinted 1973, Millwood, NY: Kraus.).
Hogg R M (ed.) (1992, 1999). The Cambridge history of
the English language, vol. II, Blake N F (ed.): 1066–1476;
vol. III, Lass R (ed.): 1476–1776.
Hüllen W (1999). English dictionaries 800–1700: The topi-
cal tradition. Oxford: Clarendon.
igration to islands off the coast of Central America,
the Bay Islands and Corn Island. Strong trading ties
also exist with Belize and Jamaica. These population
movements and commercial links probably contrib-
uted towards language contact and borrowing; how-
ever, the lack of a large non-English population seems
to have inhibited the development of a true creole.
See also: Haiti: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Holm J (1989). Pidgins and creoles 2: reference survey.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (esp. pp.
479–480).
270 Cebuano
Cebuano
J U Wolff, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cebuano is spoken in the central and southern Phi-
lippines. It is a member of the Austronesian family of
languages, the group of languages spoken throughout
most of Indonesia, northward into the Philippines
and Taiwan and eastward through much of Papua
New Guinea and over the Pacific as far Hawaii and
Easter Island. The languages of the Philippines, with
the exceptions of the Spanish Creoles, Chabacano
and Chavacano, are closely related and typologically
similar to one another. In particular, Cebuano is sub-
grouped with Tagalog and is similar to Tagalog in
much the same way as Italian and Spanish are similar
to each other (see Tagalog). Cebuano is called Sinug-
ba anun or Sinibuwanú natively, and is sometimes
referred to as ‘Sugbuanon’ in the literature about the
language. Cebuano is also commonly called ‘Visayan’
(Binisaya natively), after the name of the region of
the central Philippines. However, there are in fact
more than 30 languages spoken in this area, all of
which are referred to as ‘Visayan,’ such that many
publications referring to ‘Visayan’ have to do with
languages other than Cebuano.
Cebuano is spoken by somewhere around a fifth of
the population of the Philippines. It is thus second
only to Tagalog in number of speakers. Throughout
the 20th century Cebuano was widely used as a lingua
franca in Mindanao and was almost universally
known as a second language by those in Mindanao
who were not native speakers of Cebuano. At the
present time Tagalog is gaining as the lingua franca
at the expense of Cebuano, and in Mindanao, as
throughout the Cebuano speech area, native speakers
of Cebuano are more and more learning Tagalog as a
second language. Cebuano is considered a language
of the home and social intercourse, and as such enjoys
little prestige and is excluded from settings that are
considered official or involve people of high rank. For
these settings English is used. Further, the educated
classes use English as a code together with Cebuano
in social settings. Church services that aim at a lower-
class audience are in Cebuano, but those aiming at an
upper-class congregation are held in English. Books
are in English, and English is the official medium of
instruction, although for practical reasons teachers
make frequent resort to Cebuano at the primary and
even secondary levels (the children do not understand
English). As an upshot of the emphasis given to
English in the educational system and Cebuano’s
lack of prestige, the elite know the latter but poorly
and speak a kind of basic Cebuano mixed with
English, which does not make full use of the rich
vocabulary and grammatical apparatus which would
allow for eloquence. The best knowledge of Cebuano
and most eloquent use is on the part of low-status
groups, people with little education and little access
to English. Cebuano was widely used in mass media
until the middle of the 20th century, but in recent
years Tagalog has become more and more wide-
spread. There are still radio programs in Cebuano,
and there is one weekly, Bisaya, distributed through-
out the Cebuano-speaking area, which is aimed at a
readership with little education.
Cebuano was first recorded in 1521 in a word list
written down by Pigafetta, Magellan’s chronicler,
when Magellan’s expedition made its ill-fated stop
in Cebu. Catechisms in Cebuano were composed in
the years shortly after the first Spanish colonization in
1564, and the translations made at this time are still
in use. The earliest dictionaries and grammatical
sketches were composed during the 17th century,
although none of these were published until the
18th century. Otherwise no literature antedating the
20th century survives, but the beginning of the 20th
century saw a surge of interest in Cebuano and the
beginnings of a rich literary production, which grad-
ually diminished from the 1920s and 1930s to the
point that now very little is being written. The early
dictionaries and catechisms of Cebuano show that the
language has changed considerably since the 17th
century. Many of the verb forms used in the cate-
chisms and cited in the earliest dictionary are no
longer used (although remnants are found in rural
dialects) and others are confined to ceremonious or
particularly fancy styles, and absent from normal
speech. In vocabulary, too, the language has changed
considerably. At least one-third of the listings in the
major Cebuano dictionary by Fr. Juan Felix de
la Encarnación, which dates from the middle of
the 17th century, were unknown to more than 100
informants queried during the 1960s and 1970s.
What Cebuano Is Like in Comparison with
Tagalog
Cebuano is typologically like the other languages
of the Philippines, and most similar to Tagalog (see
Tagalog). The sound systems of the two languages are
similar, but have a very different rhythm, for two
reasons. First, Tagalog loses the glottal stop in any
position except before pause, whereas Cebuano pro-
nounces the glottal stop with a sharp clear break,
giving a staccato effect to the language. Second,
Tagalog has short and long vowels, with no limit on
the number of long vowels within a word or on
 Cebuano 271

the syllable on which length occurs. Cebuano has few (4) (Active)
long vowels, and only on the final syllable. The Taga- Mipalit siya ug ságing
log and Cebuano consonant inventories are exactly bought he/she OBJ bananas
the same. The vowels are different, however. ‘he bought some bananas [that’s
Cebuano has only three vowels, /i/, /a/, and /u/. what he did]’
(Some dialects retain a fourth central vowel, schwa, (5) (Patient)
inherited from Proto-Austronesian, but this has Gipalit nı́ya ang ságing
merged with /u/ in the Cebuano of Cebu City.) The bought-it by-him the bananas
vowels /a/ and /u/ may occur lengthened in the final ‘he bought the bananas [that’s what
syllable. Stress is contrastive and occurs on the final happened to the bananas]’
or the penult. There can be no more than one long (6) (Place)
vowel in a word. bálik ta sa gipalitan
The Cebuano verb system is similar to Tagalog’s let’s-go-back we to was-bought-at
but not commensurate with it: the Cebuano verb nı́mu ug ságing
expresses tense (action started or not), and also has by-you OBJ bananas
special tenseless forms which are used when the verb ‘let’s go back to the place you bought some
is preceded by an adverb or phrase which expresses bananas’
tense. These three verb forms are durative or non- (7) (Instrument)
durative, as exemplified below: Ma u na y
is-the-one that the-one-that
(1) Action started, punctual vs. ipalit nı́mu ug ságing
action started, durative: will-buy-with-it by-you OBJ bananas
misul ub siya ug pula ‘that is the thing [money] you will use to buy
put-on she OBJ red bananas with’
‘she put something red on’
nagsul ub siya ug pula (8) (Beneficiary)
is-wearing she OBJ red Putling Marı́ya ig ampu mu kami
‘she is (was) wearing Virgin Mary pray-for by-you us
something red’ ‘Virgin Mary pray for us’
(2) Action not started, punctual vs. durative: These verbal inflections are added to roots. In ad-
musulub siya ug pula dition, new stems can be formed by adding one or
put-on she OBJ red more derivational affixes that have meanings similar
‘she will put on something red’
to those found in Tagalog (see Tagalog).
magsul ub siya ug pula
is-wearing she OBJ red
Cebuano has a complex system of deictics and
‘she will be wearing something demonstrative pronouns that is a good deal more
red’ complex than that of Tagalog. The deictics in
Cebuano distinguish tense when initial in the clause:
(3) Tenseless verb, durative vs. punctual:
e.g., dinhi ‘was here’, nı́ a ‘is here’, anhi ‘will be here.’
wa siya musul ub ug pula
They distinguish for four distances, dı́ a ‘is here near
not she put-on OBJ red
‘she didn’t put something red on’ me (but not near you)’, nı́ a ‘is here (near you and
wa siya magsul ub ug pula me)’, ná a ‘is there (near you but not near me)’, tú a
not she is-wearing OBJ red ‘is there (far from both of us)’. When final in the
‘she wasn’t wearing red’ clause the deictics distinguish motion from nonmo-
tion: didtu ‘there (far away)’, ngadtu ‘going there (far
A system of affixes which show prepositionlike rela- away)’. The interrogatives forms for ‘when’ and
tionships, analogous to that shown by the Tagalog ‘where’ also distinguish tense.
verb, cuts across this tense–aspect system of The changes that Cebuano has undergone since the
Cebuano: the Cebuano verbs contain morphemes earliest attestations amount to the loss of distinctions.
which express the relation between the verb and a This can be accounted for partly by the fact that
word it refers to. The verb may refer to the agent Cebuano has been brought to new areas and spread
(active voice), the patient of the action (direct pas- to populations formerly speaking other languages
sive), the thing moved or said (conveyance passive), and also by the fact that there has never been a
the instrument of the action, the place of the action, prescriptive tradition which derogates deviant
the beneficiary of the action, or (peculiarly for forms. The four-vowel system, which Cebuano inher-
Cebuano) time of the action: ited from the protolanguage, has been reduced to
272 Cebuano
three, except in the case of rural dialects. Further, the
category durative vs. punctual, which characterizes
the verbal system, has in historical times been lost in
the passive verbs except in ceremonial styles. Many
of the derivational affixes forming verb stems that
were productive in pre-19th-century attestations of
the language are now confined to petrified forms. In
the past two generations Tagalog has influenced an
important component of the verbal system, namely,
the loss of the tenseless forms, although in rural
speech this part of the system is still intact. Further,
the system of deictics has been simplified in speakers
influenced by Tagalog: namely, tense has been lost,
the four-way distance distinction has been reduced to
two – i.e., ‘here’ vs. ‘there,’ and the distinction be-
tween deictics expressing motion and those which do
not has been lost. These changes are most strongly
observed in areas which or among groups who have
contact with Tagalog speech, and from this popula-
tion these simplifications spread elsewhere in the
Cebuano speech community.
Cebuano morphology differs in type of Tagalog
in two ways: first, affixational patterns are regular
and predictable in Tagalog but in Cebuano they
are not: whereas in Tagalog the paradigms are nor-
mally filled out for all roots with a given meaning
type, in Cebuano many affixes are capriciously
distributed, quite irrespective of the semantic quali-
ties of the root. Second, there are numerous variations
Celtic
C Ó Baoill, University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Celts get their name from Keltoi, a name of
unknown origin applied by the Greeks from around
500 B.C. to a widespread people who lived mainly to
the north and west of them. They have long been
identified with the archaeological cultures known
as Hallstatt and La Tène, named from type-sites in
central Europe and dating from the period following
600 B.C., but linking a language to an archaeological
culture can be unreliable, and this link and others
concerned with the Celts have been queried, notably
in James (1999).
The languages understood to belong to these
people are of the Indo-European family, the most
westerly branch of it, and one important feature
thought to mark Celtic out from the rest is the loss
(or reduction in some contexts) of the letter p. For
in affixation and some of the interrogatives,
distributed by areas and individual speakers. Tagalog
has much less variation.
See also: Affixation; Austronesian Languages: Overview;
Deixis and Anaphora: Pragmatic Approaches; Demon-
stratives; Philippines: Language Situation; Tagalog.
Bibliography
Cabonce R (1983). An English-Cebuano Visayan dictio-
nary. Manila: National Book Store.
Encarnación Fr J F de la (1885). Diccionario Bisaya-Espa-
ñol (3rd edn.). Manila.
Mojares R B (1977). Bibliography of Cebuano linguistics.
Cebu City: University of San Carlos.
Wolff J U (1961). Cebuano texts with glossary and gram-
mar. Mimeographed. Cebu City.
Wolff J U (1966–7). Beginning Cebuano (2 vols). New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Wolff J U (1972). A Cebuano Visayan dictionary. Ithaca,
NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University/Manila:
Linguistic Society of the Philippines 72–81.
Wolff J U (1973). ‘The character of borrowings from
Spanish and English in the languages of the Philippines.’
Journal of Philippine Linguistics 4(1).
Zorc D (1977). The Bisayan dialects of the Philippines:
subgrouping and reconstruction. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
example, the Indo-European word for a ‘father,’
which began with p- (whence, e.g., Greek and Latin
pater), gives modern Gaelic (Gaelic, Irish) athair.
This development predates all the evidence we have
for the languages. Another early development was
the change in some branches of Celtic, whereby the
Indo-European /ku/ (or ‘Q’) became /p/, whence the
well-known division between P-Celtic and Q-Celtic
languages. In the later (insular Q-Celtic) languages
this q has developed to a /k/ sound, written c, and so
we get oppositions like Gaelic cenn and Welsh pen,
‘head’ (from an original stem *qen-).
The languages may be classified as Continental
Celtic and Insular Celtic, the former group dating
from the earliest period of Celtic history up till
about 500 A.D., by which time all the continental
languages had probably disappeared. Three main
continental languages are identifiable, Gaulish,
Lepontic, and Celtiberian, and we know all three
principally from inscriptions (on stones or on coins),
272 Cebuano
three, except in the case of rural dialects. Further, the
category durative vs. punctual, which characterizes
the verbal system, has in historical times been lost in
the passive verbs except in ceremonial styles. Many
of the derivational affixes forming verb stems that
were productive in pre-19th-century attestations of
the language are now confined to petrified forms. In
the past two generations Tagalog has influenced an
important component of the verbal system, namely,
the loss of the tenseless forms, although in rural
speech this part of the system is still intact. Further,
the system of deictics has been simplified in speakers
influenced by Tagalog: namely, tense has been lost,
the four-way distance distinction has been reduced to
two – i.e., ‘here’ vs. ‘there,’ and the distinction be-
tween deictics expressing motion and those which do
not has been lost. These changes are most strongly
observed in areas which or among groups who have
contact with Tagalog speech, and from this popula-
tion these simplifications spread elsewhere in the
Cebuano speech community.
Cebuano morphology differs in type of Tagalog
in two ways: first, affixational patterns are regular
and predictable in Tagalog but in Cebuano they
are not: whereas in Tagalog the paradigms are nor-
mally filled out for all roots with a given meaning
type, in Cebuano many affixes are capriciously
distributed, quite irrespective of the semantic quali-
ties of the root. Second, there are numerous variations
Celtic
C Ó Baoill, University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Celts get their name from Keltoi, a name of
unknown origin applied by the Greeks from around
500 B.C. to a widespread people who lived mainly to
the north and west of them. They have long been
identified with the archaeological cultures known
as Hallstatt and La Tène, named from type-sites in
central Europe and dating from the period following
600 B.C., but linking a language to an archaeological
culture can be unreliable, and this link and others
concerned with the Celts have been queried, notably
in James (1999).
The languages understood to belong to these
people are of the Indo-European family, the most
westerly branch of it, and one important feature
thought to mark Celtic out from the rest is the loss
(or reduction in some contexts) of the letter p. For
in affixation and some of the interrogatives,
distributed by areas and individual speakers. Tagalog
has much less variation.
See also: Affixation; Austronesian Languages: Overview;
Deixis and Anaphora: Pragmatic Approaches; Demon-
stratives; Philippines: Language Situation; Tagalog.
Bibliography
Cabonce R (1983). An English-Cebuano Visayan dictio-
nary. Manila: National Book Store.
Encarnación Fr J F de la (1885). Diccionario Bisaya-Espa-
ñol (3rd edn.). Manila.
Mojares R B (1977). Bibliography of Cebuano linguistics.
Cebu City: University of San Carlos.
Wolff J U (1961). Cebuano texts with glossary and gram-
mar. Mimeographed. Cebu City.
Wolff J U (1966–7). Beginning Cebuano (2 vols). New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Wolff J U (1972). A Cebuano Visayan dictionary. Ithaca,
NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University/Manila:
Linguistic Society of the Philippines 72–81.
Wolff J U (1973). ‘The character of borrowings from
Spanish and English in the languages of the Philippines.’
Journal of Philippine Linguistics 4(1).
Zorc D (1977). The Bisayan dialects of the Philippines:
subgrouping and reconstruction. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
example, the Indo-European word for a ‘father,’
which began with p- (whence, e.g., Greek and Latin
pater), gives modern Gaelic (Gaelic, Irish) athair.
This development predates all the evidence we have
for the languages. Another early development was
the change in some branches of Celtic, whereby the
Indo-European /ku/ (or ‘Q’) became /p/, whence the
well-known division between P-Celtic and Q-Celtic
languages. In the later (insular Q-Celtic) languages
this q has developed to a /k/ sound, written c, and so
we get oppositions like Gaelic cenn and Welsh pen,
‘head’ (from an original stem *qen-).
The languages may be classified as Continental
Celtic and Insular Celtic, the former group dating
from the earliest period of Celtic history up till
about 500 A.D., by which time all the continental
languages had probably disappeared. Three main
continental languages are identifiable, Gaulish,
Lepontic, and Celtiberian, and we know all three
principally from inscriptions (on stones or on coins),

names (place-names and personal names) and quota-
tions on record in other languages. Verbs, and
therefore sentences, are extremely rare, so that our
knowledge of all three languages really is minimal.
Gaulish and Lepontic are P-Celtic languages, the for-
mer belonging to the general area of Gaul (France,
but including also parts of Switzerland, Belgium, and
Italy) and the latter to parts of the southern Alps.
Celtiberian is the name favored, over the alternative
Hispano-Celtic, by de Hoz (1988) for the Q-Celtic
language, which has, since the mid-20th century, come
to be reasonably well attested by inscriptions in north
central Spain; a relevant opposition here is between the
form used for ‘and’ (Latin -que), appearing as pe in
Lepontic and as cue in Celtiberian.
Archaeology indicates movement of features of the
Hallstatt and La Tène cultures from the continent to
Britain and Ireland from about 500 B.C., and it is
assumed that Celtic languages came with them.
Jackson (1953: 4) used the term Gallo-Brittonic to
cover both Gaulish and the first P-Celtic languages in
Britain. A Q-Celtic language appeared in Ireland, but
there is much disagreement as to when, whence, and
by what route. There is also much discussion of
criteria for assessing relationships between the Celtic
languages in this early period, and opinions change
frequently (see Evans, 1995); evidence for dating
expansion and change in the languages is inevitably
scarce.
The Insular Celtic languages are divided into
Brythonic and Goidelic groups, the former denoting
the descendants of the P-Celtic, which reached Britain
from the continent, namely Welsh, Cornish, Breton,
Pictish, and Cumbric. Cumbric (or Cumbrian) is used
to denote the early language(s) of what are now the
northern part of England and the southern part of
Scotland, but little is really known about the lan-
guage(s) apart from what can be gathered from
names (see Price 1984: 146–154). The surviving lan-
guages in the Brythonic group are Welsh and Breton,
Cornish having gone out of general use in the 18th
century, though it is still in use among enthusiasts.
Sims-Williams (1990: 260; see also Russell, 1995:
132–134) argued that the main linguistic develop-
ments from (the theoretical) Brittonic, leading toward
the modern insular languages, were in place by 500
A.D., and divergences between Cornish and Breton
followed shortly afterward.
Goidelic is the term used by linguists for the
Q-Celtic language that appeared in Ireland before
the 1st century B.C. and for its descendants. The theo-
ry has long been that the original Goidelic language in
Ireland spread to western Britain when the power
of the Romans waned around 400 A.D., and that
Scottish Gaelic (Gaelic, Scots) and Manx eventually
Celtic 273
developed there. But while the simple theory of a
major Irish migration bringing Gaelic to Scotland
is widely accepted, even in Scotland, Ewan Campbell
has recently shown (Campbell, 2001) that archaeol-
ogy provides no evidence in support of any such
invasion.
The earliest written form of the Gaelic language is
that found in Ogam, the alphabet used for inscrip-
tions on stone, dating from about the 4th century till
the 7th (McManus, 1991 is a detailed study). There-
after the language, as attested in the literature, is
divided into Old (till 900 A.D.), Middle (900–1200),
Early Modern (till c. 1650), and Modern periods. The
distinctive Scottish and Manx forms only become
clearly visible in the Early Modern period. The
linguistic theory in Jackson (1951: 78–93) envisaged
a historical period, c. 1000–1300 A.D., during which
Irish (as Western Gaelic) became clearly distinct from
Eastern Gaelic (Scottish Gaelic and Manx), but this
has come under attack by those (such as Ó Buachalla,
2002) who see the significant historical division with-
in Goidelic as a north/south one, with Scotland, Man,
and Ulster in opposition to the rest of Ireland on
many points.
On similar grounds, the three Gaelic languages may
be seen rather as what Hockett (1958: 323–325) called
an L-complex, a single linguistic continuum within
which national and even geographical boundaries
are ignored by dialectal isoglosses. This suggestion
(cf. Ó Buachalla, 1977: 95–96) is supported (a) by
the fact that all three ‘languages’ identify themselves
by variants of the same name, Gaeilge, Gàidhlig,
Gaelck, and others, whence the English term Gaelic;
and (b) by the strong evidence that, while Gaelic sur-
vived (until the early 20th century) in the interface
area between north-eastern Ireland and the southern
Highlands, speakers on both sides of the North Chan-
nel were able to converse with little difficulty.
See also: Breton; Cornish; Isle of Man: Language Situa-
tion; Scots Gaelic; United Kingdom: Language Situation;
Wales: Language Situation; Welsh.
Bibliography
Campbell E (2001). ‘Were the Scots Irish?’ Antiquity 75,
285–292.
de Hoz J (1988). ‘Hispano-Celtic and Celtiberian.’ In
Maclennan G (ed.) Proceedings of the First North
American Congress of Celtic Studies. Ottawa: University
of Ottawa. 191–207.
Evans D E (1995). ‘The early Celts: the evidence of
language.’ In Green M J (ed.) The Celtic world. London:
Routledge. 8–20.
Hockett C F (1958). A course in modern linguistics. New
York: Macmillan.
274 Celtic
Jackson K (1951). ‘‘‘Common Gaelic’’: the evolution of the
Goedelic languages.’ In Proceedings of the British
Academy XXXVII, 71–97.
Jackson K (1953). Language and history in early Britain.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
James S (1999). The Atlantic Celts: ancient people or
modern invention? London: British Museum Press.
Maier B (2003). The Celts: a history from earliest times to
the present. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
McManus D (1991). A guide to Ogam. Maynooth: An
Sagart.
Ó Buachalla B (1977). ‘Nı́ and cha in Ulster Irish’ Ériu 28,
92–141.
Celtic Religion
B Maier, University of Aberdeen, Abderdeen, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This is used as a convenient umbrella term to refer
to the religious beliefs, myths, rites, and cults of all
the Celtic-speaking peoples before the advent of
Christianity. The designation Celtic may be justified
on linguistic, archaeological, and historical grounds,
but it should be noted that these criteria do not
always converge. Moreover, one might just as well
talk of Celtic religions (in the plural), as there are
marked regional and chronological differences in a
continuum that stretches from Ireland to Asia Minor
and from the 5th century B.C. to the 5th century A.D.
What we know about Celtic religion is mainly based
on archaeological findings, information provided by
Greek and Roman authors, and inferences drawn
from the medieval vernacular traditions of the Celtic-
speaking countries. On this evidence, it is assumed
that the Celts worshipped a multitude of gods and
goddesses, but the names of these are known only
from the Roman imperial period onwards. Classical
authors and Latin dedicatory inscriptions from Gaul
and Britain usually equate Celtic deities with their
Roman counterparts, whereas medieval Irish and
Welsh texts tend to treat them on the principle of
Euhemerism as mortal beings who were supposed to
have lived in a distant past. To judge from the inscrip-
tions, most of the Celtic deities appear to have been of
purely local or regional significance. As there are
hardly any consecutive Celtic texts from the pagan
period, we are ignorant of many basic features of
Celtic religion. It is to be stressed, however, that
several popular ideas about Celtic religion such as
the concept of a ‘Celtic calendar’ or the belief in a
subterranean ‘otherworld’ are based exclusively on
Ó Buachalla B (2002). ‘‘‘Common Gaelic’’ revisited.’ In Ó
Baoill C & McGuire N R (eds.) Rannsachadh na
Gàidhlig 2000. Obar Dheathain: An Clò Gaidhealach.
1–12.
Price G (1984). The languages of Britain. London:
E. Arnold.
Russell P (1995). An introduction to the Celtic languages.
London: Longman.
Sims-Williams P (1990). ‘Dating the transition to Neo-
Brittonic: phonology and history, 400–600.’ In
Bammesberger A & Wollmann A (eds.) Britain 400–600:
language and history. Heidelberg: C. Winter. 217–261.
medieval and modern insular sources and should not
be projected back on the Continental Celts of classi-
cal antiquity. Recent archaeological investigations
have provided ample information on pre-Roman
cult sites and sacrificial practices, but the well-
known Celtic priesthood of the druids continues to
be known from literary sources only. Here the most
detailed information is provided by the Stoic philoso-
pher Posidonius and by Julius Caesar, but the differ-
ent pieces of information provided by these two
authors are sometimes contradictory and generally
cannot be verified by reference to other, independent
witnesses. Druids are also mentioned in medieval
Irish works of literature set in the pre-Christian
period, but the descriptions given of them appear to
be modeled on that of Christian priests, so that
their source value for the history of Religions appears
rather limited.
See also: Early Irish Linguistics; Welsh.
Bibliography
Fauduet I (1993). Les temples de tradition celtique en Gaule
romaine. Paris: Errance.
Haffner A (ed.) (1995). Heiligtümer und Opferkulte der
Kelten. Stuttgart: Theiss.
Landes C (ed.) (1992). Dieux guérisseurs en Gaule romaine.
Lattes: Musée archéologique Henri Prades.
Maier B (1997). Dictionary of Celtic religion and culture.
Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer.
Maier B (2001). Die Religion der Kelten. München:
C. H. Beck.
Méniel P (1992). Les sacrifices d’animaux chez les Gaulois.
Paris: Errance.
Ó hÓgáin D (1990). Myth, legend and romance. An
encyclopaedia of the Irish folk tradition. London: Ryan
Publishing.
274 Celtic
Jackson K (1951). ‘‘‘Common Gaelic’’: the evolution of the
Goedelic languages.’ In Proceedings of the British
Academy XXXVII, 71–97.
Jackson K (1953). Language and history in early Britain.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
James S (1999). The Atlantic Celts: ancient people or
modern invention? London: British Museum Press.
Maier B (2003). The Celts: a history from earliest times to
the present. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
McManus D (1991). A guide to Ogam. Maynooth: An
Sagart.
Ó Buachalla B (1977). ‘Nı́ and cha in Ulster Irish’ Ériu 28,
92–141.
Celtic Religion
B Maier, University of Aberdeen, Abderdeen, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This is used as a convenient umbrella term to refer
to the religious beliefs, myths, rites, and cults of all
the Celtic-speaking peoples before the advent of
Christianity. The designation Celtic may be justified
on linguistic, archaeological, and historical grounds,
but it should be noted that these criteria do not
always converge. Moreover, one might just as well
talk of Celtic religions (in the plural), as there are
marked regional and chronological differences in a
continuum that stretches from Ireland to Asia Minor
and from the 5th century B.C. to the 5th century A.D.
What we know about Celtic religion is mainly based
on archaeological findings, information provided by
Greek and Roman authors, and inferences drawn
from the medieval vernacular traditions of the Celtic-
speaking countries. On this evidence, it is assumed
that the Celts worshipped a multitude of gods and
goddesses, but the names of these are known only
from the Roman imperial period onwards. Classical
authors and Latin dedicatory inscriptions from Gaul
and Britain usually equate Celtic deities with their
Roman counterparts, whereas medieval Irish and
Welsh texts tend to treat them on the principle of
Euhemerism as mortal beings who were supposed to
have lived in a distant past. To judge from the inscrip-
tions, most of the Celtic deities appear to have been of
purely local or regional significance. As there are
hardly any consecutive Celtic texts from the pagan
period, we are ignorant of many basic features of
Celtic religion. It is to be stressed, however, that
several popular ideas about Celtic religion such as
the concept of a ‘Celtic calendar’ or the belief in a
subterranean ‘otherworld’ are based exclusively on
Ó Buachalla B (2002). ‘‘‘Common Gaelic’’ revisited.’ In Ó
Baoill C & McGuire N R (eds.) Rannsachadh na
Gàidhlig 2000. Obar Dheathain: An Clò Gaidhealach.
1–12.
Price G (1984). The languages of Britain. London:
E. Arnold.
Russell P (1995). An introduction to the Celtic languages.
London: Longman.
Sims-Williams P (1990). ‘Dating the transition to Neo-
Brittonic: phonology and history, 400–600.’ In
Bammesberger A & Wollmann A (eds.) Britain 400–600:
language and history. Heidelberg: C. Winter. 217–261.
medieval and modern insular sources and should not
be projected back on the Continental Celts of classi-
cal antiquity. Recent archaeological investigations
have provided ample information on pre-Roman
cult sites and sacrificial practices, but the well-
known Celtic priesthood of the druids continues to
be known from literary sources only. Here the most
detailed information is provided by the Stoic philoso-
pher Posidonius and by Julius Caesar, but the differ-
ent pieces of information provided by these two
authors are sometimes contradictory and generally
cannot be verified by reference to other, independent
witnesses. Druids are also mentioned in medieval
Irish works of literature set in the pre-Christian
period, but the descriptions given of them appear to
be modeled on that of Christian priests, so that
their source value for the history of Religions appears
rather limited.
See also: Early Irish Linguistics; Welsh.
Bibliography
Fauduet I (1993). Les temples de tradition celtique en Gaule
romaine. Paris: Errance.
Haffner A (ed.) (1995). Heiligtümer und Opferkulte der
Kelten. Stuttgart: Theiss.
Landes C (ed.) (1992). Dieux guérisseurs en Gaule romaine.
Lattes: Musée archéologique Henri Prades.
Maier B (1997). Dictionary of Celtic religion and culture.
Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer.
Maier B (2001). Die Religion der Kelten. München:
C. H. Beck.
Méniel P (1992). Les sacrifices d’animaux chez les Gaulois.
Paris: Errance.
Ó hÓgáin D (1990). Myth, legend and romance. An
encyclopaedia of the Irish folk tradition. London: Ryan
Publishing.

Central African Republic: Language Situation
C Thornell, Göteborg University, Göteborg, Sweden
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Central African Republic, with a population of
3.7 million people (annual growth rate ¼ 1.56%), is
multilingual, as most of the African countries are
(Figure 1). As a rule, urban centers are multilingual,
whereas rural areas are more or less monolingual.
The language of the dominant ethnic group prevails.
For the past decades, contact between urban centers
and rural areas has increased, which has resulted in
more than one language being used in rural areas. In
particular, this is the case in places in which economic
activities are going on. In this multilingual setting,
French and the Central African language Sango have
the status of official languages.
The number of languages spoken in the Central
African Republic is not clear. The figures vary be-
tween sources. The Atlas linguistique de L’Afrique
centrale: Centrafrique (ALC), published in 1984,
indicates 43 languages, whereas Ethnologue in 2000
mentions 69. One reason for the variance is that
different definitions of the term ‘language’ are used.
The individual languages included in these numbers
are, in general, associated with ethnic groups and
subgroups, which traditionally are found in specific
geographical areas. Thus, the languages are not de-
fined according to linguistic criteria. From a linguistic
point of view, it would in many cases be more appro-
priate to speak about dialect clusters instead of lan-
guages (Figure 2).
Language Classification
The Central African languages are classified to the
Niger-Congo, the Nilo-Saharan, and the Afro-Asiatic
phyla (Figure 3). A small number, spoken in the
northern and eastern part of the country, is grouped
into the Nilo-Saharan phylum (i.e., Runga and Sara,
and the Afro-Asiatic languages include Hausa and
Arabic. Most national languages are affiliated to the
Figure 1 Location of the Central African Republic.
Central African Republic: Language Situation 275
Niger-Congo phylum. More precisely, they belong to
the subgroups of the Ubangi and Bantu languages.
The Ubangi languages dominate both in terms of
number of languages and of speakers. Important
clusters include:
1. The Gbaya cluster, including Manza: mainly spo-
ken by the Gbaya people either as a mother tongue
or a second language. The Gbaya live in the west-
ern part of the country, and the number of Gbaya
is estimated at 30% of the total Central African
Republic population (1996).
2. The Banda cluster: spoken by people belonging to
the Banda groups. These people inhabit the central
parts of the country, and they include about 20%
of the Central African Republic population.
3. The Ngbandi cluster, with its main dialects Sango
Riverain, Yakoma, and Dendi: The dialects are
predominantly spoken by the Ngbandi ethnic
group, which lives along the Ubangi River. The
group represents about 5% of the Central African
Republic population. The official language, Sango,
is also classified as belonging to the Ngbandi clus-
ter, although the language originates as a pidgin.
The language came into being in the nineteenth
century as a trade language. Today, it has the
character of an extended pidgin/creole language.
Its core vocabulary, and parts of its peripheral
vocabulary as well, come from the Ngbandi clus-
ter, other Ubangi languages, and Bantu languages.
Concepts typical of Western civilization have been
encoded in French words, but the grammatical
structures developed out the languages of the
area. All Central Africans except 11% have at
least some proficiency in the language, according
to the 1988 census. Approximately 10% of the
inhabitants of the Central African Republic
speak Sango as their mother tongue.
4. The Zande-Nzakara cluster: spoken by the Zande
and Nzakara peoples, who reside along the Mbo-
mou River. Ethnologue also includes the Kpatili
variety in the Zande-Nzakara cluster. This variety
could also be included in the Ngbandi cluster. The
Zande and Nzakara peoples are estimated to
make up 3% of the Central African Republic
population.
The other subgroup of the Niger-Congo phylum,
the Bantu languages, is represented by small lan-
guages, such as Mpiemo and Pande, spoken in the
southwestern part of the country.
There are also varieties that can be characterized as
mixings. For instance, Yangere-Gbaya, spoken south
of Bania in the southwest, has emerged out of both
276 Central African Republic: Language Situation
Figure 2 Language map of the Central African Republic, adapted from Atlas linguistique de L’Afrique centrale: Centrafrique (1984).
the Gbaya dialect spoken in the area and Yangere,
belonging to the Banda cluster.
In addition to Sango, there are lingua francas used
at the regional level, such as Gbaya-Biyanda used in
the southwestern part of the country and Zande in the
eastern part of the country.
Language Policy
The governments in power since the Central African
Republic achieved independence in 1960 have kept
the former colonial language, French, as official lan-
guage, but the Sango language has successively been
promoted. In 1964, it was declared the only national
language, and in 1991 it was declared an official
language alongside French. Having the status of a
national language, Sango was an important unifying
symbol in the building of the independent Central
African Republic. Simultaneously with the promo-
tion of Sango as an official language in 1991, the
other Central African languages received the status
of national languages. This meant that they became
recognized by the government which they have not
been earlier. They were now allowed to be used in
some formal domains, such as at the lower adminis-
tration levels.
Measures for Sango to function optimally as an
official language have been taken. The institution
mainly responsible for these matters is the Institut
de Linguistique Appliquée in Bangui. An orthography
has been elaborated, and a terminology adapted to a
modern society has been successively elaborated. In
the making of terminology, a purist approach is
applied, which implies that the Sango lexical stock
and Sango’s capacity for word formation are widely
used for the creation of new words. French borrow-
ings are avoided, and established French loan words
are replaced. A further step in implementing Sango
as an official language is the translation into Sango of
the constitution, the laws, and government docu-
ments, which hitherto have all been in French. In
addition, other Central African languages, mainly
used in oral communication, are now subject
to language-planning activities in terms of elabo-
ration of orthographies, dictionary compilations,
and grammar writings based on linguistic research.
These languages are focused on by the Association
Centrafricaine de Traductions de la Bible et de
l’Alphabétisation and SIL International.
Language Use
Despite the language policy determining which
language must to be used in formal domains, lan-
guage use in many situations depends on the speakers’
language proficiency. Sango is more and more being

Figure 3 Figure classification of the Central African languages, adapted from ALC (1984).
used at the expense of French. French is mostly used
at higher levels of administration, in the media, and at
school. Nevertheless, French is still considered to be
the more prestigious language. The increasing use of
Sango is also occurring at the expense of the other
national languages, which in the long run will lead to
a country-wide language shift to Sango.
Executive Domain
In the executive domain, the two official languages
are used. In the legislative domain, for instance, the
National Assembly holds some of its sessions in
Sango. In the provinces, Sango is used in situations
in which French has traditionally been used, such as
in speeches by government officials. In jurisdiction,
some laws, such as 98.004 on 27 March 1998 on the
Central African Republic: Language Situation 277
electoral code of the country, exist in Sango, and the
remainder of the laws are on their way to be translat-
ed. In courts, Sango is used when the defendants do
not know French, and translation into national lan-
guages is given when needed. The traditional leaders,
in their role as state representatives, often speak in a
national language, or Sango, in their official commu-
nications. In international contacts, however, French
has been the undisputed language, though today En-
glish is a competing alternative.
School
French is the medium of instruction and learning in
school at all levels despite the 1984 decree stipulating
that instruction should be given in Sango as well. For
the time being, explanations in Sango are allowed in
278 Central African Republic: Language Situation
lower grades when needed. Although it is said that
other Central African languages are not used for these
explanations, they probably are, particularly in rural
areas.
Despite primary school being compulsory, less then
half the children (males, 47%, and females, 39%)
attended primary school, and only 24% of these
reached grade 5 according to Central African admin-
istration data (UNICEF). The enrolment rate is high
in the capital and low in the country’s rural areas.
Approximately half of the adult population was liter-
ate (51%) in 2003 (world Fact-book, 2005).
Proficiency in French and length of school atten-
dance, both in urban and rural areas, are related,
because it is in school that students get their greatest
exposure to French. This means that more people in
urban areas tend to have proficiency in French than
in rural areas.
Media and Literature
The state broadcasting company ‘Radio Bangui,’
which does both radio and TV broadcasts most radio
programs in Sango (70%) and the rest in French.
French-speaking people frequently listen to inter-
national radio channels in French. The television
programs shown by Radio Bangui are mainly in
French. Programs from abroad are also accessible via
satellite dishes, and most of these programs, which are
shown to the public by private persons, are in French.
In the capital, people have access to the Internet.
There is even a home page in Sango (http://sango.
free.fr), of which Marcel Diki-Kidiri at CNRS in
Paris is the webmaster. Central African journalists
broadcasting in Sango tend to use new terminology,
which sometimes makes understanding difficult for
common people.
Central African writers write in French and publish
in France. An example is Etienne Goyémidé, who
published his book Le silence de la forêt at the pub-
lishing house Hatier, in Paris (1984). Most literature
and printed material in the country comprises trans-
lations from either English or French and published
by religious denominations. The major part of the
literature is in Sango, but in recent years printed
materials in other Central African languages have
been published. Muslims read publications in Arabic,
imported from Muslim countries. One reason for the
low production of printed materials is that the de-
mand is low – oral communication is much more
important.
Religious Activities
Religious activities play an important role in the
Central African society because half the population
is Christian and 15% are Islamic. In Christian ser-
vices, Sango is the common language, although a
revitalization of national languages is taking place.
Moreover, the mixing of languages is not rare in
services, nor are translations, such as of the sermon
into the dominant national language of the area. In
urban areas, services are held in French, and in the
capital they are even held in English. The Muslim
services are in Arabic, and in some cases explanations
are made in Sango or a national language.
Communication in Everyday Life
The language used in the daily life depends on
the situation. In a predominantly monolingual geo-
graphical area, the national language of the area is,
for obvious reasons, used in most domains. Only in
communication with visitors who do not know the
national language in question is another language,
which in many cases today would mean Sango or a
regional lingua franca, used.
In a multilingual area, the use of national languages
is roughly limited to communication with people
belonging to the same speech community. In other
situations, Sango, and to a lesser extent the other
official language, French, are commonly used. Even
within families in which the parents belong to the
same ethnic group Sango may be spoken. It is not
rare that the parents speak to them in their national
language and get the answer in Sango. In these cases,
the children understand but do not speak the national
language. Between themselves, they always speak
Sango.
In everyday conversations, switching between
languages is a frequent phenomenon, at the phrase
level and beyond. For instance, people speaking
Sango and national languages switch very often into
French. Furthermore, they frequently use French loan
words. This means that people in everyday life speak
a Sango variety that differs from the variety modeled
by the language-planning institutions, in that this
latter variety is free from French expressions.
See also: Arabic; Bantu Languages; French; Hausa; Lin-
gua Francas as Second Languages; Nilo-Saharan Lan-
guages; Sango.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 3.
Bibliography
Bendor-Samuel J (ed.) (1989). The Niger-Congo languages.
Lanham, NY: University Press of America.
Bouquiaux L, Kobozo J M, Diki-Kidiri M, Vallet J &
Behaghel A (1978). Dictionnaire Sango-Français,

Lexique Français-Sango. Paris: Société d’études linguis-
tiques et anthropologiques de France.
Boyd R (1989). ‘Adamawa-Ubangi.’ In Bendor-Samuel J
(ed.) The Niger-Congo languages. Lanham, NY: Univer-
sity Press of America. 178–216.
Boyeldieu P & Diki-Kidiri J M (1982). Le domaine
Ngbandi. Paris: SELAF.
Bradshaw R & Bombo-Konghozaud J (1999). The Sango
language and Central African culture. München: Lincom.
Census of the CAR (1988). Bangui: Department of Statistics
and Census.
Diki-Kidiri M (1998). Dictionnaire orthographique du
sängö. Reading: BBA Editions.
Goyémidé E (1984). Le silence de la forêt. Paris: Hatier.
Karan M (2001). The dynamics of Sango language spread.
Dallas, TX: SIL International Publications in Sociolinguistics.
Lim F (1998). Lexiques des termes juridiques et adminis-
tratifs (Français-Sango et Sango-Français). Bangui: Insti-
tut de Linguistique Appliquée, Université de Bangui.
Lim F (1998). Ndı̈ä No 98.004 tı̂ 27 mbângö, 1998, sô alü
ndı̈ä tı̂ vôte na Ködörösêse tı̂ Bêafrı̂ka/Loi No 98.004 du
27 mars 1998 portant code electoral de la République
Centrafricaine. Bangui: Institut de Linguistique Appli-
quée, Université de Bangui.
Lim F (2000). Language clusters of Central African Repub-
lic on the basis of mutual intelligibility. Cape Town: The
Centre of Advanced Studies of African Society.
Moñino Y (1995). Le Proto-Gbaya, essai de linguistis com-
parative historique sur vingt-et-une langue d’Afrique cen-
trale. Paris: Peeters.
Moñino Y (ed.) (1988). Lexique comparatif des langues
oubanguienne. Paris: Geuthner.
Morill C H (1997). ‘Language, culture, and society in the
Central African Republic: the emergence and develop-
ment of Sango.’ Ph.D. diss., Bloomington: Indiana
University.
Moser R (1992). Sociolinguistic dynamics of Sango. Bun-
doora: La Trobe University.
Pasch H (1997). ‘Sango’ In Thomason S G (ed.) Contact
languages: A wider perspective. Amsterdam/Philadelphia:
John Benjamins Publishing Company. 209–270.
Pasch H (ed.) (1992). Sango: the national official language
of the Central African Republic; proceedings of the
Central Solomon Languages
A Terrill, Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics,
Nijmegen, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
There are four or possibly five Papuan languages in
the central Solomon Islands: Bilua, spoken on the
island of Vella Lavella; Touo (known more commonly
in the literature as Baniata, after one of the villages
where it is spoken), spoken on Rendova Island;
Lavukaleve, spoken in the Russell Islands; Savosavo,
Central Solomon Languages 279
colloquium: the status and uses of Sango in the Central
African Republic. Cologne, September, 3–4. Köln: Köppe.
Queffélec A, Daloba J & Wenezoui-Dechamps M (1997).
Le français en Centrafricque: lexique et société. Vanves:
AUF/EDICEF.
Samarin W (1989). The black man’s burden, African colo-
nial labor on the Congo and Ubangi Rivers, 1880–1900.
Boulder, CO: Westview.
Samarin W J (1967). A grammar of Sango. The Hague:
Mouton.
Sammy-Mackfoy P (ed.) (1984). Atlas linguistique de
L’Afrique centrale: Centrafrique. Paris: Agence de coop-
ération culturelle et technique, and Yaoundé: Centre ré-
gional de recherche et de documentation sur les traditions
orales et pour le développement des langues africaines.
Thornell C (1997). The Sango language and its lexicon
(sêndâ-yângâ tı̂ sängö). Lund: Lund University Press,
and Bromley: Chartwell-Bratt.
Thornell C (2005). ‘Minoritetsspråket mpiemos socioling-
vistiska kontext.’ In Maho J M (ed.) Africa & Asia 5,
Göteborg working papers on Asian and African lan-
guages and literatures. Göteborg: The department of
Oriental and African languages. 175–200.
Thornell C & Olivestam C E (2005) (to be published).
Kulturmöte i centralafrikansk kontext med kyrkan som
arena. (Cross culture encounter in Central Africa). Göte-
borg: Acta Universitatis Gothenburgensis.
Vuarchex F (ed.) (1989). Littérature Centrafricaine (97).
Paris: Clef.
Relevant Websites
http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/ct.html
– Central Intelligence Agency, 2005 World Factbook: The
Central African Republic website.
http://www.ethnologue.org – Ethnologue: languages of the
world website.
http://sango.free.fr – YSB, Yângâ tı̂ Sängö tı̂ Bêafrı̂ka.
http://www.unicef.org/infobycountry/car_statistics. html#5
– UNICEF, Information by country: The CAR website.
spoken on Savo Island; and possibly Kazukuru, an
extinct and barely documented language of New
Georgia.
Relationships Among the Languages
By the time of Ray (1926, 1928), there was already an
established list of non-Austronesian languages of the
Solomon Islands, consisting of Bilua, Baniata (here
referred to as Touo), Savo, and Laumbe (now called
Lavukaleve). Waterhouse and Ray (1931) later

Lexique Français-Sango. Paris: Société d’études linguis-
tiques et anthropologiques de France.
Boyd R (1989). ‘Adamawa-Ubangi.’ In Bendor-Samuel J
(ed.) The Niger-Congo languages. Lanham, NY: Univer-
sity Press of America. 178–216.
Boyeldieu P & Diki-Kidiri J M (1982). Le domaine
Ngbandi. Paris: SELAF.
Bradshaw R & Bombo-Konghozaud J (1999). The Sango
language and Central African culture. München: Lincom.
Census of the CAR (1988). Bangui: Department of Statistics
and Census.
Diki-Kidiri M (1998). Dictionnaire orthographique du
sängö. Reading: BBA Editions.
Goyémidé E (1984). Le silence de la forêt. Paris: Hatier.
Karan M (2001). The dynamics of Sango language spread.
Dallas, TX: SIL International Publications in Sociolinguistics.
Lim F (1998). Lexiques des termes juridiques et adminis-
tratifs (Français-Sango et Sango-Français). Bangui: Insti-
tut de Linguistique Appliquée, Université de Bangui.
Lim F (1998). Ndı̈ä No 98.004 tı̂ 27 mbângö, 1998, sô alü
ndı̈ä tı̂ vôte na Ködörösêse tı̂ Bêafrı̂ka/Loi No 98.004 du
27 mars 1998 portant code electoral de la République
Centrafricaine. Bangui: Institut de Linguistique Appli-
quée, Université de Bangui.
Lim F (2000). Language clusters of Central African Repub-
lic on the basis of mutual intelligibility. Cape Town: The
Centre of Advanced Studies of African Society.
Moñino Y (1995). Le Proto-Gbaya, essai de linguistis com-
parative historique sur vingt-et-une langue d’Afrique cen-
trale. Paris: Peeters.
Moñino Y (ed.) (1988). Lexique comparatif des langues
oubanguienne. Paris: Geuthner.
Morill C H (1997). ‘Language, culture, and society in the
Central African Republic: the emergence and develop-
ment of Sango.’ Ph.D. diss., Bloomington: Indiana
University.
Moser R (1992). Sociolinguistic dynamics of Sango. Bun-
doora: La Trobe University.
Pasch H (1997). ‘Sango’ In Thomason S G (ed.) Contact
languages: A wider perspective. Amsterdam/Philadelphia:
John Benjamins Publishing Company. 209–270.
Pasch H (ed.) (1992). Sango: the national official language
of the Central African Republic; proceedings of the
Central Solomon Languages
A Terrill, Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics,
Nijmegen, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
There are four or possibly five Papuan languages in
the central Solomon Islands: Bilua, spoken on the
island of Vella Lavella; Touo (known more commonly
in the literature as Baniata, after one of the villages
where it is spoken), spoken on Rendova Island;
Lavukaleve, spoken in the Russell Islands; Savosavo,
Central Solomon Languages 279
colloquium: the status and uses of Sango in the Central
African Republic. Cologne, September, 3–4. Köln: Köppe.
Queffélec A, Daloba J & Wenezoui-Dechamps M (1997).
Le français en Centrafricque: lexique et société. Vanves:
AUF/EDICEF.
Samarin W (1989). The black man’s burden, African colo-
nial labor on the Congo and Ubangi Rivers, 1880–1900.
Boulder, CO: Westview.
Samarin W J (1967). A grammar of Sango. The Hague:
Mouton.
Sammy-Mackfoy P (ed.) (1984). Atlas linguistique de
L’Afrique centrale: Centrafrique. Paris: Agence de coop-
ération culturelle et technique, and Yaoundé: Centre ré-
gional de recherche et de documentation sur les traditions
orales et pour le développement des langues africaines.
Thornell C (1997). The Sango language and its lexicon
(sêndâ-yângâ tı̂ sängö). Lund: Lund University Press,
and Bromley: Chartwell-Bratt.
Thornell C (2005). ‘Minoritetsspråket mpiemos socioling-
vistiska kontext.’ In Maho J M (ed.) Africa & Asia 5,
Göteborg working papers on Asian and African lan-
guages and literatures. Göteborg: The department of
Oriental and African languages. 175–200.
Thornell C & Olivestam C E (2005) (to be published).
Kulturmöte i centralafrikansk kontext med kyrkan som
arena. (Cross culture encounter in Central Africa). Göte-
borg: Acta Universitatis Gothenburgensis.
Vuarchex F (ed.) (1989). Littérature Centrafricaine (97).
Paris: Clef.
Relevant Websites
http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/ct.html
– Central Intelligence Agency, 2005 World Factbook: The
Central African Republic website.
http://www.ethnologue.org – Ethnologue: languages of the
world website.
http://sango.free.fr – YSB, Yângâ tı̂ Sängö tı̂ Bêafrı̂ka.
http://www.unicef.org/infobycountry/car_statistics. html#5
– UNICEF, Information by country: The CAR website.
spoken on Savo Island; and possibly Kazukuru, an
extinct and barely documented language of New
Georgia.
Relationships Among the Languages
By the time of Ray (1926, 1928), there was already an
established list of non-Austronesian languages of the
Solomon Islands, consisting of Bilua, Baniata (here
referred to as Touo), Savo, and Laumbe (now called
Lavukaleve). Waterhouse and Ray (1931) later
280 Central Solomon Languages
discovered Kazukuru, a language of New Georgia,
identifying it as unlike both the Melanesian (i.e.,
Austronesian) and Papuan languages of the Solomon
Islands. Much later, Lanyon-Orgill (1953) claimed
Kazukuru and two further varieties, Guliguli and
Dororo, to be Papuan languages; however, the data
are so scant as to make classification uncertain.
Greenberg (1971) was the first to make an explicit
claim for the genetic unity of these languages, as part
of his Indo-Pacific family. This claim was shortly fol-
lowed by Wurm’s (1972, 1975, 1982) proposal of an
East Papuan phylum, linking all the Papuan languages
of the islands off the coast of New Guinea into one
genetic grouping. Both claims have been firmly
rejected by specialists in the region, and recent views
have been much more cautious: Ross (2001) sug-
gested, on the basis of similarities in pronouns, that
Bilua, Touo (Baniata), Savosavo, and Lavukaleve
formed a family, unrelated to other island and main-
land Papuan languages. Terrill (2002) found limited
evidence of similarities in gender morphology among
these languages. In lexical comparisons using an ex-
tended Swadesh list of roughly 333 items (with obvi-
ous Austronesian loans removed), Bilua, Lavukaleve,
Touo, and Savosavo share only 3–5% resemblant
forms (i.e., within the realm of chance). In short, at
this stage of knowledge, a genetic relationship among
any or all of these languages still remains to be proven.
Typological Characteristics
A typological overview of these and other Papuan
languages of island Melanesia provided by Dunn
et al. (2002) showed that, but for a few striking
exceptions, the only grammatical features shared by
the central Solomon Islands Papuan languages are
also held in common with surrounding Oceanic
Austronesian languages. These common features
include an inclusive/exclusive distinction in pro-
nouns, dual number (actually, there are four number
categories in Touo), reduplication for various pur-
poses, nominative/accusative alignment (although
Lavukaleve has ergative/absolutive alignment in cer-
tain types of subordinate clauses), and serial verb
constructions (absent in Bilua).
The two most notable departures from Oceanic
grammatical patterns are SOV constituent order in
three of the languages (Bilua has SVO with some
variation) and the presence of gender; there are
three genders in Lavukaleve, four in Touo, and two
in Bilua and Savosavo. Gender in Bilua is contextual-
ly determined: the masculine–feminine distinction
applies only to human nouns, but for inanimate
nouns there is a distinction, marked by the same
morphology as marks gender in human nouns,
between ‘singulative’ (¼masculine) and ‘unspecified
number’ (¼feminine) (Obata, 2003). Savosavo has
two genders, masculine and feminine, and it is not
clear whether they are contextually determined as in
Bilua or permanently assigned as in Touo and Lavu-
kaleve (Todd, 1975).
Touo has some very unusual features for the region,
including a phonological distinction between breathy/
creaky vs. modal vowels, as well as six vowel posi-
tions instead of the usual five for the region. Touo
sources include Todd (1975), Frahm (1999), and
Terrill and Dunn (2003). Lavukaleve too has many
unusual features, including focus markers that show
agreement in person, gender, and number of the head
of the constituent on which they mark focus; and a
very complex participant marking system depending
on factors to do with predicate type and clause type
(Terrill, 2003).
See also: Papuan Languages; Solomon Islands: Language
Situation.
Bibliography
Dunn M, Reesink G & Terrill A (2002). ‘The East Papuan
languages: a preliminary typological appraisal.’ Oceanic
Linguistics 41, 28–62.
Frahm R M (1999). Baniata serial verb constructions, M.A.
thesis, University of Auckland.
Greenberg J H (1971). ‘The Indo-Pacific hypothesis.’ In
Sebeok T A (ed.) Current trends in linguistics, vol. 8:
Linguistics in Oceania. The Hague: Mouton and Co.
807–871.
Lanyon-Orgill P A (1953). ‘The Papuan languages of the
New Georgian Archipelago, Solomon Islands.’ Journal of
Austronesian Studies 1, 122–138.
Obata K (2003). A grammar of Bilua: a Papuan language of
the Solomon Islands. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics 540.
Ray S H (1926). A comparative study of the Melanesian
Island languages. London: Cambridge University Press.
Ray S H (1928). ‘The non-Melanesian languages of the
Solomon Islands.’ In Koppers W (ed.) Festschrift publica-
tion d’hommage offerte au P. W. Schmidt. Vienna:
Mechitharisten-Congregations-Buchdruckerei. 123–126.
Ross M (2001). ‘Is there an East Papuan phylum? Evidence
from pronouns.’ In Pawley A, Ross M & Tryon D (eds.)
The boy from Bundaberg: studies in Melanesian linguis-
tics in honour of Tom Dutton. Canberra: Pacific Linguis-
tics. 301–321.
Terrill A (2002). ‘Systems of nominal classification in East
Papuan languages.’ Oceanic Linguistics 41, 63–88.
Terrill A (2003). A grammar of Lavukaleve. Berlin: Mouton
de Gruyter.
Terrill A & Dunn M (2003). ‘Orthographic design in the
Solomon Islands: the social, historical, and linguistic
situation of Touo (Baniata).’ Written Languages and
Literacy 6, 177–192.

Todd E (1975). ‘The Solomon Language family.’ In Wurm S
A (ed.) Papuan languages and the New Guinea linguistic
scene. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics C-38. 805–846.
Waterhouse W H L & Ray S H (1931). ‘The Kazukuru
language of New Georgia.’ Man xxxi, 123–126.
Wurm S A (1972). ‘The classification of Papuan lan-
guages and its problems.’ Linguistic Communications 6,
118–178.
Čeremisina, Maja Ivanovna (b. 1924)
O Molchanova, Uniwersytet Szczecinski, Szczecin,
Poland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Maja Ivanovna Čeremisina was born in Kiev (the
Ukrainian republic) in 1924. She is a Russian scholar
who, after Ubrjatov’s death in Novosibirsk, took on
the responsibility of continuing research on the syntax
of Siberian indigenous peoples’ languages. Under her
guidance, 33 scholars have investigated the syntactic
structures of their mother tongues (Altai, Alutor,
Buryat (Buriat), Kazakh, Ket, Khakas, Khanty, Kirghiz,
Nganasan, Selkup, Shor, Tuva (Tuvin), and others).
Most of them have undertaken 3-year postgraduate
courses at the university in Novosibirsk.
Čeremisina received her secondary and higher
education in Moscow. Her first years after secondary
school were during World War II. On the first day of
aerial bombardment in Moscow, her parents’ house
was completely destroyed, and her mother was killed.
Much later, Čeremisina was educated at the Univer-
sity of Moscow, where she mastered literature and the
Russian language and later undertook 3-year post-
graduate courses at Moscow University. After gradu-
ation, she taught many subjects in Russian philology
at university departments in Tomsk, Tula, Beijing
(China), and Novosibirsk. Čeremisina obtained her
M.A. in 1960 and her Ph.D. In 1974. Her doctoral
thesis was entitled ‘Complex comparative construc-
tions in the Russian language.’ Before Čeremisina’s
doctoral defense, Ubrjatova asked her to read the
manuscript of a book devoted to the analysis of com-
plex sentences in the Yakut language. Čeremisina read
the manuscript three times, trying to comprehend
Yakut, the frame of mind of its speakers, and their
way of expressing themselves, and also trying to
penetrate into Ubrjatova’s way of thinking, which
gradually opened itself up to her. Her main field
of endeavor thereafter became Siberian indigenous
languages.
Čeremisina, Maja Ivanovna (b. 1924) 281
Wurm S A (1975). ‘The East Papuan phylum in general.’ In
Wurm S A (ed.) Papuan languages and the New Guinea
linguistic scene. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics C-38.
783–804.
Wurm S A (1982). Papuan languages of Oceania. Tübingen:
Gunter Narr Verlag.
In 1975, Čeremisina took charge of a project
based on comparative and typological research into
the structure of complex sentences in the languages of
Siberian indigenous peoples. The starting point of the
investigation was one of the postulates propounded
by Ubrjatova in her monograph on Yakut syntax –
that Turkic languages employ similar language means
to establish links between both words and units of
higher levels (phrases and sentences). Testing the pos-
tulate on other Altaic languages became the goal of
Čeremisina and her disciples.
Čeremisina founded a new Department of Lan-
guages and Folklore of the Indigenous Siberian
Peoples at the university in Novosibirsk.
At present, Čeremisina and her team are working at
the typology of a simple sentence in Altaic languages.
She has published five monographs, nine textbooks,
and 183 papers.
See also: Altaic Languages; Turkic Languages; Yakut.
Bibliography
Čeremisina M I (1976). Sravnitel’nyje konstrukcii russkogo
jazyka. Novosibirsk: Nauka.
Čeremisina M I (2002). Jazyk i ego otraženije v nauke o
jazyke. Novosibirsk: Trudy gumanitarnogo fakul’teta
NGU.
Čeremisina M I & Kolosova T A (1987). Očerki po teorii
složnogo predloženija. Novosibirsk: Nauka.
Čeremisina M I, Brodskaja L M, Gorelova L M, Skribnik E K,
Borgojakova T N & Šamina L A (1984). Predikativnoje
sklonenije pričastij v altajskikh jazykakh. Novosibirsk:
Nauka.
Čeremisina M I, Skribnik E K, Brodskaja L M, Sorokina I P,
Šamina L A, Kovalenko N N & Ojun M V (1986).
Strukturnyje tipy sintaktičeskikh polipredikativnykh
konstrukcij v jazykakh raznykh system. Novosibirsk:
Nauka.
88 Einstein, Albert (1879–1955)
The following list includes the works cited here and
a selection of Einstein’s most relevant and accessible
writings that deal directly or indirectly with language
and linguistics.
See also: Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Peirce, Charles San-
ders (1839–1914); Piaget, Jean (1896–1980); Reichenbach,
Hans (1891–1953); Russell, Bertrand (1872–1970); Straw-
son, Peter Frederick (b. 1919).
Bibliography
Chomsky N A (1965). Aspects of the theory of syntax.
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
18th Century Linguistic Thought
G Haßler, University of Potsdam, Potsdam, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The 18th century has been characterized as a century
of debate on language, leading to the formation of
new conceptions in this field. The focus on language
has also been supported by the role of public opinion
and by profound changes in society. But the most
important discussions were about the role of lan-
guage in thought. In the field of language description,
18th-century authors followed for the most part
traditional views and contributed to their further
development.
Discussions on Language in the Early
18th Century
The inclusion of language in the philosophical systems
of Rene Descartes (1596–1650), Antoine Arnauld
(1612–1694), and Baruch de Spinoza (1632–1677)
was based on the supposition that there was an anal-
ogy between the dualism of language and thought and
that of body and mind. The basis of the doctrine,
which supposed an incorporeal thinking no longer
accessible to humans after original sin, had already
been developed by St Augustine (354–430). From a
historical perspective, thinking required signs to ren-
der collections of simple ideas, as well as memory,
possible. Signs gave rise to the manipulation of ideas,
and they did not depend on the presence of things or
the enumeration of all the simple ideas included in
them.
A main tenet of the Augustinian–rationalist doc-
trine was the merely spiritual nature of all notions
Clark R W (1971). Einstein: the life and times. New York:
Avon.
Einstein A (1922). The meaning of relativity. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Einstein A (1936). ‘Physics and reality.’ In Out of my later
years. Secaucus, NJ: Citadel. 59–97.
Einstein A (1944). ‘Remarks on Bertrand Russell’s theory
of knowledge.’ In Schilpp P A (ed.) The philosophy of
Bertrand Russell. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University.
279–291.
Einstein A (1956). ‘The common language of science.’ In
Out of my later years. Secaucus, NJ: Citadel (Originally a
radio talk in 1941). 111–113.
Oller J W Jr, Chen L, Oller S D & Pan N (2005). ‘Empirical
predictions from a general theory of signs.’ Discourse
Processes 40(2), 115–144.
and of the relations between them. The denotation of
a term was regarded as a mental object that could
only have a representational relation to the word and
could not depend on linguistic signs and their corpo-
real nature. The form words obtained in different
languages was regarded as arbitrary, whereas the
composition of the concept was universal and did
not depend on sensations. For the rationalist thinkers,
the indispensability of language consisted only in
communication between people when the transmis-
sion of pure incorporeal notions was impossible. But
linguistic signs met the necessities of communication
in a very insufficient way because intuitive concep-
tions overwhelmed the human mind while their lin-
guistic signs distracted from their content and slowed
down the process of thinking.
Descartes’s vision of the relation between language
and thought was a dualistic one, in that he did not
attribute to linguistic signs any influence on ideas. He
saw a confirmation of this opinion in the fact that
animals with highly developed speech organs did not
develop human thinking even if they were able to
produce some speech sounds. This idea was further
developed by Gerauld de Cordemoy (1626–1684),
who claimed that the substantial difference between
language and thought allowed the development of
different languages with arbitrary sound patterns.
The authors of the Port-Royal Grammar (1660)
and the Logic (1662) took up the distinction be-
tween language-independent thought, communicated
thought, and language-dependent thinking, and they
subordinated linguistic signs to conceptual notions.
Had ideas depended on names, people would not
have had the same ideas about even the simplest things

because languages use different names to designate
them. Arnauld and Pierre Nicole (1625–1695), the
authors of the Logic, criticized Thomas Hobbes’s
(1588–1679) remark that reasoning consisted of com-
paring names and uniting them by the copula. For the
authors of Port-Royal Grammar, human thinking
operated with the designated ideas and not with their
names. The arbitrariness of the linguistic sign played
an important part in this argumentation. The fact that
Arabs and French people could communicate proved
that thought was independent of language.
But this language-independent thought had to
make use of signs if it was to be communicated. The
use of signs that restricted to the communication of
ideas could become a habit and finally result in a
situation where people could no longer imagine ideas
without words. For example, many philosophical
treatises aimed at satisfying people with words. These
arguments led to a critical discussion of language that
played an important part in the 18th-century debate.
The diversity of languages had been regarded just
as a proof of the secondary role of linguistic signs, but
it could not be denied as a practical and an empirical
phenomenon that had to be taken into account by
grammarians. The contrast between a general way of
thinking and the language-specific way of expression
was a widely accepted position in 17th- and early-
18th-century grammar. A direct linear word order
followed most closely by the French language, for
example, was declared to be a universal feature. The
Latin deviation from this subject–verb–object order
was declared to have had no influence on thought;
Romans must have thought like French people before
they rearranged their ideas using inversions and pon-
derous constructions (for the debate on word order,
see Ricken, 1978).
The existence of different expressions for the same
conceptual structure had already been discussed by
the grammarians of Port-Royal, who saw no obstacle
to universal ideas in it. The system of language at a
given moment was always determined by use, and this
meant that people had to rely on the elements of their
own language, even if they were less developed or less
differentiated than in other languages. For example,
all languages had to express relations between nouns
and whole syntactic units. In languages with case
systems these relations were expressed by morphologi-
cal elements, whereas in French prepositions and
word order served the same purpose.
This kind of explanation appeared often in 18th-
century grammars, which associated the special genius
of a language (génie de la langue) with the function
of formal elements of language and not with their
relation to thoughts. But the notion of a génie de la
langue had already become very fashionable at the end
18th Century Linguistic Thought 89
of the 17th century in systematizations of Vaugelas’s
Remarques sur la langue française by Louis Du Truc
(1668), Jean Menudier (1681), and Jean d’Aisy
(1685). A temporary pinnacle in the description of
the particular means of a language was attained with
Claude Buffier’s Grammaire françoise sur un plan
nouveau (1709). According to Buffier, the reality of
language disproved the opinion that a grammatical
theory must be prior to all languages. In Buffier’s
view, it was a crucial error to write a French grammar
following the principles of Latin. Regarding the sig-
nification of words primarily as a function of individ-
ual representation, Buffier warned not to confuse
signs with designated notions and denied the exact
explicability of significations. Following John Locke
(1632–1704) in his nominalist positions, he overcame
the rationalist theory of language.
The Essay concerning human understanding
(1690) by Locke gave a new answer to the question
of how thought could be influenced by language.
According to Locke, linguistic signs did not represent
the objects of knowledge but the ideas that the human
subject created. The nominalist explanation of com-
plex ideas led to a denial of the existence of innate
ideas and to the supposition of a voluntary imposition
of signs onto a collection of simple ideas for which
there was no pattern in reality.
Universal language had been a tempting issue for a
long time. Even Descartes proposed to base his reflec-
tions on this matter on the nature of thought and not
on actually existing languages. Taking advantage of
such a universal language, peasants would be able to
think more conveniently than philosophers using any
existing language. It was the same idea that led to
the characteristica universalis by Gottfried Wilhelm
Leibniz (1646–1716). His doctrine of the harmonious
structure of the world and its perception made him
reject the nominalist supposition that signs denoted
arbitrarily a collection of simple ideas. The form of
signs was not naturally determined but historically
motivated and not the result of an arbitrary imposi-
tion. Imperfections that could be explained by the
nature of language, the fuzziness of significations,
the polysemy of words, and the conscious abuse of
language, might lead human thinking through a
tortuous path. Although in the customary use of
language such insufficiency was unavoidable, the phi-
losophical use of language could elude it by creating
its own philosophical sign system.
Contradictory Results of
Empirical–Sensationalist Thought
The empirical and sensationalist theory of knowledge
developed by Locke had a great influence in many
90 18th Century Linguistic Thought
European countries and was taken up in France by
César Chesneau de Du Marsais (1676–1756) and
Etienne Bonnot de Condillac (1714–1780), among
others, whose thoughts led to different conclusions.
Du Marsais, in his ‘‘Essay on Tropes’’ (1730), devel-
oped a sensationalist theory of metaphor, apart from
tackling grammatical issues in his articles in the
French Encyclopédie. But, in spite of his views on
lexical signification rooted in a sensationalist theory,
he held a rationalist opinion on syntax, considering
subject–verb–object word order as natural and
corresponding to the order of thought. However, he
modified this theory, recognizing the communicative
and stylistic function of different constructions as a
counterpart to the figurative use of words.
Du Marsais is an author who is not easily classified
as either a sensationalist or a rationalist. Delesalle
and Chevalier (1986: 88) have characterized him as
building a system of empirisme raisonné in which he
finally looked for a new strategy of grammatical
operations. He tried to deduce a set of principles
that would be transferable to new situations from
the use of language. Following this concept of analy-
sis, he did not arrive at new conclusions through the
application of theorems but by a kind of arithmetic
that consisted of composition and decomposition.
What were regarded as reliable in this context were
not definitions but only explanations of the appear-
ance of an idea. The fundamental attitude about the
acquisition of language that stemmed from his theory
was routine. Du Marsais’s aim was to find an order, a
general principle in the multitude of texts. The fol-
lowing example (Du Marsais, 1729/1797: II, 215)
shows how a manual of Latin would look following
this approach.
Minóis filiam Ariádnen, cujus ope labyrı́nthi
ambáges explicúerat, secum ábstulit: eam
tamen, immemor beneficii, deséruit in insulá
Naxo: destitútam Bacchus duxit.
ábstulit secum Ariádnen, filiam
il emmena avec lui Ariane, fille
Minóis; ab ope cujus
de Minos par le secours de laquelle
explicúerat ambáges labyrinthi.
il avoit démélé les détours du labirinthe.
Tamen, immemor. . .
Cependant, ne se ressouvenant point . . .
‘et enleva Ariane, fille de Minos. Cète princesse avoit
donné à Thésée un peloton de fil qui aida ce héros à
sortir du labirinte. Cependant, oubliant . . . .’
The first line is the Latin original in all its complexity
and with its inversions. The second line shows
the Latin sentence transformed into the natural
order, and the third and fourth lines show an interlin-
ear translation into French and a current French
translation.
It is easy to suspect that such a procedure would be
criticized. Du Marsais introduced routine as a basis
for the acquisition of language, but what provided
this routine? The bad Latin in the second line of our
example was certainly not an appropriate means.
One of the protagonists of the critical discussion of
Du Marsais’s method was the Abbé Noël Antoine
Pluche (1688–1761), who picked out as a central
theme the function of translation in language teach-
ing. Pluche did not reject the use of interlinear trans-
lation for the clarification of the structure of the
original text when this structure was maintained on
the syntactic level. But, for the initial stage of lan-
guage learning, he rejected translation made on the
basis of rules and vocabularies because it would lead
to unusual and awkward expressions that were far
from the génie de la langue latine.
The development of the issue of a genie de la langue
by Condillac was different in kind. Condillac formu-
lated a coherent sensationalist theory of cognition by
substituting for Locke’s dualist explication of sensa-
tion and reflection the concept of transformed sensa-
tion (sensation transformée), which helped to explain
even complex thought as made up of simple sensa-
tions. The instrument allowing this transformation
was language, to which Condillac attributed an im-
portant role in human thought. Human language
arose from a language of gestures (langage d’action),
which, gradually and stimulated by the needs of
communication, developed into a language of arbi-
trary (artificial) signs. The signs of human language
operated according to the principle of analogy, which
corresponded to a motivated relation between signs
of analogous content. It was this analogy of signs that
made up the genius of a language.
The sensationalist discussion of signs and their in-
fluence on thought gave rise to several applied themes
of discussion (the abuse of words, grammar teaching,
construction of a philosophical language, and synon-
ymy). The sensationalist theory was nevertheless only
one solution, and it was not generally accepted by all
18th-century language theorists. Authors such as
James Harris (1709–1780) continued to suppose the
existence of innate powers that produced mental
operations such as thinking and reasoning. Although
corporeal entities could always be subdivided, the
unities of the mind could not. So it was important to
discover the elementary principles of the dispositions
of the mind that acted in combination. As an impor-
tant principle for this analysis, Harris (1786/1993:
307) endorsed the distinction between Matter and
Form, which he tried to find in language as well:

‘‘Now if Matter and Form are among these Elements,
and deserve perhaps to be esteemed as the principal
among them, it may not be foreign to the Design of
this Treatise, to seek whether these, or any things
analogous to them, may be found in Speech or
Language.’’ The genius of a language is given an
important role in this context: ‘‘[. . .] many words,
possessing their Significations (as it were) under
the same Compact, unite in constituting a particular
Language’’ (Harris 1786/1993: 328).
For Harris (1786/1993: 398), human cognition did
not derive from sensations but from mental arche-
types that anticipated perceptible things. All commu-
nication consisted for him in the transmission of ideas
and words:
For what is Conversation between Man and Man? – It is
a mutual intercourse of Speaking and Hearing. – To the
Speaker, it is to teach; to the Hearer, it is to learn. – To
the Speaker, it is to descend from Ideas to Words; to the
Hearer, it is to ascend from Words to Ideas. – If the
Hearer, in this ascent, can arrive at no Ideas, then he
said not to understand; if he ascends to Ideas dissimilar
and heterogeneous, and then is he said to misunder-
stand. – What then is requisite, that he may be said to
understand? – That he should ascend to certain Ideas,
treasured up within himself, correspondent and similar
to those within the Speaker. The same may be said of a
Writer and a Reader; as when any one reads to-day or to-
morrow, or here or in Italy, what Euclid wrote in Greece
two thousand years ago.
Another example of a productive survival of ration-
alist theory in 18th-century grammar is Nicolas
Beauzée (1717–1789), who defined general grammar
as a science and opposed it to the grammars of
particular languages, which he called art. According
to him, the rules of scientific grammar should be
universal and not depend on the arbitrary properties
of languages. The relation of language and thought
was explained in a dualistic way: Thought was in-
dependent of language, whereas language was an
instrument of analysis and at the same time a reflect-
ion of thought
Prize Topics on Language Theory
In the second half of the 18th century, the debate on
linguistic subjects was especially intense in the Berlin
Academy. Several themes were brought for academic
competitions and these can be regarded as a reflection
of the general European language debate.
Topic I: Relativity and Subjectivity of Languages
as a Means of Cognition and Communication
The president of the Academy, Pierre Louis Moreau
de Maupertuis (1698–1759) associated the diversity
18th Century Linguistic Thought 91
of languages with different forms of thought (plans
d’idées): Translation among distant languages was
considered virtually impossible, and signs had no
strict philosophical validity in regard to reality.
Reporting in the Lettre sur le progrès des sciences
(1752) that travelers to the Pacific Islands had seen
savages there, Maupertuis concluded that he would
rather have an hour’s conversation with them than
with the most refined mind of Europe. It was also
Maupertuis who introduced the origin of language as
the topic of an academic prize contest. The signs by
which people designated their first ideas, he argued,
have so much influence on all our knowledge that
research into the origin of languages and the manner
in which they were formed deserved as much atten-
tion and could be as useful in the study of philosophy
as other methods that build systems on words with
meanings that had not been thoroughly examined.
We might therefore expect to learn a great deal from
the comparison of distant languages because in the
construction of languages we could discover the ves-
tiges of the first steps taken by the human mind. The
diversity of human languages and universals of
thought may be regarded as one of the main themes
of the discussion. The search for language origins
was an attempt to arrive at basic principles, to exam-
ine what was natural as opposed to artificial. The
empirical reality of the diversity of languages was a
challenge to the universalistic principle.
From this challenge arose the question for 1759,
whose prize was awarded to an essay submitted by
the distinguished Goettingen professor of Semitic
languages, Johann David Michaelis (1717–1791).
Michaelis’s essay, which was translated into English
and Dutch after being published in German and
French, has become well known in Europe (cf.
Michaelis, 1974). Usually only the successful essay
was published at the expense of the Academy and
all the others were kept as anonymous manuscripts
in the archive, but in this case all the texts were
published. It is easy to explain why the Academy
decided to do this. The relativistic view suggested by
the Academy for 1759 was not really taken up, except
by Michaelis’s prize essay. Obviously, it did not fol-
low the trend of the contemporary language discus-
sion, which was much more occupied with the
general foundations of language.
For Michaelis, languages were the results of the
work of whole peoples, and this democratic develop-
ment led to the conservation of prejudices in words.
On the other hand, people could contribute to
the improvement of languages by the exclusion of
etymologies that might mislead human thinking.
The French translation contained some important
changes suggested by Johann Bernhard Merian
92 18th Century Linguistic Thought
(1723–1807) and André Pierre Le Guay de Prémont-
val (1716–1764). Michaelis pointed out that no one
particular language had a general advantage over
others – richness and poverty had always been rela-
tive and depended on the purpose that languages were
used for. Changes in the text show that there was an
attempt to adapt Michaelis’s text to the debate, main-
ly dominated by French texts and terminology. But
the chief supplement dealt with the possibility of
framing a successful universal language of learning.
He now answered a question that had been consid-
ered very important by the Academy since the days of
Leibniz. In this context, the antiuniversalistic view of
Michaelis appears most clearly: A universal language
of science would be exposed to even more arbitrary
intervention than a natural language because every
scientist or philosopher would be able to determine
the significations of the words he used (Michaelis,
1762/1974: 167).
Topic II: The Anthropological Foundations and the
Origin of Language
If we look at the context of the discussion, it is not
difficult to understand why, as early as 1759, the
origin of language, and not the philological or philo-
sophical study of different languages, was the funda-
mental question. In 1756, Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s
(1712–1778) Discours sur l’origine et les fondemens
de l’inégalité parmi les hommes was published in
German. In the same year, Johann Peter Süßmilch
(1707–1767) read two papers on the divine origin of
language. Rousseau presented the dilemma succinctly:
If people needed speech in order to learn how to
think, they must have been in even greater need of
thinking in order to invent the art of speaking.
The Academy was interested in the anthropological
foundations of language as well as in an explana-
tion of language variety. The question of the origin
of language did not aim at historical and factual
explanation of previous phases of language develop-
ment. It was as hypothetical as the state of nature in
political philosophy and, like the latter, its aim was to
understand people in the present.
But the authors of the 31 papers submitted to the
contest did not always respond exactly to the ques-
tion emphasized by the Academy text. There was, for
instance, a manuscript entitled Rêveries sur le langage
that reduced the problem to the question of whether
language was innate or not. Also, without quoting the
great texts on the origin of language, many authors
just copied them. So we find Condillac’s description
of the development of human sound language from a
language of gestures; traces of this development were
to be found in Hebrew, which by its antiquity could
be regarded as a natural language. This was another
way to empiricize the search for the foundations
of language: One of the classical languages, usually
Hebrew, was declared to be so close to the origin that
it could be regarded as bearing all necessary traces
that languages must have.
The issue of another essay (I-667) was the inven-
tion of language by human beings. The invention of
language was said to be, first of all, due to necessity
and danger. If a couple of human beings were exposed
to the danger of being devoured by a hungry wolf, the
woman, who represented the weaker but more inven-
tive companion, would imitate the wolf’s cry to warn
her partner. The author discussed 10 simple steps that
led from this origin to the present state of develop-
ment. It is interesting that for the author of this
essay there was no essential difference between the
structures of different languages. The languages of
Greenland, Japan, the Hottentots, the Oronocs, the
Tartars, and the Caribbean were regarded as regular
and analogous. They expressed the same anthropo-
logical foundations as the European languages, in a
very simple way, which could be proved by the forms
of their inflexions. According to the author, declen-
sion, conjugation, and syntax were common features
of all languages. This attitude was typical of the kind
of hypothetical empiricism used to study language
diversity and its consequences or to explain universals
without any regard to real languages. The few exam-
ples quoted by any author using this kind of hypo-
thetical empiricism were always very close to the
everyday experience of the author. In the case of this
essay, the author quoted mainly German examples, to
which he added some Polish, French, Greek, and
Latin ones.
There was also a second kind of hypothetical em-
piricism, apart from the one we have just discussed.
This is obvious in an essay (I-666) that received
the accessit by the Academy, written in Latin by
Francesco Soave (1743–1806). For the author of this
contribution, evidence about the origin of language
was to be obtained by observing children who grew
up outside society. He repeated a hypothetical experi-
ment already discussed by Bernard de Mandeville
(1670–1733), Condillac, and others. Contemporary
authors were aware that ethical concerns would never
allow them to carry out this experiment. They
referred, however, to cases of real savage children
who had been found and whose intellectual and
communication habits had been studied.
As we have seen, there was a wide range of think-
ing about the diversity of human languages and its
relation to the mental development of humans.
Why, in spite of this, has Johann Gottfried Herder
(1744–1803) gone down in the annals of history as a
so-called forerunner of linguistic relativism? Herder

offered a solution to the main anthropological prob-
lem without leaving aside the empirical reality of
languages: Endowed with the capacity for thought
characteristic of humans and for the first time freely
exercising this capacity, humans invented language.
The doctrine of the intimate connection between
Volksgeist and language has generally been regarded
as one of Herder’s most important contributions to
the thought of that age. Nevertheless, it is easy to find
such statements on a reciprocal dependency between
the genius of the languages and the characters of the
peoples in other texts of the language discussion (cf.
Haßler, 1984; Neis, 2003).
Linguistic questions were discussed repeatedly with
reference to the great 18th-century texts that were
published and distributed. This seems to have con-
tributed to a rather monolithic picture of the ideas
brought up by the contests. It is quite natural that
Jacob Grimm (1785–1863) should refer respectfully
to Herder in his own treatise on the origin of lan-
guage, even though he noted a lack of depth and
erudition in the reflections of this author, who could
not compete with the scientific view of language im-
posed by the development of comparative linguistics
in the 19th century. In the 19th century, Herder
became one of the intellectual heroes of Romanti-
cism. The references to Herder constitute an impres-
sive corpus, which is sufficient to explain the
preferences of modern historiographers. His contri-
bution to the classical heritage seems to be evident.
But did it really consist in having found out that
languages were different and related to human
thought, that every language expressed the soul of
the people who used it? This idea was much more
explicit in the texts of other contributors of the 1771
question. What really made up the outstanding quali-
ty of Herder’s essay was the fact that he explained the
general foundations of language and, in this way, the
origin of language.
The papers submitted for the contest on the origin
of language show that the authors did not always
answer exactly the question that seemed to be impor-
tant to the Academy. In contrast to the question of
1759, this time the Academy invited them to examine
the foundations of language, but many of the contri-
butors wrote about the presumed history of lan-
guages and about their differences and grammatical
categories.
Topic III: Comparing and Assessing Languages
It is justified to say that the Academy was always a
little late, inviting authors to answer questions that
had already been under discussion for several years.
But in the case of the relative value of languages with
respect to communication and thought, the Academy
18th Century Linguistic Thought 93
just changed the focus. After having turned from
diversity, which was accentuated in 1759, to the an-
thropological foundations in 1771, it returned to di-
versity for another question in the last decade of the
century: Vergleichung der Hauptsprachen Europas,
lebender und todter, in Bezug auf Reichthum, Regel-
mäßigkeit, Kraft, Harmonie und andere Vorzüge;
in welchen Beziehungen ist die eine der anderen
überlegen, welche kommen der Vollkommenheit
menschlicher Sprache am nächsten? (1792–1794).
But the context of the debate had changed. It was
the time of the great language collections, which ei-
ther had already appeared or were under preparation.
Nevertheless, it seems to have been difficult to get
contributions. In 1792, when the topic was first
brought up, only two essays arrived, one of which
was by a Goettingen professor who had worked in
accordance with the ideas of Michaelis, comparing
mainly classical languages. This author asserted that
Greek was the ideal language for scientific communi-
cation and that German was a poor language that
would never be suited to learned purposes. It is evi-
dent that this excluded him from winning the prize,
especially at a time when the Academy was looking
for a substitute for French, which has been in decline
since the death of Frederic the Great. The second
manuscript has been lost, but a remark by the secre-
tary of the Academy ascribes it to Johann Christoph
Schwab (1743–1821), who had shared with Antoine
de Rivarol (1753–1801) the prize on the universality
of French.
The Academy had to wait 2 more years to receive a
contribution that deserved the prize. It was written by
the Berlin preacher Daniel Jenisch (1762–1804) and
was published in 1796. Jenisch’s book has usually
been considered as one of the forerunners of 19th-
century historical–comparative linguistics. However,
it was written in the context of an empiricism that
was merely hypothetical. All his considerations about
languages are guided by epistemological observations
and second-hand testimonies about language facts.
He acknowledged this himself, nevertheless feeling a
certain need for another kind of empirical studies.
What Jenisch promised was not a philological com-
parison of languages – in this respect, the competing
Goettingen manuscript was much more consistent –
but an assessment of languages on the basis of a
constructed ideal. This ideal language consisted of
the familiar properties found in the Renaissance dis-
cussion of language. Richness, lucidity, insistence,
certainty, and euphony were such properties, and
they were not to be found to the same degree in all
languages. Thus, the advantages or disadvantages of
any language depended on the purpose and the field
the language would be used for. By asserting that
94 18th Century Linguistic Thought
languages were equal in rank and could not be
reduced to a universal grammar, Jenisch envisaged
an impartial comparison of languages. But his idea
of empiricism was merely hypothetical and based on
literature.
So the prize-winning topic on the comparison of
languages did not prepare or even open a new epoch
of language studies but concluded the discussion on
universals and the relativity of languages in the con-
text of the Enlightenment debate. At the end of the
18th century, new kinds of empirical questions were
emerging, but many authors still tried to address them
through the old epistemological framework.
See also: Academies: Dictionaries and Standards; Ade-
lung, Johann Christoph (1732–1806); Beattie, James
(1735–1803); Beauzee, Nicolas (1717–1789); Brosses,
Charles de (1709–1777); Burnett, James, Monboddo,
Lord (1714–1799); Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de (1714–
1780); Diderot, Denis (1713–1784); Early Historical and
Comparative Studies; Hamann, Johann Georg (1730–
1788); Harris, James (1709–1780); Jones, William, Sir
(1746–1794); Language Teaching: History; Lomonosov,
Mikhail Vasilyevich (1711–1765); Modern Linguistics:
1800 to the Present Day; Murray, Alexander (1775–1813);
Origin of Language Debate; Rhetoric: History; Sign Lan-
guage: History of Research; Sign Theories; Smith, Adam
(1723–1790); Western Linguistic Thought Before 1800.
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study of language and intellectual history. Minneapolis,
MN: University of Minnesota Press.
Delesalle S & Chevalier J-C (eds.) (1986). La linguistique,
la grammaire et l’école, 1750–1914. Paris: Armand Colin.
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grammaire, ou nouvelle grammaire raisonnnée pour
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C (eds.) Œuvres de Dumarsais. Paris: Pougin. II, 215.
El Salvador: Language Situation
J DeChicchis, Kwansei Gakuin University,
Sanda, Japan
! 2006 J Dechiccus. Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights
reserved.
The República de El Salvador is linguistically more
Spanish than Spain. Nine tenths of this Spanish-
speaking Central American culture is ethnically mes-
tizo (of mixed American and European heritage).
Formigari L (1994). La sémiotique empiriste face au
kantisme. Anquetil M (trans.). Liège: Mardaga.
Harris J (1986/1993). Hermes or a philosophical inquiry
concerning universal grammar (4th edn., reprint).
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Haßler G (1984). Sprachtheorien der Aufklärung zur Rolle
der Sprache im Erkenntnisprozeß. Berlin: Akademie-
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Haßler G (1992). ‘Sprachphilosophie in der Aufklärung.’ In
Dascal M, Gerhardus D, Kuno L & Meggle G (eds.)
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116–144.
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und Beschreibung von Sprachen im 17. und 18. Jahrhun-
dert. Münster: Nodus.
Michaelis J D (1762/1974). De l’influence des opinions
sur le langage et du langage sur les opinions (reprint).
Stuttgart/Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag.
Neis C (2003). Anthropologie im Sprachdenken des 18.
Jahrhunderts. Die Berliner Preisfrage nach dem
Ursprung der Sprache (1771). Berlin/New York: Walter
de Gruyter.
Ricken U (1978). Grammaire et philosophie au Siécle des
Lumières. Les controverses sur l’ordre naturel et la clarté
du français. Lille: Presses Universitaires.
Ricken U (1984). Sprache, Anthropologie, Philosophie in
der französischen Aufklärung. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte
des Verhältnisses von Sprachtheorie und Weltanschau-
ung. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.
Ricken U (ed.) (1990). Sprachtheorie und Weltanschauung
in der europäischen Aufklärung. Zur Geschichte der
Sprachtheorien des 18. Jahrhunderts und ihrer euro-
päischen Rezeption nach der Französischen Revolution.
Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.
Storost J (1994). Langue française – langue universelle? Die
Diskussion über die Universalität des Französischen an
der Berliner Akademie der Wissenschaften. Zum Gel-
tungsanspruch des Deutschen und Französischen im 18.
Jahrhundert. Bonn: Romanistischer Verlag.
Almost none of the resident Amerindians can speak
anything but Spanish, which is also the dominant
language of most of the European Salvadoreños.
Other languages are spoken primarily as foreign
languages of cultural and commercial interaction,
with the possible exception of some Mayan-speaking
immigrants from Guatemala. Spanish usage is so
strong that, although knowledge of English is wide-
spread in San Salvador business circles, even foreigners

Todd E (1975). ‘The Solomon Language family.’ In Wurm S
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118–178.
Čeremisina, Maja Ivanovna (b. 1924)
O Molchanova, Uniwersytet Szczecinski, Szczecin,
Poland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Maja Ivanovna Čeremisina was born in Kiev (the
Ukrainian republic) in 1924. She is a Russian scholar
who, after Ubrjatov’s death in Novosibirsk, took on
the responsibility of continuing research on the syntax
of Siberian indigenous peoples’ languages. Under her
guidance, 33 scholars have investigated the syntactic
structures of their mother tongues (Altai, Alutor,
Buryat (Buriat), Kazakh, Ket, Khakas, Khanty, Kirghiz,
Nganasan, Selkup, Shor, Tuva (Tuvin), and others).
Most of them have undertaken 3-year postgraduate
courses at the university in Novosibirsk.
Čeremisina received her secondary and higher
education in Moscow. Her first years after secondary
school were during World War II. On the first day of
aerial bombardment in Moscow, her parents’ house
was completely destroyed, and her mother was killed.
Much later, Čeremisina was educated at the Univer-
sity of Moscow, where she mastered literature and the
Russian language and later undertook 3-year post-
graduate courses at Moscow University. After gradu-
ation, she taught many subjects in Russian philology
at university departments in Tomsk, Tula, Beijing
(China), and Novosibirsk. Čeremisina obtained her
M.A. in 1960 and her Ph.D. In 1974. Her doctoral
thesis was entitled ‘Complex comparative construc-
tions in the Russian language.’ Before Čeremisina’s
doctoral defense, Ubrjatova asked her to read the
manuscript of a book devoted to the analysis of com-
plex sentences in the Yakut language. Čeremisina read
the manuscript three times, trying to comprehend
Yakut, the frame of mind of its speakers, and their
way of expressing themselves, and also trying to
penetrate into Ubrjatova’s way of thinking, which
gradually opened itself up to her. Her main field
of endeavor thereafter became Siberian indigenous
languages.
Čeremisina, Maja Ivanovna (b. 1924) 281
Wurm S A (1975). ‘The East Papuan phylum in general.’ In
Wurm S A (ed.) Papuan languages and the New Guinea
linguistic scene. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics C-38.
783–804.
Wurm S A (1982). Papuan languages of Oceania. Tübingen:
Gunter Narr Verlag.
In 1975, Čeremisina took charge of a project
based on comparative and typological research into
the structure of complex sentences in the languages of
Siberian indigenous peoples. The starting point of the
investigation was one of the postulates propounded
by Ubrjatova in her monograph on Yakut syntax –
that Turkic languages employ similar language means
to establish links between both words and units of
higher levels (phrases and sentences). Testing the pos-
tulate on other Altaic languages became the goal of
Čeremisina and her disciples.
Čeremisina founded a new Department of Lan-
guages and Folklore of the Indigenous Siberian
Peoples at the university in Novosibirsk.
At present, Čeremisina and her team are working at
the typology of a simple sentence in Altaic languages.
She has published five monographs, nine textbooks,
and 183 papers.
See also: Altaic Languages; Turkic Languages; Yakut.
Bibliography
Čeremisina M I (1976). Sravnitel’nyje konstrukcii russkogo
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282 Cerron-Palomino, Rodolfo (b. 1940)
Cerron-Palomino, Rodolfo (b. 1940)
C Parodi, University of California, Los Angeles,
CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Rodolfo Cerrón-Palomino, an emeritus professor at
the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos,
Lima, (1970–1991) and an active professor at the
Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (1998 to
date), is a prominent figure of Andean linguistics.
He received his Bachelor of Arts from the Universi-
dad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, and his
Masters degree from Cornell University in Lingusitics.
Professor Cerrón-Palomino has two Ph.D. degrees in
Linguistics, one from Universidad Nacional Mayor
de San Marcos, and a second one from the University
of Illinois at Urbana Champaign. He was awarded the
Gugenheim fellowship, in addition to earning several
other honors in Germany, Holland, and the United
States.
Cerrón Palomino’s linguistic work focuses on the
indigenous languages of the Andes: Quechua, Aimara,
Chipaya and Mochica. He has researched bilingual-
ism in Peru, the linguistic interference of Spanish into
Indian languages, and the influence of Quechua into
Spanish. Within the Quechua linguistic family, he has
produced historical, sociolinguistic, and descriptive
work of several dialects of Central or Junin-Wanka
Quechua. He spearheaded the standardization of
modern Quechua, which has been implemented in
Peruvian rural public schools to provide the students
with bilingual education.
Cerrón-Palomino argued against the Quechumara
hypothesis championed by Orr and Longacre. He
showed that Proto-Quechua and Proto-Aimara are
languages that do not share a common origin.
His historical work on Quechua continued in his
book Lingüı́stica Quechua (1987) a broad survey
of Quechua geographical distribution, including all
the main dialectal variations, origins, development,
classification into dialects, phonology, and grammar.
He studied the Aimara linguistic family from Peru,
Bolivia, and Chile in his book Lingüı́stica Aimara
(2000). In his detailed work on Andean languages, he
uses colonial sources such as Ludovico Bertonio,
Diego Gonçalez Holguin, and Inca Garcilaso de la
Vega. In his article Lenguas de la costa norte peruana
(2004), he sheds light on prehispanic language contact
in Peru due to the ‘mitmas.’ The mitmas were Inca in-
stitutions that caused demographic movements of dif-
ferent human linguistic groups along the Inca Empire
and that aimed to control newly conquered people.
Recently, he has been working with Andean Spanish
and Chipaya, the only language alive of the Uru
family.
In his book on Andean Spanish, Castellano andino
(2003), he addresses the variation of rural Spanish
due to the interference of Quechua and Aimara bilin-
gualism in Peru. He exposes the prejudice the speak-
ers of Andean Spanish have to face, since their speech,
called ‘motoso Spanish,’ is highly stigmatized. Andean
Spanish has a noncanonical word order and different
agreement patterns than standard Spanish. In addi-
tion, Andean Spanish incorporates Quechua and
Aimara loanwords that are not used in standard
Peruvian Spanish. Cerrón-Palomino traces the ori-
gins of Andean Spanish in colonial texts, such as in
Guamam Poma’s El primer nueva coronica y buen
gobierno. He has also analyzed Quechua loanwords
into local Peruvian Spanish and loanwords of Spanish
into Quechua.
See also: Bilingual Education; Peru: Language Situation;
Quechua; Spanish; Standardization.
Bibliography
Cerrón-Palomino R (1976). Gramática quechua. Lima:
Instituto de Estudios Peruanos.
Cerrón-Palomino R (1987 [2003]). Lingüı́stica quechua.
Cuzco: Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos Barto-
lomé de las Casas.
Cerrón-Palomino R (1994). Quechúmara: estructruras
paralelas del quechua y del aimara. La Paz: CIPCA.
Cerrón-Palomino R (1995). La lengua del Nailamp: recon-
strucción y obsolencia del mochica. Lima: Fondo Edito-
rial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú.
Cerrón-Palomino R (2000). Lingüı́stica aimari. Lima: Insti-
tuto Francés de Estudios Andinos.
Cerrón-Palomino R (2003). Castellano andino. Lima:
Fondo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica
del Perú.
Cerrón-Palomino R (2004). ‘Lenguas de la costa norte per-
uana.’ In Estrada Fernández Z et al. (eds.) Estudios en
lenguas amerindias: homenaje a Ken L. Hale. Hermo-
sillo: Universidad de Sonora.

Cerulli, Enrico (1898–1988)
P D Fallon, Howard University, Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Enrico Cerulli, born on February 15, 1898 in Naples,
was a diplomat, anthropologist, and linguist who
specialized in the languages, history, and cultures of
Ethiopia, Somalia, and Eritrea.
After attending the University of Naples and earn-
ing a law degree, in 1920 Cerulli began an impressive
diplomatic career. He became Secretary and later
Director of Political Affairs in Italian Somaliland
from 1920 to 1925. A Counselor for the Italian
Legation to Ethiopia from 1926 to 1929, Cerulli
also participated in an exploratory trip to Western
Ethiopia and a scientific expedition to the sources of
the Wabē Shabelē River. He was the Italian represen-
tative to the Anglo-Italian Boundary Commission for
Somaliland (1930–1931). He became the Secretary-
General of the Ministry for Italian Africa from 1932
to 1935, then a delegate to the League of Nations
(1935–1937). He married Lina Ciotola in 1936 and
had two sons with her.
Favored by Mussolini, Cerulli was appointed
Deputy Governor-General of Italian East Africa in
1938. Cerulli is widely recognized as a scholar of
considerable repute. Yet Bahru (2001: 162) has cited
Cerulli as ‘‘the perfect example of scholarship being
put at the service of colonial administration.’’ Sbacchi
(1985) wrote that many Italians in Africa thought
that Cerulli was incapable of carrying out responsi-
bilities of high office and that he favored Somalis over
other ethnic groups. Yet he was one of only a few
officials with extensive colonial experience, and he
was highly knowledgeable about the local environ-
ment. Because of incompatibility with the Governor-
General, the Duke of Aosta, he was transferred to
Harar as Governor. Cerulli retired from public service
(1940–1944). Later, he was an Italian delegate to
the Peace Conference (1944–1947), the Four-Power
Conferences in London from 1947 to 1949, and dele-
gate to the United Nations regarding Italian African
Territories. From 1950 to 1954 he was ambassador
to Iran, and from 1955 to 1968 he was Councilor of
State.
Cerulli wrote many grammatical sketches (based
on fieldwork) on languages around the Horn of
Africa, including Harari (Ethiopian Semitic); Somali,
Sidamo, Arbore, Komso, and Daasanach (Cushitic);
Janjero (Yemsa), Chara, Basketto, and Koorete
(Omotic); and Berta (Nilo-Saharan). Some of these
works were the first linguistic documentation of the
Cerulli, Enrico (1898–1988) 283
languages and are generally quite accurate and useful
to this day. In addition, Cerulli showed great interest
in Somali poetry and songs.
Islam was a driving interest of Cerulli’s, from
his university studies through his later writings on
Islamic connections to medieval Western culture
(1949) and Islam in general (1971). Yet Cerulli was
also interested in Ethiopian Christianity, its links to
Eastern Christianity in Palestine, and its Ge’ez texts
on Ethiopian saints.
Cerulli received honorary doctorates from the
Universities of Brussels, Rome, and Manchester. He
was a member of many academies and societies in
Europe, including the Accademia Nazionale dei
Lincei (also its Vice-President). He served as President
of the Italian Anthropological Institute.
Cerulli was a ‘‘man of science and a man of action’’
(Ricci, 1990) who successfully combined two careers
in public service and in scholarship. Cerulli died on
September 19, 1988 in Rome.
See also: African Linguistics: History; Cushitic Languages;
Eritrea: Language Situation; Ethiopia: Language Situa-
tion; Ethiopian Semitic Languages; Nilo-Saharan Lan-
guages; Omotic Languages; Somali; Somalia: Language
Situation.
Bibliography
Bahru Z (2001). A history of modern Ethiopia, 1855–1991
(2nd edn.). Athens, OH: Ohio University Press.
Cerulli E (1922). The folk literature of the Galla of South-
ern Abyssinia. (Harvard African Studies 3). Cambridge:
Harvard University Press.
Cerulli E (1933). Etiopia occidentale (2 vols). Rome:
Sindicato Italiano Arti Grafiche.
Cerulli E (1936–1951). Studi etiopici (4 vols). Vol. I: La
lingua e la storia di Harar (1936); vol. II: La lingua e la
storia dei Sidamo (1938); vol. III: Il linguaggio dei Gian-
gerò ed alcune lingue Sidama dell’Omo (Basketo, Ciara,
Zaissè) (1938); vol. IV: La lingua caffina (1951). Rome:
Istituto per l’Oriente.
Cerulli E (ed.) (1949). Il Libro della scala e la questione
delle fonti arabo-spagnole della Divina commedia.
Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana.
Cerulli E (1957–1964). Somalia: Scritti vari editi ed inediti
(3 vols). Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato P. V.
Cerulli E (1971). L’Islam di ieri e di oggi. Rome: Istituto per
l’Oriente.
Ricci L (1990). ‘Enrico Cerulli e l’Istituto per l’Oriente.’
Oriente Moderno nuova serie 9(70), 1–6.
Sbacchi A (1985). Ethiopia under Mussolini: Fascism and
the colonial experience. London: Zed Books.
284 Chad: Language Situation

Chad: Language Situation

J Roberts, SIL-Chad and Université de be deemed the only variety worthy of official status,
N’Djaména, Chad the local vernacular (Chadian Arabic) being suitable
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. only for oral informal communication. Nonetheless,
Chadian Arabic is used in ways that would otherwise
be considered inappropriate: it is used in formal set-
Introduction and History tings (speeches, news broadcasts), and various efforts
The Republic of Chad is located in the Sahel of north- have been made to give it a standardized written
central Africa, at the meeting place of three of the form, even using Latin characters. A growing body
four major phyla of African languages. As a result, of literature exists in Chadian Arabic. Further, the
Chad is characterized by great linguistic variety. Today association of Arabic with Islam has made the Arabic
Chad is a checkerboard of numerous language groups, question a bone of contention in Chad’s officially
most of them small and each of which is located secular society. It is true that Arabic does not enjoy
in a limited geographic area (see Appendix 1). The widespread use in public life (e.g., in education, on
Ethnologue (Gordon, 2004) lists a total of 131 living signs and billboards, in newspapers) as compared
languages in Chad. Only 21 of these languages boast with French, which is still seen as the language
more than 100 000 speakers (see Table 1); nonetheless,
these 21 represent about three-fourths of the popula-
tion of Chad, which current estimates place at about 9 Table 1 Chadian languages with more than 100 000 speakersa
million. More than 50 Chadian languages, on the other
Language (with classificatory Number of native speakers
hand, have fewer than 10 000 speakers. affiliation) (in thousands)
The present linguistic situation is the result of
movements of peoples, contact between ethnic Chadian Arabic 1100
groups, and the dominance of certain ethnic groups Nilo-Saharan languages
(Sara subgroup)
over the centuries. Most of Chad’s peoples claim to
Ngambay 1200
have come from northeastern Africa or the Middle Gor/Mango 350
East, but the details of their origins have been largely Sar 270
lost in the oral history. The Arabs came in several Gulay 240
waves, beginning in the 14th century; their language Kaba Na/Kaba Deme/Kuifa 170
Mbay 140
has had a heavy influence on the indigenous lan-
Nilo-Saharan languages
guages of Chad because of its continued contact with (Bagirmi subgroup)
them over the years. The Kanem-Borno empire, the Naba (Bilala, Kuka, Medogo) 340
Bagirmi kingdom, and the Wadai kingdom, which Nilo-Saharan languages
enjoyed ascendancy at different periods from the 9th (Saharan branch)
Kanembu 570
to the 19th centuries, are in part responsible for the
Kanuri 130
present-day use of Kanembu, Bagirmi, and Maba Dazaga 420
as vehicular languages. Finally, the French language Zaghawa 120
arrived in Chad at the end of the nineteenth century Nilo-Saharan languages
as the colonizers’ language of administration and (Maban branch)
Maba 470
education.
Chadic languages
(Chari-Logone group)
Nancere 110
French, Arabic, and Other Languages of Lele 100
Wider Communication Gabri 100
Chadic languages
Since Chad gained its independence in 1960, French (Masa branch)
has been the official language; Arabic was early pro- Musey 260
Marba 180
posed as a second official language, but this proposal
Masana 160
has been a source of controversy. The Constitution of Niger-Congo languages
1996 declared that French and Arabic are the official (Adamawa family)
languages of Chad. But there has been some ambiva- Mundang 240
lence as to whether the Arabic referred to is Modern Tupuri 130
Standard Arabic or vernacular Chadian Arabic. If a
Estimated numbers of native speakers in 2004, in thousands,
Chad fit the pattern of diglossia common throughout based on projections of ethnic group population from the 1993
the Arabic-speaking world, Standard Arabic would census (cf. Bureau Central du Recensement, 1994).

of prestige, the principal language of education and
administration. The issue of a ‘bilingual’ Chad, where
French and Arabic are used as equals on the national
level, has engendered much debate (cf. Coudray, 1998).
In a country with about 130 languages, bilingual-
ism is a necessity for interethnic communication, but
the lingua franca used is not limited to the official
languages. Some estimates reckon that only 30% of
Chadians understand French, and only a very small
minority of Chadians master Standard Arabic. On
the other hand, those who understand vernacular
Chadian Arabic may be as high as 70%. Chadian
Arabic is widely used as a second language through-
out the north and east of the country, and it is also
gaining ground in certain areas of the south; ‘Bongor
Arabic’ is the pejorative term used to describe the
pidginized Arabic used in southwest Chad. But
other Chadian languages are also used in specific
geographic areas for interethnic communication:
Fulfulde in the southwest near the Cameroon border;
Sar in the far south, and/or a Sara-Ngambay mixture
used across the south; Bagirmi along the Chari River;
Kanembu in the area around Lake Chad; Dazaga in
the north from Lake Chad across to the Sudan border;
and Maba throughout much of eastern Chad.
In urban centers, such as the capital N’Djaména,
speakers of diverse languages live side by side, and
language use is adapted accordingly. It is common
to hear frequent code switching between French,
Chadian Arabic, and a local language, depending on
the constraints of a given communication situation.
Another urban phenomenon is ‘common Sara,’
forged by speakers of a diversity of Sara languages
to enable them to communicate freely.
Use of Chadian Languages in Writing and
Literacy
Only 33% of Chadians can read or write French
or Arabic, according to a Census Bureau survey in
1998. But there are small numbers of literates in
national languages, too. The government’s Direction
de l’Alphabétisation et de Promotion des Langues
Nationales (DAPLAN) coordinates efforts in non-
formal education, efforts to provide writing systems
for Chadian languages, and efforts to develop peda-
gogical materials so that Chadian languages can be
used in literacy programs.
A number of Chadian languages have been reduced
to writing for specific practical purposes. Christian
missionaries were the first to do so: translations of
Bible portions first appeared in the Mbay language in
1932, in Mundang in 1933, and in Ngambay in 1936.
This effort grew in subsequent years, so that today
Chad: Language Situation 285
about 50 Chadian languages have some published
religious materials, whether Bible portions, liturgical
materials, or New Testaments and Bibles. In recent
years, nonreligious development agencies and non-
governmental organizations have worked to dissemi-
nate health and agricultural materials in a variety of
Chadian languages.
There are also grassroots efforts to further the
use of Chadian languages. Numerous language com-
mittees and cultural associations have been formed
in recent years with a view to promoting the local
languages, developing local literacy programs on the
village level, and developing a body of literature in
these languages.
Classification and Linguistic
Characteristics of Chadian Languages
The three phyla of African languages represented in
Chad are Afro-Asiatic (Afrasian), Nilo-Saharan, and
Niger-Congo.
Nilo-Saharan Languages
The Nilo-Saharan phylum is represented in Chad by
the following branches (cf. Bender, 1996):
1. Central Sudanic, and specifically the Sara-Bagirmi
group. More than one third of Chad’s population
speak languages from the Sara subgroup, which
constitutes a dialect continuum in a broad band
along the southern border with the Central
African Republic. The principal Sara languages
are Ngambay, Kaba, Gulay, Mbay, Sar, and Kaba
Na, as well as a number of other, intermediate
varieties, such as Gor, that have been dubbed
dialects or languages according to different classi-
fications. The Bagirmi subgroup, located further
to the north, includes Bagirmi, Naba, and Kenga.
2. Maban, located in the Wadai near the Sudanese
border: principal languages are Maba, Masalit,
and Runga.
3. Saharan (located throughout the northern desert):
its languages are Tedaga, Dazaga, Zaghawa (Beria),
Kanembu, and Kanuri.
4. Eastern Sudanic, represented by the Tama group
and Daju, spoken in eastern and central Chad.
5. For, represented by the Amdang language in the
area of Biltine.
Linguistically, the Nilo-Saharan show the most di-
versity among Chadian languages. The Sara languages
are quite simple morphologically and syntactically,
while languages of the Saharan group show great
complexity; the other subgroups show intermediate
degrees of complexity.
286 Chad: Language Situation
Afro-Asiatic Languages: Chadic Family
More than one-third of Chadian languages belong to
the Chadic family, one division of the Afro-Asiatic (or
Afrasian) phylum. (Note that the adjective Chadic
refers to this particular language family; the term
Chadian refers to the country of Chad.) The follow-
ing branches of the Chadic family are found in Chad
(cf. Barreteau and Newman, 1978):
1. East Chadic. All the languages of this branch are
spoken in Chad; it divides into two subgroups: the
Guéra group (Newman’s group ‘‘B’’), located in
the Guéra region of central Chad, whose major
languages are Dangaléat, Migaama, Bidiyo,
Mukulu, and Mubi; and the Chari-Logone group
(Newman’s group ‘‘A’’), located between Chad’s
two major rivers, and whose major languages are
Kera, Kwang, Nancere, Lele, Gabri, Somrai, and
Tumak.
2. Masa. All languages of the Masa branch of Chadic
are spoken in Chad, along its border with Camer-
oon. The main languages are Masana, Marba,
Musey, and several varieties of Zime.
3. Central Chadic (Biu-Mandara). Only a few lan-
guages of this branch are spoken in Chad, all locat-
ed along the Cameroon border, notably Kotoko
(several varieties), Buduma, Musgu, and Gidar.
These Chadic languages are normally characterized
by grammatical gender in their nominal systems;
their verbs may be marked for directionality and/
or plurality of action. Vowels are often limited in
number; some languages have even been analyzed as
having only one underlying vowel, a. Many Chadic
languages exploit labialization (lip-rounding) and
palatalization (fronting) to a greater or lesserzz de-
gree. Vowel length and consonant gemination are
common phenomena in the languages of the Guéra
subgroup.
Niger-Congo Languages: Adamawa Family
The Niger-Congo languages are represented in
Chad essentially by the Adamawa family (cf. Boyd,
1989). Apart from a couple of isolate languages with-
in Adamawa (Day, Laal), the languages spoken in
Chad fall into two groups:
1. Mbum group, along the border with Cameroon;
its principal languages are Mundang, Tupuri, and
the Eastern Mbum cluster of Nzakambay, Kuo,
and Karang. The languages of the Kim cluster,
spoken along the Logone River, were originally
recognized as a separate group but are now joined
to the Mbum group.
2. Bua group, a cluster of languages spoken from
the Chari River north to the Guéra; it includes
Bua, Niellim, Tunia, Bolgo, and Gula varieties.
Adamawa languages are notable within the Niger-
Congo phylum for their lack of a functioning noun
class system; in general, the morphology and syntax
of Adamawa languages are not greatly complex.
Common Features
A number of distinctive features of Chadian lan-
guages are worthy of mention because they can be
found in languages of all three phyla. In the sound
systems, many languages have phonemic implosives K
and F (sometimes also ); many have a series of pre-
nasalized plosives (mb, nd, nj, ng); some have the
retroflex flap 8; and the labial flap v̆ occurs with
some regularity, especially in ideophones. A few lan-
guages have ATR vowel harmony (in certain Saharan,
Maban, and Bua languages).
Most Chadian languages are tonal, although accent
also seems to play an important role in some of them.
Most languages have three register tones, which are
relatively stable (i.e., not subject to spreading or
downstep) but which can combine into tonal con-
tours. Tone is exploited to make both lexical and
grammatical distinctions.
SVO word order predominates in Chadian lan-
guages of all families; the only notable exception is
the SOV order found in Saharan and Maban lan-
guages. Morphology is also relatively simple in most
of the languages of southern Chad, regardless of clas-
sificatory affiliation. The Eastern Chadic languages
have a somewhat richer morphology, but the greatest
degree of morphological complexity is undoubtedly
to be found in the verbal systems of the Saharan
languages.
Prospects
Chadian languages have not received much attention
from linguists. In the 1960s and 1970s, Europeans such
as Jean-Pierre Caprile and Herrmann Jungraithmayr
did active research (especially in the Sara languages
and the Chadic languages, respectively). In recent
years, Chadians have done research and description,
especially through the National Institute of Human
Sciences or the linguistics department of the University
of N’Djaména. Other scholars and organizations, such
as SIL, continue to engage in on-site linguistic research
and description of Chadian languages.
But much remains to be done. The very existence
of certain languages, such as Zerenkel or Mabire in
the Guéra, has been discovered or confirmed only in

the past few years, because it is still difficult to reach
many areas of Chad even today. And since so many of
Chad’s language groups are small, it is questionable
how long the languages can continue. Indeed, several
languages are already moribund, with only a handful
of older speakers still living (e.g., Berakou, Mabire,
Goundo), and a few others are seriously endangered
because of language shift. Nonetheless, bilingualism
of the mother tongue with another major language
(such as Chadian Arabic) is stable among most
groups; many remain relatively isolated from the
mainstream; and in most groups children still learn
the language of their parents. So most Chadian lan-
guages should remain to be spoken for at least two or
three generations to come.
See also: Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing;
Endangered Languages; Niger-Congo Languages; Nilo-
Saharan Languages.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 4.
Bibliography
Alio K (1997). ‘Langues, démocratie et développment.’
Travaux de linguistique tchadienne 1, 5–31.
Barreteau D (ed.) (1978). Inventaire des études linguistiques
sur les pays d’Afrique noire d’expression française et sur
Madagascar. Paris: Conseil International de la langue
française.
Barreteau D & Newman P (1978). ‘Les langues tchadiques.’
In Barreteau (ed.). 291–329.
Bender M L & Doornbos P (1983). ‘Languages of Wadai-
Darfur.’ In Bender M L (ed.) Nilo-Saharan language
studies. East Lansing, MI: African Studies Center.
43–79.
Bender M L (1996). The Nilo-Saharan languages. München:
Lincom Europa.
Chadic Languages
P J Jaggar, University of London, London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The Chadic language family comprises an estimated
140 to 150 languages spoken in areas to the west,
south, and east of Lake Chad (west Africa). The best-
known and most widespread Chadic language is
Hausa, with upwards of 30 million first-language
speakers, more than any other language in Africa
south of the Sahara. The remaining languages, some
of which are rapidly dying out (often due to pressure
Chadic Languages 287
Boyd R (1989). ‘Adamawa-Ubangi.’ In Bendor-Samuel J
(ed.) The Niger-Congo languages. Lanham, MD: Univer-
sity Press of America. 178–215.
Bureau Central de Recensement (1994). Recensement
général de la population et de l’habitat. N’Djaména:
Ministère du Plan et de la Coopération.
Caprile J P (1972). ‘Carte linguistique du Tchad.’ In Cabot J
(ed.) Atlas pratique du Tchad. Paris and N’Djaména:
Institut Géographique National and Institut National
des Sciences Humaines. 36–37.
Caprile J-P (1977). ‘Introduction.’ In Caprile J P (ed.)
Etudes phonologiques tchadiennes. Paris: SELAF. 11–21.
Caprile J-P (1978). ‘Le Tchad.’ In Barreteau (ed.). 449–463.
Caprile J-P (1981). ‘Les langues sara-bongo-baguirmiennes
et leur classification.’ In Perrot (ed.). 237–242.
Collelo T (ed.) (1990). Chad: a country study. Washington,
DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.
Coudray H (1998). ‘Langue, religion, identité, pouvoir:
le contentieux linguistique franco-arabe au Tchad.’ In
Centre Al-Mouna Contentieux linguistique arabe-français.
N’Djaména: Centre Al-Mouna. 19–69.
Gordon R (2004). Ethnologue: languages of the world
(15th edn.). Dallas: SIL.
Jouannet F (1978). ‘Situation sociolinguistique du Tchad:
approches.’ In Caprile J-P (ed.) Contacts de langues
et contacts de cultures, vol. 2: La situation du Tchad:
approche globale au niveau national. Paris: SELAF.
11–121.
Jullien de Pommerol P (1997). L’arabe tchadien: émergence
d’une langue véhiculaire. Paris: Karthala.
Jungraithmayr H (1981). ‘Les langues tchadiques: Général-
ités’ and ‘Inventaire des langues tchadiques.’ In Perrot
(ed.). 401–413.
Perrot J (ed.) (1981). Les langues dans le monde ancien
et moderne, Première partie: Les langues de l’Afrique
subsaharienne. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique.
Zeltner J-C (1970). ‘Histoire des Arabes sur les rives du lac
Tchad.’ In Annales de l’Université d’Abidjan F. 2–2.
from Hausa), probably number little more than
several million speakers in total, varying in size from
fewer than half a million to just a handful of
speakers, and new languages continue to be reported.
Written descriptions of varying length and quality
are available for only about one-third of the total,
although for some – e.g., Bidiya (Bidiyo), Guruntum,
Kanakuru (Dera), Kera, Kwami, Lamang, Margi
(Marghi Central), Miya, and Mupun – good de-
scriptive grammars have been produced, and several
dictionaries have appeared, e.g., Dangaléat, Lamé,
Ngizim, and Tangale. Hausa has four recent com-
prehensive reference grammars, in addition to two

the past few years, because it is still difficult to reach
many areas of Chad even today. And since so many of
Chad’s language groups are small, it is questionable
how long the languages can continue. Indeed, several
languages are already moribund, with only a handful
of older speakers still living (e.g., Berakou, Mabire,
Goundo), and a few others are seriously endangered
because of language shift. Nonetheless, bilingualism
of the mother tongue with another major language
(such as Chadian Arabic) is stable among most
groups; many remain relatively isolated from the
mainstream; and in most groups children still learn
the language of their parents. So most Chadian lan-
guages should remain to be spoken for at least two or
three generations to come.
See also: Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing;
Endangered Languages; Niger-Congo Languages; Nilo-
Saharan Languages.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 4.
Bibliography
Alio K (1997). ‘Langues, démocratie et développment.’
Travaux de linguistique tchadienne 1, 5–31.
Barreteau D (ed.) (1978). Inventaire des études linguistiques
sur les pays d’Afrique noire d’expression française et sur
Madagascar. Paris: Conseil International de la langue
française.
Barreteau D & Newman P (1978). ‘Les langues tchadiques.’
In Barreteau (ed.). 291–329.
Bender M L & Doornbos P (1983). ‘Languages of Wadai-
Darfur.’ In Bender M L (ed.) Nilo-Saharan language
studies. East Lansing, MI: African Studies Center.
43–79.
Bender M L (1996). The Nilo-Saharan languages. München:
Lincom Europa.
Chadic Languages
P J Jaggar, University of London, London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The Chadic language family comprises an estimated
140 to 150 languages spoken in areas to the west,
south, and east of Lake Chad (west Africa). The best-
known and most widespread Chadic language is
Hausa, with upwards of 30 million first-language
speakers, more than any other language in Africa
south of the Sahara. The remaining languages, some
of which are rapidly dying out (often due to pressure
Chadic Languages 287
Boyd R (1989). ‘Adamawa-Ubangi.’ In Bendor-Samuel J
(ed.) The Niger-Congo languages. Lanham, MD: Univer-
sity Press of America. 178–215.
Bureau Central de Recensement (1994). Recensement
général de la population et de l’habitat. N’Djaména:
Ministère du Plan et de la Coopération.
Caprile J P (1972). ‘Carte linguistique du Tchad.’ In Cabot J
(ed.) Atlas pratique du Tchad. Paris and N’Djaména:
Institut Géographique National and Institut National
des Sciences Humaines. 36–37.
Caprile J-P (1977). ‘Introduction.’ In Caprile J P (ed.)
Etudes phonologiques tchadiennes. Paris: SELAF. 11–21.
Caprile J-P (1978). ‘Le Tchad.’ In Barreteau (ed.). 449–463.
Caprile J-P (1981). ‘Les langues sara-bongo-baguirmiennes
et leur classification.’ In Perrot (ed.). 237–242.
Collelo T (ed.) (1990). Chad: a country study. Washington,
DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.
Coudray H (1998). ‘Langue, religion, identité, pouvoir:
le contentieux linguistique franco-arabe au Tchad.’ In
Centre Al-Mouna Contentieux linguistique arabe-français.
N’Djaména: Centre Al-Mouna. 19–69.
Gordon R (2004). Ethnologue: languages of the world
(15th edn.). Dallas: SIL.
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approches.’ In Caprile J-P (ed.) Contacts de langues
et contacts de cultures, vol. 2: La situation du Tchad:
approche globale au niveau national. Paris: SELAF.
11–121.
Jullien de Pommerol P (1997). L’arabe tchadien: émergence
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Jungraithmayr H (1981). ‘Les langues tchadiques: Général-
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Perrot J (ed.) (1981). Les langues dans le monde ancien
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from Hausa), probably number little more than
several million speakers in total, varying in size from
fewer than half a million to just a handful of
speakers, and new languages continue to be reported.
Written descriptions of varying length and quality
are available for only about one-third of the total,
although for some – e.g., Bidiya (Bidiyo), Guruntum,
Kanakuru (Dera), Kera, Kwami, Lamang, Margi
(Marghi Central), Miya, and Mupun – good de-
scriptive grammars have been produced, and several
dictionaries have appeared, e.g., Dangaléat, Lamé,
Ngizim, and Tangale. Hausa has four recent com-
prehensive reference grammars, in addition to two
288 Chadic Languages
high-quality dictionaries, making it the best-docu-
mented language in sub-Saharan Africa.
Chadic is a constituent of the Afroasiatic phylum,
which also includes Semitic (e.g., Amharic, Arabic,
[Standard] Hebrew), Cushitic (e.g., Oromo, Somali),
Omotic (e.g., Dime, Wolaytta), Berber (e.g., Tamahaq
and Tamajeq [Tamajeq, Tayart] [spoken by the Tua-
reg], Tamazight [Central Atlas], and (extinct) Ancient
Egyptian/Coptic. The phylogenetic membership of
Chadic within Afroasiatic was first proposed almost
150 years ago, but did not receive wide acceptance
until Greenberg’s (1963) major (re)classification of
African languages. The standard internal classification
divides Chadic languages into three major branches:
West (e.g., Hausa, Bole, Angas, Ron, Bade), Central
¼ Biu-Mandara (e.g., Tera, Mandara, Bachama-Bata
[Bacama], Kotoko [Afade]), and East (e.g., Somrai,
Kera, Dangaléat), in addition to an isolated Masa
cluster (with subbranches and smaller groupings).
Phonology
Laryngealized implosive stops, e.g., /b F/, and ejective
stops, e.g., /p’ t’/, are widespread throughout Chadic,
together with prenasalized obstruents, e.g., /mb nd/.
A characteristic pattern, therefore, is for a language
to present a four-way phonation contrast, e.g., coro-
nal /t d F nd/ and/or labial /p b K mb/. The voiceless
and voiced lateral fricatives /l // are also common-
place, in addition to palatal and velar (including
labialized velar) consonants.
Vowel systems generally vary from two (monoph-
thongal) vowels, high /e/ (with various phonetic
values) and low /a/, as in Bachama-Bata and
Mandara, to seven vowels, e.g., [Dangaléat] /i e E a O
o u/, with /i (e) a e (o) u/ a common inventory, and the
diphthongs /ai/ and /au/ are attested. Tangale has a
nine-vowel ATR pattern. Contrastive vowel length,
especially in medial position, is also widespread
throughout the family.
Chadic languages are tonal, and two level (High/
Low) tones, e.g., Hausa, or three (High/Mid/Low),
e.g., Angas, are typical. Downstep is also common
(e.g., Ga’anda, Miya, Tera). Although tone can be
lexically contrastive, its primary function is normally
grammatical, e.g., in distinguishing tense/aspect/
mood categories. [Transcription: aa ¼ long vowel,
a ¼ short; à(a) ¼ L(ow) tone, â(a) ¼ F(alling) tone,
H(igh) tone is unmarked.]
Morphology and Syntax
Many Chadic languages have masculine/feminine
grammatical gender (an inherited Afroasiatic feature),
with no distinction in the plural, and typically
distinguish gender in second and third person singular
pronouns, e.g., [Miya] fiy/mace ‘you (MASC/FEM)’,
te/nje ‘he/she’. Some also preserve the characteristic
n/t/n (MASC/FEM/PL) marking pattern in grammati-
cal formatives (and the masculine and plural markers
often fall together phonologically), cf., [Masa] vèt-na
‘rabbit’, vèt-ta ‘female rabbit’, vèdai-na ‘rabbits’.
Noun pluralization is complex, and some wide-
spread plural suffixes are reconstructable for Proto-
Chadic, e.g., *-Vn, *-aki, *-i, and *-ai. Examples:
(-Vn) kùmen/kùmenen ‘mouse/mice’ [Bade], miyò/
mishan ‘co-wife/co-wives’ [Kanakuru], (-aki) goonaa/
gòonàkii ‘farm(s)’ [Hausa], (-i) duwimà/dùwı̀mi
‘guineafowl(s)’ [Gera], (-ai) mùtù/mutai ‘sore(s)’
[Dangaléat]. Other plurals entail infixation of
internal -a-, e.g., [Ron] sàkur/sakwâar ‘leg(s)’. Some
languages restrict overt plural marking to a narrow
range of nouns (typically humans and animals).
Verbs in many Chadic languages have retained
the lexically arbitrary Proto-Chadic distinction be-
tween final –a and final –e verbs (where the final
schwa vowel is often pronounced as [i], [e], or [u]),
cf., [Tera] na ‘see’ and dle ‘get’, [Guruntum] daa
‘sit’ and shi ‘eat’. Verbal semantics and valency are
modified by the addition of one or more derivational
extensions (often fused suffixes). These extensions
encode such notions as action in the direction
of (centripetal) or away from (centrifugal) a deictic
center (often the speaker), or action partially or
totally completed, e.g., (totality) sà-nyà ‘drink up’
< sà ‘drink’ [Margi]. Some extensions also have a
syntactic function, denoting, inter alia, transitiviza-
tion or perfectivity, e.g., (transitivization) yàw-tu
‘take down’ < yàwwu ‘go down’ [Bole], kàta-naa
‘return’ (TRANS) < kàtee ‘return’ (INTRANS) [Ngizim].
Verb stems can be overtly inflected for tense-aspect-
mood by segmental and/or tone changes.
Many languages also have so-called ‘pluractional’
verbs, which express an action repeated many times or
affecting a plurality of subjects (if intransitive) or
objects (if transitive), and are formed via prefixal re-
duplication, ablaut or gemination, e.g., [Guruntum]
pàni/pàppàni ‘take’, [Angas] fwin/fwan ‘untie’, [Pero]
lofò/loffò ‘beat’. In some languages, pluractional
stems occur with plural subjects of intransitive
verbs and plural objects of transitive verbs, producing
ergative-type agreement. In a number of languages,
intransitive verbs are followed by an ‘intransitive
copy pronoun’, which maps the person, number, and
gender of the coreferential subject, e.g., [Kanakuru]
nà pòrò-no ‘I went out’ (literally I went out-I).
Derivational and inflectional reduplication is wide-
spread throughout the family (often signaling seman-
tic intensification), ranging from (a) copying of a
single segment, e.g., [Miya] pluractional verb tlyaaFe

‘to hoe repeatedly’ < tlyaFe ‘to hoe’, [Bidiya] tàttuk
‘very large’ < tàtuk ‘large’; (b) reduplication of a
syllable, e.g., [Hausa] prefixal reduplication of the
initial CVC syllable of a sensory noun to form an
intensive sensory adjective, as in zùzzurfaa ‘very
deep’ (< zur-zurf-aa) < zurfii ‘depth’ (with gemina-
tion/assimilation of the coda /r/); (c) full reduplication
(exact copy), e.g., [Guruntum] kı̀nı̀-kı̀nı̀ ‘just like this’
< kı̀nı̀ ‘like this’, [Kwami] kayò-kayò ‘a gallop’
< kayò ‘a ride’, [Tangale] sàN-sàN ‘very bright’ <sàN
‘bright’, [Margi] perda-perda ‘sinewy piece of meat’
< perda ‘sinew’.
Like many African languages, Chadic languages
often have a lexically autonomous class of highly
expressive, phonosemantic words known as ‘ideo-
phones’. Ideophones usually pattern syntactically
with adverbials and often have their own distinct
phonological and phonotactic properties. They typi-
cally reinforce the manner of an action, event, or
state, e.g., [Ngizim] Kerak ‘with a popping sound’,
[Miya] Kakù-Kakù ‘hopping along’, [Kwami] (adjecti-
val) dùkùFù ‘small and broad’, [Hausa] kwàngàr̃àm
‘with a clang’, [Margi] dzùl-dzùl ‘jumping high in
running (animal)’, [Bidiya] Korok (Mid tones)
‘emphasizes quickness’.
Word order is normally S[ubject] V[erb] O[bject],
although VSO order is found in a few Central Chadic/
Biu-Mandara languages spoken in the Nigeria–
Cameroon border area. Pronominal indirect objects
(recipients/goals) are typically realized as verb clitics,
whereas nominal indirect objects occur as preposi-
tional phrases to the right of the direct object/theme
(Chadic languages are prepositional), cf., [Kanakuru]
à jòK-rò landài ‘he washed the robe for her’ (literally
he washed-for her robe), and à jòKè landài geA n tamno
‘he washed the robe for the woman’ (literally he
washed robe for woman). Wh-questions, focus, and
relativization usually pattern together in terms of
their formal morphosyntactic reflexes, with overt
movement, often to left periphery, and special
(focus) marking on the infl(ectional) element, e.g.,
[Hausa] yaarònkà mukà ganii ‘it’s your boy (that)
we saw’ (literally boy.your 1pl.FOCUS.PERF see). Some
languages allow (or require) in situ wh- and (prag-
matic) focus constituents, e.g., [Duwai] Saaku beA ne
mù? ‘what did Saku cook?’ (literally Saku cooked
what).
Negation in Chadic is typically signaled with a
single marker in sentence-final position, e.g., [Gurun-
tum] tâa kyur shau dà ‘she will not cook the food’
(literally she will cook food NEG), [Kera] we gùsneA
hàrga bà ‘he didn’t buy her a goat’ (literally he bought
her goat NEG), sometimes reinforced by an additional
pre-verbal negative marker. Comparatives are nor-
mally ditransitive constructions with the lexical verb
Chadic Languages 289
‘exceed, surpass, be more than’, i.e., exceed object
X in relation to manner Y.
In noun phrase syntax, the normative order for
constituents is head-initial, i.e., head noun followed
by definite determiners, possessives, numerals, rela-
tive clauses, etc. The linear order in genitive construc-
tions is possessee X (þ ‘of’ linker) þ possessor Y, e.g.,
[Margi] tagu ge Haman ‘Haman’s horse’ (literally
horse of Haman). Many Chadic languages also
make an overt distinction between alienable and
inalienable possession whereby inalienable posses-
sion is expressed by direct juxtaposition (i.e., with
no overt linker), cf. (inalienable) menda Miyim
‘Miyim’s wife’ (literally wife Miyim), and (alienable)
gam ma tamnoi ‘the woman’s ram’ (literally ram of
woman) [Kanakuru]. Reflexive pronouns and reci-
procals (phrasal anaphors) are typically formed with
the body-part nouns ‘head’ and ‘body’ respectively,
e.g., [Kwami] kuu-nı̀ ‘himself’ (literally head-his),
[Miya] tuwatùw-àamà ‘each other (we)’ (literally
body-our).
See also: Africa as a Linguistic Area; African Linguistics:
History; Afroasiatic Languages; Hausa; Nigeria: Lan-
guage Situation; Phonology: Overview; Syntax of Words.
Bibliography
Alio K (1986). Essai de description de la langue bidiya
du Guéra (Tchad). Phonologie – Grammaire. Marburger
Studien zur Afrika- und Asienkunde, Serie A, Afrika, 45.
Berlin: Dietrich Reimer.
Ebert K H (1979). Sprache und Tradition der Kera
(Tschad), Teil 3: Grammatik. Marburger Studien zur
Afrika- und Asienkunde, Serie A, Afrika, 15. Berlin: Die-
trich Reimer.
Fédry J (1971). Dictionnaire dangaléat (Tchad). Paris:
Afrique et Langage.
Frajzyngier Z (1993). A grammar of Mupun. Sprache und
Oralität in Afrika, 14. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer.
Frajzyngier Z (1996). Grammaticalization of the com-
plex sentence: a case study in Chadic. Amsterdam: John
Benjamins.
Greenberg J H (1963). The languages of Africa. Indiana
University Research Center in Anthropology, Folklore,
and Linguistics, publication 25. International Journal
of American Linguistics, 29(1), part 2. Bloomington:
Indiana University.
Haruna A (2003). A grammatical outline of Gùrdùn/Gùr-
ùntùm (southern Bauchi, Nigeria). Westafrikanische
Studien, Frankfurter Beiträge zur Sprach- und Kultur-
geschichte, vol. 25. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe.
Hoffmann C (1963). A grammar of the Margi language.
London: Oxford University Press.
Jaggar P J (2005). ‘Hausa and Chadic.’ In Strazny P (ed.)
Encyclopedia of linguistics. New York/London: Rout-
ledge. 445–447.
290 Chadic Languages
Jaggar P J & Wolff H E (2002). Chadic and Hausa linguis-
tics: the selected papers of Paul Newman with commen-
taries. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe.
Jungraithmayr H & Ibriszimow D (1994). Chadic
lexical roots, vol. 1: Tentative reconstruction, grading,
distribution and comments; vol. 2: Documentation.
Sprache und Oralität in Afrika, 20. Berlin: Dietrich
Reimer.
Jungraithmayr H, Galadima N A & Kleinewillinghöfer U
(1991). A dictionary of the Tangale language (Kaltungo,
northern Nigeria). Sprache und Oralität in Afrika, 12.
Berlin: Dietrich Reimer.
Newman P (2000). The Hausa language: an encyclopedic
reference grammar. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press.
Newman P (2003). ‘Chadic languages.’ In Frawley W J (ed.)
International Encyclopedia of Linguistics, 2nd ed., vol. 1.
Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
304–307.
Chamberlain, Basil Hall (1850–1935)
M McCaskey, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Basil Hall Chamberlain (1850–1935) was born in
Southampton, England, but educated in France and
Switzerland. His family wanted him to become a
banker in London, but he went to Japan instead, on
the grounds that travel would be better for his health.
He arrived in Japan in 1873 to begin intensive study
of the Japanese language. In 1876, he became a lec-
turer in English language and literature at Tokyo
University. Having independent means, however, he
decided to resume his own studies a year later. He
resumed teaching English, at the Japanese Naval
Academy from 1874 to 1882, since this post paid
well and allowed him time for his own language
studies as well.
In 1886, he became professor of Japanese and
philology at Tokyo Imperial University, specializing in
historical linguistics. He was among the first Westerners
to do serious advanced research on Japanese academic
subjects, and one of his advanced students at Tokyo
University, Ueda Kazutoshi (1867–1937), became a pio-
neer in developing modern Japanese lexicography and
the study of linguistics in Japan.
In addition to his work on standard Japanese,
Chamberlain studied the Japanese language variants
used in the Ryukyu Islands, as well as the Ainu
language, then still spoken widely in northern
Newman P & Ma R (1966). ‘Comparative Chadic: pho-
nology and lexicon.’ Journal of African Languages 5,
218–251.
Pawlak N (1994). Syntactic markers in Chadic: a study on
development of grammatical morphems [sic]. Warsaw:
Instytut Orientalistyczny, Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego.
Sachnine M (1982). Dictionnaire lamé-français. Lexique
français-lamé. Paris: SELAF.
Schuh R G (1981). A dictionary of Ngizim. University of
California Publications in Linguistics 99. Berkeley and
Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Schuh R G (1998). A grammar of Miya. University of
California Publications in Linguistics 130. Berkeley and
Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Stolbova O V (1996). Studies in Chadic comparative
phonology. Moscow: Diaphragma Publishers.
Wolff H E (1983). A Grammar of the Lamang language
(Gwa’d Lamang). Afrikanistische Forschungen, 10.
Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin.
Hokkaido. He began studying Korean in 1881 and
subsequently did comparative linguistic studies of
Japanese, Ryukyu dialect, Ainu, and Korean, initiat-
ing research carried on and developed by Hattori Shirō
and other Japanese linguists two generations later.
In 1880, Chamberlain began his research on the
Kojiki, the oldest Japanese history text written in
the Japanese language. In 1883 he published a trans-
lation, the Ko-ji-ki or records of ancient matters
(Chamberlain, 1982), with notes by William George
Aston (1841–1911), the Tokyo British embassy secre-
tary. Aston was a Japanese language specialist who
published a companion translation of the Nihon
shoki (1896), the oldest Japanese history text written
in classical Chinese. Chamberlain continued his
Kojiki research after leaving Japan, publishing his
final version in 1932. The next full English Kojiki
translation did not appear until 1969.
Though Chamberlain’s professional focus was on
classical literature and linguistic analysis, he also
wrote a series of popular books introducing Westerners
to Japanese language and culture. A handbook of
colloquial Japanese (1888) designed for use by lear-
ners at a basic level, was widely used for more than
half a century, until it was superseded by more
complete references in English after World War II.
Chamberlain’s Things Japanese (1890), one of the
few books available in this area then, was a popular
introduction to Japanese social life and customs and
is still in print today.
290 Chadic Languages
Jaggar P J & Wolff H E (2002). Chadic and Hausa linguis-
tics: the selected papers of Paul Newman with commen-
taries. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe.
Jungraithmayr H & Ibriszimow D (1994). Chadic
lexical roots, vol. 1: Tentative reconstruction, grading,
distribution and comments; vol. 2: Documentation.
Sprache und Oralität in Afrika, 20. Berlin: Dietrich
Reimer.
Jungraithmayr H, Galadima N A & Kleinewillinghöfer U
(1991). A dictionary of the Tangale language (Kaltungo,
northern Nigeria). Sprache und Oralität in Afrika, 12.
Berlin: Dietrich Reimer.
Newman P (2000). The Hausa language: an encyclopedic
reference grammar. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press.
Newman P (2003). ‘Chadic languages.’ In Frawley W J (ed.)
International Encyclopedia of Linguistics, 2nd ed., vol. 1.
Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
304–307.
Chamberlain, Basil Hall (1850–1935)
M McCaskey, Georgetown University, Washington,
DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Basil Hall Chamberlain (1850–1935) was born in
Southampton, England, but educated in France and
Switzerland. His family wanted him to become a
banker in London, but he went to Japan instead, on
the grounds that travel would be better for his health.
He arrived in Japan in 1873 to begin intensive study
of the Japanese language. In 1876, he became a lec-
turer in English language and literature at Tokyo
University. Having independent means, however, he
decided to resume his own studies a year later. He
resumed teaching English, at the Japanese Naval
Academy from 1874 to 1882, since this post paid
well and allowed him time for his own language
studies as well.
In 1886, he became professor of Japanese and
philology at Tokyo Imperial University, specializing in
historical linguistics. He was among the first Westerners
to do serious advanced research on Japanese academic
subjects, and one of his advanced students at Tokyo
University, Ueda Kazutoshi (1867–1937), became a pio-
neer in developing modern Japanese lexicography and
the study of linguistics in Japan.
In addition to his work on standard Japanese,
Chamberlain studied the Japanese language variants
used in the Ryukyu Islands, as well as the Ainu
language, then still spoken widely in northern
Newman P & Ma R (1966). ‘Comparative Chadic: pho-
nology and lexicon.’ Journal of African Languages 5,
218–251.
Pawlak N (1994). Syntactic markers in Chadic: a study on
development of grammatical morphems [sic]. Warsaw:
Instytut Orientalistyczny, Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego.
Sachnine M (1982). Dictionnaire lamé-français. Lexique
français-lamé. Paris: SELAF.
Schuh R G (1981). A dictionary of Ngizim. University of
California Publications in Linguistics 99. Berkeley and
Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Schuh R G (1998). A grammar of Miya. University of
California Publications in Linguistics 130. Berkeley and
Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Stolbova O V (1996). Studies in Chadic comparative
phonology. Moscow: Diaphragma Publishers.
Wolff H E (1983). A Grammar of the Lamang language
(Gwa’d Lamang). Afrikanistische Forschungen, 10.
Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin.
Hokkaido. He began studying Korean in 1881 and
subsequently did comparative linguistic studies of
Japanese, Ryukyu dialect, Ainu, and Korean, initiat-
ing research carried on and developed by Hattori Shirō
and other Japanese linguists two generations later.
In 1880, Chamberlain began his research on the
Kojiki, the oldest Japanese history text written in
the Japanese language. In 1883 he published a trans-
lation, the Ko-ji-ki or records of ancient matters
(Chamberlain, 1982), with notes by William George
Aston (1841–1911), the Tokyo British embassy secre-
tary. Aston was a Japanese language specialist who
published a companion translation of the Nihon
shoki (1896), the oldest Japanese history text written
in classical Chinese. Chamberlain continued his
Kojiki research after leaving Japan, publishing his
final version in 1932. The next full English Kojiki
translation did not appear until 1969.
Though Chamberlain’s professional focus was on
classical literature and linguistic analysis, he also
wrote a series of popular books introducing Westerners
to Japanese language and culture. A handbook of
colloquial Japanese (1888) designed for use by lear-
ners at a basic level, was widely used for more than
half a century, until it was superseded by more
complete references in English after World War II.
Chamberlain’s Things Japanese (1890), one of the
few books available in this area then, was a popular
introduction to Japanese social life and customs and
is still in print today.

He returned to Europe permanently in 1911, after
almost 40 years in Japan, and spent the remaining
two dozen years of his life in Switzerland. He contin-
ued to research and write about Japan and revise
his earlier works for definitive publication. He spent
time visiting his younger brother, the controversial
author Houston Stewart Chamberlain (1855–1927),
a prominent ultranationalist and activist in Germany
who later became a German citizen. Unlike Houston,
Basil spent his life immersed in studying the culture
of another country without losing a scholarly
perspective. The fact that Basil’s complete works
were republished in 2000 (Chamberlain, 2000) test-
ifies to the value of his contributions to the study of
Japanese language and culture.
Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832)
F S O’Rourke, Somerset County Library System,
Princess Anne, MD, USA
S C O’Rourke, Yale University, New Haven, CT, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Jean-François Champollion, born December 23,
1790, was an Orientalist most remembered for his
decipherment of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics such
as those found on the storied Rosetta Stone. Others,
including English physicist Thomas Young, had la-
bored for many years to reveal what the hieroglyphics
symbolized, but it was Champollion – with knowl-
edge of these foregoing efforts, his expertise in many
languages, and his research on the cartouches of the
pharaohs – who was the first to successfully unravel
the mystery, beginning late in 1821 and into 1822.
Champollion’s breakthrough furthered Young’s own
suspicions that some hieroglyphics had phonetic
values. His discoveries enabled scholars to accurately
translate hieroglyphic texts and were therefore cru-
cial to the current understanding of ancient Egyptian
civilization.
The Rosetta Stone, a dark granite stela bearing the
same text in three different scripts (Egyptian demotic,
Egyptian hieroglyphic, and Greek – the first two rep-
resenting a single language), was unearthed in 1799 at
a construction site near the town of el-Rashid, or
Rosetta, in the Nile River delta during Napoleon
Bonaparte’s ill-fated campaign in Egypt. It fell to the
English after the French were defeated in Egypt and
has been on exhibit at the British Museum in London
almost continuously since 1802.
Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832) 291
Bibliography
Chamberlain B H (1886). A simplified grammar of the
Japanese language. London: Trubner.
Chamberlain B H (1895). Essay in aid of a grammmar and
dictionary of the Luchuan language. Yokohama: Kelly &
Walsh.
Chamberlain B H (1907). A handbook of colloquial
Japanese. London: C. Lockwood & Son.
Chamberlain B H (1971). Japanese things (Previous editions
have title: Things Japanese). Rutland, VT: C. E. Tuttle Co.
Chamberlain B H (trans.). (1982). The Kojiki: records of
ancient matters. Rutland, VT: C. E. Tuttle Co.
Chamberlain B H (2000). Collected works of Basil Hall
Chamberlain: major works (8 vols). Tokyo: Edition
Synapse.
Ōta Y (1998). Basil Hall Chamberlain: portrait of a
Japanologist. Richmond, Surrey: Japan Library.
Born in Figeac, France, during the unrest of the
French Revolution, Champollion received virtually
no formal schooling at as early age, although he
taught himself to read and became well-versed in
Greek and Latin. In 1801 he was sent to Grenoble
to live with his older brother, Jacques-Joseph Cham-
pollion-Figeac, a great source of inspiration for
Champollion and a noted archaeologist and paleog-
rapher; Champollion became known as le jeune.
Champollion’s propensity for languages flourished
under the influence of his brother and Joseph Fourier,
a mathematician, physicist, and prominent member
of Napoleon’s mission in Egypt who first met
Champollion in 1802 while holding office in Grenoble.
Champollion eventually studied Arabic, Avestan,
Chinese, Coptic, Hebrew, Pahlavi, Persian, Sanskrit,
and Syriac, among other languages. In 1807, at
the age of 16, he addressed the Société des
Sciences et des Arts de Grenoble (later the Académie
delphinale) and soon afterwards, became its youngest
member. He continued to follow his conviction that
the more modern Coptic language would play an
important role in the decipherment of the ancient
Egyptian inscriptions. In 1809, after studying in Paris
for several years under such figures as Silvestre de
Sacy, Champollion was appointed to an academic
post in history in Grenoble. In the following year he
was named docteur ès lettres. He later fell victim to
the political hostilities at the onset of the Bourbon
Restoration and lost his position at Grenoble in
1816, although was given a chair in history and geog-
raphy there in 1818.

He returned to Europe permanently in 1911, after
almost 40 years in Japan, and spent the remaining
two dozen years of his life in Switzerland. He contin-
ued to research and write about Japan and revise
his earlier works for definitive publication. He spent
time visiting his younger brother, the controversial
author Houston Stewart Chamberlain (1855–1927),
a prominent ultranationalist and activist in Germany
who later became a German citizen. Unlike Houston,
Basil spent his life immersed in studying the culture
of another country without losing a scholarly
perspective. The fact that Basil’s complete works
were republished in 2000 (Chamberlain, 2000) test-
ifies to the value of his contributions to the study of
Japanese language and culture.
Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832)
F S O’Rourke, Somerset County Library System,
Princess Anne, MD, USA
S C O’Rourke, Yale University, New Haven, CT, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Jean-François Champollion, born December 23,
1790, was an Orientalist most remembered for his
decipherment of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics such
as those found on the storied Rosetta Stone. Others,
including English physicist Thomas Young, had la-
bored for many years to reveal what the hieroglyphics
symbolized, but it was Champollion – with knowl-
edge of these foregoing efforts, his expertise in many
languages, and his research on the cartouches of the
pharaohs – who was the first to successfully unravel
the mystery, beginning late in 1821 and into 1822.
Champollion’s breakthrough furthered Young’s own
suspicions that some hieroglyphics had phonetic
values. His discoveries enabled scholars to accurately
translate hieroglyphic texts and were therefore cru-
cial to the current understanding of ancient Egyptian
civilization.
The Rosetta Stone, a dark granite stela bearing the
same text in three different scripts (Egyptian demotic,
Egyptian hieroglyphic, and Greek – the first two rep-
resenting a single language), was unearthed in 1799 at
a construction site near the town of el-Rashid, or
Rosetta, in the Nile River delta during Napoleon
Bonaparte’s ill-fated campaign in Egypt. It fell to the
English after the French were defeated in Egypt and
has been on exhibit at the British Museum in London
almost continuously since 1802.
Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832) 291
Bibliography
Chamberlain B H (1886). A simplified grammar of the
Japanese language. London: Trubner.
Chamberlain B H (1895). Essay in aid of a grammmar and
dictionary of the Luchuan language. Yokohama: Kelly &
Walsh.
Chamberlain B H (1907). A handbook of colloquial
Japanese. London: C. Lockwood & Son.
Chamberlain B H (1971). Japanese things (Previous editions
have title: Things Japanese). Rutland, VT: C. E. Tuttle Co.
Chamberlain B H (trans.). (1982). The Kojiki: records of
ancient matters. Rutland, VT: C. E. Tuttle Co.
Chamberlain B H (2000). Collected works of Basil Hall
Chamberlain: major works (8 vols). Tokyo: Edition
Synapse.
Ōta Y (1998). Basil Hall Chamberlain: portrait of a
Japanologist. Richmond, Surrey: Japan Library.
Born in Figeac, France, during the unrest of the
French Revolution, Champollion received virtually
no formal schooling at as early age, although he
taught himself to read and became well-versed in
Greek and Latin. In 1801 he was sent to Grenoble
to live with his older brother, Jacques-Joseph Cham-
pollion-Figeac, a great source of inspiration for
Champollion and a noted archaeologist and paleog-
rapher; Champollion became known as le jeune.
Champollion’s propensity for languages flourished
under the influence of his brother and Joseph Fourier,
a mathematician, physicist, and prominent member
of Napoleon’s mission in Egypt who first met
Champollion in 1802 while holding office in Grenoble.
Champollion eventually studied Arabic, Avestan,
Chinese, Coptic, Hebrew, Pahlavi, Persian, Sanskrit,
and Syriac, among other languages. In 1807, at
the age of 16, he addressed the Société des
Sciences et des Arts de Grenoble (later the Académie
delphinale) and soon afterwards, became its youngest
member. He continued to follow his conviction that
the more modern Coptic language would play an
important role in the decipherment of the ancient
Egyptian inscriptions. In 1809, after studying in Paris
for several years under such figures as Silvestre de
Sacy, Champollion was appointed to an academic
post in history in Grenoble. In the following year he
was named docteur ès lettres. He later fell victim to
the political hostilities at the onset of the Bourbon
Restoration and lost his position at Grenoble in
1816, although was given a chair in history and geog-
raphy there in 1818.
292 Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832)
In 1822 Champollion stunned the academic world
with his celebrated Lettre à M. Dacier, in which he
announced his success in identifying the values of a
number of hieroglyphics from Egyptian texts. His
achievements came to the attention of the French
kings Louis XVIII and Charles X and Champollion
first reaped the rewards of royal favor when he was
sent on a tour of Italian museums to study their
collections of Egyptian antiquities. He was also hon-
ored in 1826 with an appointment as curator of the
soon-to-open Egyptian and Oriental collections at the
Louvre in Paris. Champollion continually refined his
analysis of the hieroglyphic system over the years and
by the end of his short life he had concluded that it
consisted of three types of elements: those with pho-
netic values (be they syllabic or purely alphabetic),
ideograms (figurative or symbolic in nature), and
determinatives (providing information as to semantic
sense and pronunciation). Others before him had
failed to realize that the system was complex as such.
Champollion’s work on the hieroglyphic system also
clarified the relation between it and two descendent
scripts of ancient Egypt, demotic and hieratic.
Champollion mounted a joint expedition to Egypt
in 1828 with his Italian colleague Ippolito Rosellini,
during which Champollion conducted the first sys-
tematic survey of the monuments and hieroglyphic
inscriptions found there. Although criticized by
some for removing such inscriptions, many of which
would later appear in museums abroad, others feel
that in doing so, Champollion and others may have
saved them from destruction. In 1830 he was elected
to the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres; the
following year the Collège Royal (later Collège de
France) in Paris established a chair in archaeology for
him. He died after a series of strokes on March 4, 1832
at the age of 41. Many of his manuscripts, including
his Egyptian dictionary and grammar, were published
posthumously by his brother and others.
Champollion is widely considered the father of
the modern discipline of Egyptology. For his sheer
brilliance, professional accomplishments, and devo-
tion to all aspects of the field, Champollion was often
referred to as the Egyptian.
See also: Afroasiatic Languages; Ancient Egyptian and
Coptic; Decipherment; Egypt: Scripts, Ancient; Lepsius,
Carl Richard (1810–1884); Scripts, Undeciphered; Young,
Thomas (1773–1829).
Bibliography
Adkins L & Adkins R (2000). The keys of Egypt: the race to
read the hieroglyphs. London: HarperCollins Publishers.
Bresciani E (ed.) (1978). Lettres à Zelmire/Jean-François
Champollion: présentées par Edda Bresciani. Paris:
L’Asiathèque.
Champollion J-F (1814). L’Égypte sous les pharaons, ou
recherches sur la géographie, la réligion, la langue, les
écritures et l’histoire de l’Égypte avant l’invasion de
Cambyse/par M. Champollion le jeune (2 vols). Paris:
Chez de Bure frères.
Champollion J-F (1824–1826). Lettres à M. le duc de Bla-
cas d’Aulps . . . relatives au Musée royal égyptien de Turin
(2 vols in 1). Paris: Firmin Didot.
Champollion J-F (1827). Notice descriptive des
monumens égyptiens du Musée Charles X / par M.
Champollion le jeune, conservateur des antiques du
Musée royal du Louvre (seconde division). Paris: Impr.
du Crapelet.
Champollion J-F (1827–1828). Précis du système hiérogly-
phique des anciens Égyptiens . . . [2nd rev. ed.] (2 vols).
Paris: Imprimerie royale.
Champollion J-F (1922). Lettre à M. Dacier. . . relative à
l’alphabet des hiéroglyphes phonétiques . . . . Paris: P.
Geuthner.
Champollion J-F (1970–1971). Monuments de l’Égypte
et de la Nubie (4 vols in 1). Genève: Éditions de Belles-
Lettres.
Champollion J-F (1973–1974). Notices descriptives/Jean-
François Champollion (2 vols in 5). Genève: Éditions de
Belles-Lettres.
Champollion J-F (1984). Principes généraux de l’écriture
sacrée égyptienne appliquée à la représentation de la
langue parlée. Paris: Institut d’Orient.
Champollion J-F (1997). Grammaire égyptienne. Arles:
Actes Sud, Solin.
Champollion J-F (2000). Dictionnaire égyptien/Jean-
François Champollion. Arles: Solin-Actes Sud.
Champollion-Figeac J-J (ed.) (1844–1889). Monuments de
l’Égypte et de la Nubie. Notices descriptives conformes
aux manuscrits autographes rédigés sur les lieux (2 vols in
3). Paris: Firmin Didot frères.
Chassagnard G (2001). Les frères Champollion: de Figeac
aux hiéroglyphes. Figeac, France: Segnat éditions.
Dewachter M (1990). Champollion: un scribe pour
l’Égypte. Paris: Gallimard.
Dewachter M & Fouchard A (eds.) (1994). L’égyptologie
et les Champollion. Grenoble: Presses universitaires de
Grenoble.
Faure A (2004). Champollion: le savant déchiffré. Paris:
Fayard.
Hartleben H (1983). Champollion, sa vie et son oeuvre,
1790–1832/Hermine Hartleben: présentation de Chris-
tiane Desroches Noblecourt, traduction et documenta-
tion de Denise Meunier selon l’adaptation du texte
allemande de Ruth Schumann Antelme. Paris: Pygma-
lion/Gérard Watelet.
Jacq C (1988). Sur les pas de Champollion: l’Égypte des
hiéroglyphes. Paris: Éditions M. Trinckvel.
Jacq C (ed.) (1998). Textes fondamentaux sur l’Égypte
ancienne. Paris: La Maison de vie.

Lacouture J (1988). Champollion, une vie de lumières.
Paris: B. Grasset.
Lunel A (1990). Le rêve inachevé: chronique historique:
Jean-François Champollion d’après les écrits de son
frère, J-J Champollion-Figeac/racontée par Alain Lunel.
Paris: Intertextes.
Channel Islands: Language Situation
M C Jones, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Channel Islands (see Figure 1) constitute a small
archipelago off the west coast of the Cotentin penin-
sula of Normandy. The eight islands, in descending
order of size, are Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Sark,
Herm, Jethou, Lihou, and Brecqhou. The precise
date of the Roman occupation of the islands and
hence of the introduction of Latin is unknown but it
can be assumed that Latin and, later, some form
of Romance speech have been spoken there for
approximately two millennia. Despite the fact that
the archipelago was separated from the Duchy of
Normandy in 1204 and has, from that time on,
formed part of the British Isles (although the islands
are self-governing: Jersey forms its own bailiwick and
the other islands form the bailiwick of Guernsey),
until relatively recently the majority of the inhabi-
tants spoke Norman French dialects closely related
to those of the neighboring mainland.
Figure 1 The Channel Islands.
Channel Islands: Language Situation 293
Parkinson R B (1999). Cracking codes: the Rosetta
Stone and decipherment. London: British Museum
Press/Berkeley: University of California Press.
Vaillant P (ed.) (1984). Jean-François Champollion, lettres
à son frère, 1804–1818. Paris: L’Asiathèque.
English was introduced to the islands in the Middle
Ages, when garrisons were established there, but the
local dialects remained as the everyday variety of the
majority of the Islanders until well into the nineteenth
century, when the growth of trade and tourism led to
progressive Anglicization. The evacuation of many
of the inhabitants to the British mainland in the
days preceding the German occupation of the islands
during the Second World War had severe linguistic
repercussions. Alderney, where the local dialect (Aur-
egnais) was already moribund, was totally evacuated
and the dialect is now extinct. Since the standard
language of all the Channel Islands has been French
and never the indigenous dialects, their presence in
‘official’ domains has been virtually nonexistent.
Standard French (and now English) has been the lan-
guage of religion and legislation and English has al-
ways been dominant in the education system. Today,
Standard French is reserved largely for ceremonial
functions.
Official statistics for speakers of the local dialects
have been gathered twice for Jersey (in the 1989 and
2001 censuses) and once for Guernsey (in the 2001
census). A comparison of the Jersey results from the
two censuses provides us with a clear indication of
the decline of the dialect in recent years. In 1989,
there were 5720 speakers of Jersey French (Jèrriais),
representing 6.9% of the total resident population. By
2001, this had gone down to 2874 speakers, or 3.2%
of the total resident population, with some two-thirds
of these speakers aged over 60. The 2001 census also
recorded that only 113 speakers declared Jèrriais to
be their usual everyday language. On Guernsey, the
number of people able to speak Guernsey French
(Guernesiais) fluently in 2001 was 1327, or 2.2% of
the total resident population, with nearly 70% of
these speakers aged over 64. No such information
has been gathered for Sark, although it is estimated
that fewer than 20 out of the 600 permanent inhabi-
tants can speak Sark French (Sercquiais).
Despite their linguistic affinity with mainland Nor-
man, the dialects of the Channel Islands show salient
differences from the mainland varieties – and from

Lacouture J (1988). Champollion, une vie de lumières.
Paris: B. Grasset.
Lunel A (1990). Le rêve inachevé: chronique historique:
Jean-François Champollion d’après les écrits de son
frère, J-J Champollion-Figeac/racontée par Alain Lunel.
Paris: Intertextes.
Channel Islands: Language Situation
M C Jones, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Channel Islands (see Figure 1) constitute a small
archipelago off the west coast of the Cotentin penin-
sula of Normandy. The eight islands, in descending
order of size, are Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Sark,
Herm, Jethou, Lihou, and Brecqhou. The precise
date of the Roman occupation of the islands and
hence of the introduction of Latin is unknown but it
can be assumed that Latin and, later, some form
of Romance speech have been spoken there for
approximately two millennia. Despite the fact that
the archipelago was separated from the Duchy of
Normandy in 1204 and has, from that time on,
formed part of the British Isles (although the islands
are self-governing: Jersey forms its own bailiwick and
the other islands form the bailiwick of Guernsey),
until relatively recently the majority of the inhabi-
tants spoke Norman French dialects closely related
to those of the neighboring mainland.
Figure 1 The Channel Islands.
Channel Islands: Language Situation 293
Parkinson R B (1999). Cracking codes: the Rosetta
Stone and decipherment. London: British Museum
Press/Berkeley: University of California Press.
Vaillant P (ed.) (1984). Jean-François Champollion, lettres
à son frère, 1804–1818. Paris: L’Asiathèque.
English was introduced to the islands in the Middle
Ages, when garrisons were established there, but the
local dialects remained as the everyday variety of the
majority of the Islanders until well into the nineteenth
century, when the growth of trade and tourism led to
progressive Anglicization. The evacuation of many
of the inhabitants to the British mainland in the
days preceding the German occupation of the islands
during the Second World War had severe linguistic
repercussions. Alderney, where the local dialect (Aur-
egnais) was already moribund, was totally evacuated
and the dialect is now extinct. Since the standard
language of all the Channel Islands has been French
and never the indigenous dialects, their presence in
‘official’ domains has been virtually nonexistent.
Standard French (and now English) has been the lan-
guage of religion and legislation and English has al-
ways been dominant in the education system. Today,
Standard French is reserved largely for ceremonial
functions.
Official statistics for speakers of the local dialects
have been gathered twice for Jersey (in the 1989 and
2001 censuses) and once for Guernsey (in the 2001
census). A comparison of the Jersey results from the
two censuses provides us with a clear indication of
the decline of the dialect in recent years. In 1989,
there were 5720 speakers of Jersey French (Jèrriais),
representing 6.9% of the total resident population. By
2001, this had gone down to 2874 speakers, or 3.2%
of the total resident population, with some two-thirds
of these speakers aged over 60. The 2001 census also
recorded that only 113 speakers declared Jèrriais to
be their usual everyday language. On Guernsey, the
number of people able to speak Guernsey French
(Guernesiais) fluently in 2001 was 1327, or 2.2% of
the total resident population, with nearly 70% of
these speakers aged over 64. No such information
has been gathered for Sark, although it is estimated
that fewer than 20 out of the 600 permanent inhabi-
tants can speak Sark French (Sercquiais).
Despite their linguistic affinity with mainland Nor-
man, the dialects of the Channel Islands show salient
differences from the mainland varieties – and from
294 Channel Islands: Language Situation
each other. The dialects spoken in Jersey and Guernsey
also display considerable regional variation.
An embryonic language support campaign current-
ly exists on Jersey (where the dialect has recently been
standardized), including limited teaching of Jèrriais
in school (from September 1999). Since January
2004, Guernesiais has been taught to children of
infant school age in three of Guernsey’s primary
schools. There is nothing comparable in Sark.
The dialects have left a substrate imprint on the
distinctive variety of English spoken in the Channel
Islands. However, with increasing immigration from
the UK, this variety is not as widespread as it once
was.
A limited amount of literary output has been pro-
duced in the local dialects of Jersey and Guernsey.
See also: Jèrriais.
Bibliography
Barbé P (1995). ‘Guernsey English: my mother tongue.’
Report and Transactions of La Société Guernésiaise 23/
4, 700–723.
Birt P (1985). Lé Jèrriais pour tous. A complete course on
the Jersey language. Jersey: Don Balleine.
Brasseur P (1978a). ‘Les principales caractéristiques phoné-
tiques des parlers normands de Jersey, Sercq, Guernesey
et Magneville (canton de Bricquebec, Manche). Première
partie.’ Annales de Normandie 25/1, 49–64.
Brasseur P (1978b). ‘Les principales caractéristiques phoné-
tiques des parlers normands de Jersey, Sercq, Guernesey
et Magneville (canton de Bricquebec, Manche). Deux-
ième partie.’ Annales de Normandie 25/3, 275–306.
Brasseur P (1998). ‘La survie du dialecte normand
et du français dans les ı̂les anglo-normandes: remarques
sociolinguistiques.’ Plurilinguismes 15, 133–170.
De Garis M (1982). Dictiounnaire Angllais-Guernésiais
(3rd edn.). Chichester: Phillimore.
De Garis M (1983). ‘Guernésiais: a grammatical survey.’
Report and Transactions of La Société Guernésiaise 21,
319–353.
Emanuelli F (1907–1908). ‘Le parler populaire de l’ı̂le
anglo-normande d’Aurigny.’ Revue de Philologie
Française 20/1, 136–142.
Jones M C (2000). ‘The subjunctive in Guernsey
Norman French.’ Journal of French Language Studies
10/2, 177–203.
Jones M C (2001). Jersey Norman French: a linguistic study
of an obsolescent dialect. Oxford: Blackwell.
Jones M C (2002). ‘Mette a haout dauve la grippe des
Angllaı̈s: convergence on the island of Guernsey.’ In
Jones M C & Esch E (eds.) Contributions to the sociology
of language 86: Language change: the interplay of inter-
nal, external and extra-linguistic factors. Berlin/New
York: Mouton de Gruyter. 143–168.
Jones M C (in press). ‘French in the Channel Islands.’ In
Britain D (ed.) Language in the British Isles (2nd edn.).
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.
Jones M C & Price G (in press). ‘Channel Islands French.’ In
Ammon U & Haarmann H (eds.) Wieser Sprachenenzyk-
lopädie Westeuropa.
Joret C (1883). Des caractères et de l’extension du patois
normand. Paris: Vieweg.
Le Maistre F (1949). ‘Le normand dans les ı̂les anglo-
normandes.’ Le Français moderne 17, 211–18.
Le Maistre F (1966). Dictionnaire Jersiais-Français. Jersey:
Don Balleine.
Le Maistre F (1982). The language of Auregny: la langue
normande d’Auregny. Jersey: Don Balleine, and Alderney:
Alderney Society and Museum.
Lebarbenchon R J (n. d.). La Grève de Lecq. Littératures et
cultures populaires de Normandie 1: Guernesey et Jersey.
Cherbourg: Isoète.
Lemprière R (1974). History of the Channel Islands.
London: Robert Hale.
Lepelley R (1999). La Normandie dialectale. Petite ency-
clopédie des langages et mots régionaux de la province de
Normandie et des Iles anglo-normandes. Université de
Caen: Office Universitaire d’Etudes Normandes.
Liddicoat A J (1989). ‘A brief survey of the dialect of Sark.’
Report and Transactions of La Société Guernésiaise 22/4,
689–704.
Liddicoat A J (1994). A grammar of the Norman French of
the Channel Islands: the dialects of Jersey and Sark.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Métivier G (1831). Rimes guernesiais. Guernesey: Thomas-
Mauger and London: Simpkins, Marshall.
Mourant A (1865). Rimes et poésies jersiais. Jersey: Touzel-
Falle.
Ramisch H (1989). The variation of English in Guernsey,
Channel Islands. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang.
Sjögren A (1964). Les parlers bas-normands de l’ı̂le
de Guernesey. I Lexique français-guernésiais. Paris:
Klincksieck.
Spence N C W (2003). ‘Parlers jersiais et parlers
bas-normands.’ Revue de Linguistique Romane 67,
159–177.
Tomlinson H (1981). ‘Le guernesiais: étude grammaticale
et lexicale du parler normand de l’ı̂le de Guernesey.’
Ph. D. diss., University of Edinburgh.
Uttley J (1966). The story of the Channel Islands. London:
Faber & Faber.
Viereck W (1988). ‘The Channel Islands: an anglicist’s no
man’s land.’ In Klegraf J & Nehls D (eds.) Essays on the
English language and applied linguistics on the occasion
of Gerhard Nickel’s 60th birthday. Heidelberg: Julius
Groos. 468–478.

Chao Yuen Ren (1892–1982)
R J LaPolla, La Trobe University, Bundoora, Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Y. R. Chao is easily the most famous linguist to have
come out of China. Born before the end of the last
dynasty in China, he received a traditional Confucian
education, but was also one of the first Chinese peo-
ple to be sent to the West for training in modern
Western science (under the Boxer Indemnity Fund).
The remarkable breadth and scope of his studies in-
cluded physics, mathematics, linguistics, musical and
literary composition, and translation, and he was a
pioneer in many of these fields. Chao received a B.A.
in mathematics from Cornell University in 1914,
and a Ph.D. in philosophy from Harvard in 1918,
but began his career teaching physics at Cornell and
Harvard. He returned to China in 1920 to take a
position at Tsing Hua University; there he acted as
interpreter for Bertrand Russell, Dora Black, and
John Dewey. He was involved in the vernacular
literature movement, in 1922 translating Alice in
Wonderland into vernacular Chinese, and also in the
national language and standardization movement.
He developed the system of National Romanization
that was adopted by the government and was one
of the key members of the group that created the
national language, with his voice being the one on
the recordings of the new national and standard lan-
guage. In the late 1920s, when the Academia Sinica
was founded, he became the head of the linguistics
section of the Institute of History and Philology.
There he organized teams to go to the field to system-
atically record the different Chinese dialects, and
published his Studies of the modern Wu dialects, the
earliest descriptive work of its kind in China. It was
also in those years that he wrote his famous article
‘On the non-uniqueness of phonemic solutions of
phonetic systems.’ During the war years he was back
in the U.S., in Hawaii, then Yale and Harvard. He
was recruited to lead the U.S. Army Chinese language
program at Harvard, where he wrote his Cantonese
primer (1947) and Concise dictionary of spoken
Chinese (1946). These publications also led to his
Mandarin primer (1961), Readings in sayable Chinese
(1968), and Grammar of spoken Chinese (1968), still
the best grammar of Mandarin Chinese available. It
is an amazing piece of scholarship not only for its
incredible thoroughness, but also because of his
Chao Yuen Ren (1892–1982) 295
insightful inductive analysis, taking Chinese on its
own terms (in fine structuralist tradition) rather than
trying to force it into any preconceived categories.
In 1947 he was on his way back to China, but
stopped off at the University of California at Berkeley,
where he was offered a position, in which he
remained until he retired in 1960, becoming Agassiz
Professor of Oriental Languages and Literatures in
1952. His contributions were also recognized by
his election to president of the Linguistic Society of
America in 1945 and president of the American
Oriental Society in 1960. Among his well-known stu-
dents are Wang Li (see Wang Li (1900–1986)), Kun
Chang (who replaced Chao at Berkeley upon
his retirement), and Jerry Norman.
See also: Chinese; Phoneme; Wang Li (1900–1986).
Bibliography
Chao B Y (1999). Za ji Zhao jia (Notes on the Chao
family). Beijing: Zhongguo Wenlian Chubanshe.
Chao Y R (1928). Xiandai Wuyu yanjiu (Studies of the
modern Wu dialects). Peking: Tsing Hua College
Research Institute, Monograph No. 4.
Chao Y R (1934). ‘On the non-uniqueness of phonemic
solutions of phonetic systems.’ Bulletin of the Institute
of History and Philology, Academia Sinica 4, 363–397.
Chao Y R (1961). Mandarin primer. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. [Originally published 1956.]
Chao Y R (1968). A grammar of spoken Chinese. Berkeley
& Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Chao Y R (1968). Language and symbolic systems.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Chao Y R (1976). Aspects of Chinese sociolinguistics: essays
by Yuen Ren Chao. Dil A S (ed.) Stanford: Stanford
University Press.
Chao Y R (1977). Yuen Ren Chao: Chinese linguist, pho-
nologist, composer, and author. [Oral history based on
interviews by Rosemary Levenson.] Berkeley: Regional
Oral History Office, Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley.
Su J (1999). Zhao Yuanren xueshu sixiang pingzhuan
(Critical summary of Yuen Ren Chao’s ideas). Beijing:
Beijing Tushuguan Chubanshe.
Zhang S (1999). Yao yao chang lu: Zhao Yuanren (A long
road: Yuen Ren Chao). Hong Kong: Zhonghua Shuju
Youxian Gongsi. [Biography of Y. R. Chao.]
Zhao X & Huang P (eds.) (1998). Zhao Yuanren nian pu
(Chronology of the life of Yuen Ren Chao). Beijing:
Shangwu Yinshuguan.
296 Character Sets
Character Sets
J H Jenkins, Apple Computer, Inc.,
Cupertino, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Everything is a number to a computer, and so, in
order to represent text, it is necessary to create a
numerical representation for it. The most common
technique for doing so is to assign numbers to in-
dividual characters in a writing system; the term
‘character set’ is used to refer to such a mapping.
More specifically, everything is a binary number of
a fixed size to a computer. A single binary digit is
referred to as a bit. Because the binary representation
of a number is difficult for humans to use, computer
scientists usually use base 8 (octal) or base 16 (hexa-
decimal) numbers. In octal numerals, only the digits 0
through 7 are required; hexadecimal uses 0 through 9
and A through F as digits. When it is unclear which
base is being used, octal numerals are written with a
leading 0, and hexadecimal numerals with a leading 0x.
The smallest-size number a computer can readily
manipulate is called a byte. Earlier systems used
bytes that varied in size from computer to computer;
today, an eight-bit byte or octet is standard. Bytes
are the basis of data interchange between different
computers.
We can therefore say that a character set is a
mapping between a set of text elements such as char-
acters to a series of bytes. Conceptually, this process
can be broken down into stages (see Figure 1):
1. the abstract character repertoire, which is the col-
lection of characters to be encoded;
2. the coded character set, which maps the elements
of an abstract character repertoire to a set of non-
negative integers;
3. the character encoding form, which maps the ele-
ments of a coded character set to code units of a
specific size; and
4. the character encoding scheme, which maps code
units from one or more character encoding forms
to an actual sequence of bytes.
History
The first efforts to create numerical encodings for text
date from the 19th century with the advent of teleg-
raphy. As the technology advanced and developed, so
did increasingly sophisticated techniques to coordi-
nate the transmission of textual information via
numerical or other codes and the technology used
for transmission. This dovetailed with the pioneering
work in computers to create the first computer
character sets.
The most direct descendant of the telegraphy codes
is EBCDIC (Extended Binary Coded Decimal Inter-
change Code), used in IBM mainframe computers
from the early 1960s onwards. Its chief rival was the
American Code for Standard Information Inter-
change (ASCII), developed at about the same time
by what is now the American National Standards
Institute (ANSI). ASCII has proven far more popular
and influential; use of EBCDIC has been restrict-
ed largely to IBM mainframes and closely related
systems.
ASCII represents characters using units of seven
bits, which provides for a set of 27 ¼ 128 characters.
The first 32 and last one are used for control codes –
numbers that do not represent text but are used to
give instructions to the machines displaying or print-
ing it. (Character 0x08, for example, was frequently
used to instruct a terminal to ring its bell.) The
remaining 95 are the characters for display. In its
current form, ASCII includes the upper- and lower-
case letters of the Latin alphabet as used for English,
the numerals 0 through 9, basic punctuation, and
some accents. The accents were used for non-English
languages. A French ‘é’ would be represented by
instructing the terminal to type ‘e’, physically move
backwards one place, and then type the accent.
ASCII is sufficient for use with standard modern
English as typed on typewriters, but not for anything
else. Nor is it actually sufficient even for English
typesetting, as it is missing important symbols such
as em and en dashes.
On systems based on the eight-bit byte, the use of
ASCII seems wasteful, since that eighth bit is unused.
Originally it was intended that the extra bit should
be used as a parity bit as a redundancy check. By the
1980s, however, eight-bit extensions to ASCII had
become common. The first 128 characters, 0x00
through 0x0F, were as in ASCII, and the remaining
128 were used for extensions such as dingbats
or additional letters. Most notable of the eight-bit
character sets are MacRoman, developed by Apple
Computer for use on its Macintosh computers, and
the ISO 8859 series of standards developed by the
International Organization for Standardization.
Eight-bit character sets are inadequate for lan-
guages requiring more than 256 characters. Exten-
sions were developed, therefore, for use in East Asia.
The most common are referred to as double-byte
character sets. In these character sets, the bytes
0x00 through 0x7F are used as ASCII. Bytes 0x80
through 0xFF are available to signal the start of

Figure 1 Stages in the character-encoding process.
two-byte units. The Latin letter ‘A’ would therefore
be represented by the single byte 0x41, and the Chi-
nese character by the two-byte sequence 0xA4AB.
Such techniques provide enough room for the daily
needs of modern East Asian languages.
By 1990, there were dozens of character sets in com-
mon use, with varying repertoires and architectures.
This created problems for software companies, whose
products were originally written with ASCII or one
of its eight-bit extensions in mind. Getting software to
work with multiple character sets was a long and ex-
pensive process. This led to the desire for a universal
character set, adequate for the representation of all
languages.
Two efforts to produce a universal character set
converged in the early 1990s. One is known as ISO/
IEC 10646, produced by the international standardi-
zation community. The other is Unicode, produced
by the Unicode Consortium, an industry consortium
consisting largely (but not entirely) of companies
headquartered in the United States. The convergence
of the two character sets means that the terms ‘Uni-
code’ and ‘ISO/IEC 10646’ can be used almost inter-
changeably in most circumstances. We will generally
use the term ‘Unicode’, as Unicode is formally an im-
plementation of ISO/IEC 10646 with additional
specifications.
The existence of a universal character set has pro-
ven vital in the rise of the Internet. So long as docu-
ments are created and printed on a single computer, it
doesn’t make much difference which character set is
used. When a user in Nome, Alaska is using his Win-
dows system to access a Japanese Web page hosted by
a computer in Calcutta running Linux, however, it
becomes important to make sure that both systems
can handle the same character set. And when that
computer in Calcutta is used to host the records of
a multinational corporation requiring support for
English, French, Chinese, Japanese, Hindi, and Thai,
it becomes even more important to avoid the account-
ing headache of dealing with multiple character sets.
By the turn of the 21st century, Unicode and ISO/IEC
10646 had become the focus of all efforts to extend the
computer representation of human languages. They are
also increasingly supported by modern operating
systems and software.
Character Sets 297
Characteristics of Unicode
Unicode was originally based on a simple 16-bit ar-
chitecture: there were 216 ¼ 65 536 code points avail-
able from 0x0000 through 0xFFFF. The first 128 code
points are identical with ASCII; indeed, the first 256
code points are identical with the popular eight-bit
standard, ISO 8859-1. The remaining space included
characters of well over a dozen other scripts ranging
from Greek to Thai. Numerals and punctuation
marks were included, together with mathematical
symbols and popular dingbats.
It soon became clear that this was insufficient room
for the full set of characters people actually wanted to
use. Sixteen additional planes each of 65 536 code
points each were added and multiple encoding forms
created, as described below, to accommodate them.
The number assigned a character is referred to as its
Unicode scalar value (USV), and is usually written as
‘U þ ’ followed by four or more hexadecimal digits.
Each character is also assigned a name. The Latin
letter ‘A’ has U þ 0041 for its USV and is named
LATIN CAPITAL LETTER A. In addition to stand-
alone characters, Unicode includes a number of com-
bining marks. These are included to allow support
for on-the-fly generation of new accented forms. This
makes it unnecessary to actually catalogue every
accented Latin letter, for example, before it can be
represent on computers.
Several thousand code points are reserved for pri-
vate use; that is, the standard does not define what
they are to represent but leaves that to private agree-
ments between different users. This allows users to
interchange data using unencoded characters or char-
acters inappropriate for encoding, such as corporate
logos.
One of the most controversial aspects of Unicode is
its inclusion of a unified set of ideographs for all of
East Asia: Chinese (both its simplified and traditional
forms), Japanese, and Korean. (Unicode and ISO/IEC
10646 use the linguistically incorrect term ‘ideo-
graph’ for historical reasons. The authors of both
standards are aware that other terms better describe
the function of these characters in the languages that
use them.) The process of producing a single set of
characters for East Asian languages is referred to as
298 Character Sets
Figure 2 Han unification.
Han unification (see Figure 2). Because individual
characters are often written in visually distinct ways
in different parts of East Asia, there was some con-
cern that this would force, for example, a Japanese
user to see their name written with culturally inap-
propriate Chinese glyphs; and because the Unicode
Consortium itself and the bulk of its officers are
American, it was also felt that Americans were being
insensitive to the needs of people in East Asia.
Both fears proved to be overstated. In point of fact,
most Japanese users use systems with fonts designed
specifically for Japanese and only rarely are con-
fronted by Japanese text written using Chinese
glyphs. Even where they are, the glyphs they see
would generally be perfectly acceptable, or, at most,
about as odd-looking as the spelling ‘colour’ is to an
American or ‘color’ to a Briton. The actual work of
Han unification, moreover, has been done by an in-
ternational group. This group, now called the Ideo-
graphic Rapporteur Group or IRG, currently has
delegations representing the People’s Republic of
China (PRC), the Special Administrative Regions of
Hong Kong and Macao, Taiwan, North and South
Korea, Japan, Vietnam, Singapore, and the United
States, with a liaison representing the Unicode Con-
sortium. The current head of the IRG is Dr Lu Qin of
Hong Kong Polytechnic University, and its remaining
officers are all from the PRC.
The issue of Han unification serves to illustrate a
fundamental distinction made by Unicode and ISO/
IEC 10646, that between character and glyph.
A character is a unit of meaning in a writing system,
while a glyph is what one actually sees on the page or
on the screen. Thus ‘a’, ‘b’, and ‘c’ are different char-
acters, while ‘a’ and ‘a’ are different glyphs for the
same character (see Figure 3).
The distinction is an important one. Characters are
the fundamental units where meaning is concerned,
and are what are used in processes such as searching,
sorting, pattern matching, or text to speech. They are
insufficient for more visually oriented processes such
as printing or optical character recognition. Scripts
such as Arabic, for example, make extensive use of
contextual forms, where a letter changes its shape
depending on its position in a word. If each of the
different forms for each letter were separately
encoded, not only would that make text input and
Figure 3 Characters and glyphs.
Figure 4 Unicode encoding forms.
spelling checking more complex, it would also lock
the visual representation of Arabic into one calli-
graphic style. By separating the encoding of the char-
acters from the drawing of the glyphs, it’s possible for
the same text to have substantially different appear-
ances, depending on additional information such as
font and point size.
Unicode is thus aimed at plain text rendering;
its goal is minimal legibility – the minimum amount
of information needed to guarantee legibility. Pure
Unicode should be legible to users regardless of the
details of the rendering process.
Unicode defines three character encoding forms,
named after the size of the code unit they use:
UTF-8, UTF-16, and UTF-32 (see Figure 4). (‘UTF’
can be taken to stand either for ‘universal transfor-
mation format’ or ‘Unicode transformation format.’)
In UTF-8, each character is represented by one to four
bytes. The 128 characters from ASCII are, in fact,
represented by the same bytes as they are for ASCII
itself. This is an enormous advantage for software
originally written for ASCII or other character sets
sharing its basic architecture. UTF-16 corresponds
to the original definition of Unicode. Characters
U þ 0000 through U þ D7FF and U þ E000 through
U þ FFFF are represented by one 16-bit unit. Characters
above U þ FFFF are represented by two 16-bit units,
using a combination of two units in the ranges 0xD800
through 0xDFFF. (The scalar values U þ D800 through
U þ DFFF are therefore not used for character encod-
ing.) In UTF-32, each character is represented by its
Unicode scalar value, padded to 32 bits.
Finally, Unicode defines five character-encoding
schemes based on these three encoding forms. These
are necessitated because computers vary in how they
combine two bytes into one 16-bit unit.
The Future
Unicode and ISO/IEC 10646 can be considered to
have rightfully won their title of the universal

character set. Although other character sets continue
in use, all work on computer representation of text is
now done either in Unicode or in a fashion compati-
ble with it. All major operating systems are being
written around Unicode, and most software in devel-
opment supports it.
Major issues still remain. One is the distinction
between character and glyph. Although in most
cases, the line between the two is clear, in some it is
not. Many of the ideographs being considered for
encoding by the IRG, for example, are so obscure
that even the experts are not sure which ones are
distinct characters. In scripts that are yet to be fully
deciphered, such as the Indus Valley script, there is
the same problem.
Another issue is diachronicity. With a few excep-
tions, the scripts encoded in Unicode are modern
scripts in current use, which means that the reper-
toires are relatively well defined, as are the ranges of
acceptable glyphs for the characters. When an effort
is made to represent a script in use over the course of
centuries or millennia, things are not always clear cut.
Oracle-bone Chinese is not fully understood, for ex-
ample, and it’s unclear how to coordinate it with
modern Chinese.
And there is also the issue of scripts that do not
follow the linear approach to layout common to
all modern writing systems. Unicode has already
Character versus Content
C Spencer, Howard University, Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
David Kaplan introduced the content/character dis-
tinction in his monograph Demonstratives (1989a) to
distinguish between two aspects of the meaning of
(1) indexical and demonstrative pronouns (e.g., ‘I’,
‘here,’ ‘now,’ ‘this,’ and ‘that’) and (2) sentences con-
taining them. Roughly, the content of an occurrence
of an indexical or demonstrative is the individual to
which it refers, and its character is the rule that deter-
mines its referent as a function of context. Thus, an
indexical has different contents in different contexts,
but its character is the same in all contexts. For in-
stance, the character of ‘I’ is the rule, or function, that
maps a context of utterance to the speaker of that
context. This function determines that the content of
Sally’s utterance of ‘I’ is Sally.
Character versus Content 299
expressly disavowed any intention of fully encoding
music or mathematics because they are so two-dimen-
sional in layout. Egyptian hieroglyphics, however, are
a written representation of human language and
should be encoded, although the details are far from
clear.
But in the meantime, computer technology has ad-
vanced considerably in its ability to represent human
languages, over the course of just the past decade.
Prior to 1990, it would have been unthinkable to
exchange data in virtually any human language virtu-
ally anywhere in the world. That, however, is now
becoming a reality.
See also: Asia, Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Modern Semit-
ic; China: Writing System; Digital Fonts and Typography;
Japan: Writing System.
Bibliography
Gillam R (2003). Unicode demystified: a practical
programmer’s guide to the encoding standard. Boston:
Addison-Wesley.
Graham T (2000). Unicode: a primer. Foster City, CA:
M & T Books.
Lunde K (1999). CJKV information processing. Beijing:
O’Reilly & Associates.
Content/Character Distinction and
Semantics
Sentences containing indexicals or demonstratives are
context-dependent in two ways. First, contexts help
to determine what these sentences say. Second, con-
texts determine whether what is said is true or false.
For instance, suppose Sally says, ‘I’m cold now’ at
time t. The context supplies Sally as the referent for
‘I’ and time t as the referent for ‘now,’ so it helps to
determine what Sally said. Other facts about the con-
text, specifically whether Sally is cold at time t, deter-
mine whether she said something true or false.
Different contexts can play these different roles, as
they do when we ask whether what Sally said in one
context would be true in a slightly different context.
A central virtue of Kaplan’s semantics is that it
distinguishes between these two roles of context.
For Kaplan, a context of use plays the first role, of

character set. Although other character sets continue
in use, all work on computer representation of text is
now done either in Unicode or in a fashion compati-
ble with it. All major operating systems are being
written around Unicode, and most software in devel-
opment supports it.
Major issues still remain. One is the distinction
between character and glyph. Although in most
cases, the line between the two is clear, in some it is
not. Many of the ideographs being considered for
encoding by the IRG, for example, are so obscure
that even the experts are not sure which ones are
distinct characters. In scripts that are yet to be fully
deciphered, such as the Indus Valley script, there is
the same problem.
Another issue is diachronicity. With a few excep-
tions, the scripts encoded in Unicode are modern
scripts in current use, which means that the reper-
toires are relatively well defined, as are the ranges of
acceptable glyphs for the characters. When an effort
is made to represent a script in use over the course of
centuries or millennia, things are not always clear cut.
Oracle-bone Chinese is not fully understood, for ex-
ample, and it’s unclear how to coordinate it with
modern Chinese.
And there is also the issue of scripts that do not
follow the linear approach to layout common to
all modern writing systems. Unicode has already
Character versus Content
C Spencer, Howard University, Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
David Kaplan introduced the content/character dis-
tinction in his monograph Demonstratives (1989a) to
distinguish between two aspects of the meaning of
(1) indexical and demonstrative pronouns (e.g., ‘I’,
‘here,’ ‘now,’ ‘this,’ and ‘that’) and (2) sentences con-
taining them. Roughly, the content of an occurrence
of an indexical or demonstrative is the individual to
which it refers, and its character is the rule that deter-
mines its referent as a function of context. Thus, an
indexical has different contents in different contexts,
but its character is the same in all contexts. For in-
stance, the character of ‘I’ is the rule, or function, that
maps a context of utterance to the speaker of that
context. This function determines that the content of
Sally’s utterance of ‘I’ is Sally.
Character versus Content 299
expressly disavowed any intention of fully encoding
music or mathematics because they are so two-dimen-
sional in layout. Egyptian hieroglyphics, however, are
a written representation of human language and
should be encoded, although the details are far from
clear.
But in the meantime, computer technology has ad-
vanced considerably in its ability to represent human
languages, over the course of just the past decade.
Prior to 1990, it would have been unthinkable to
exchange data in virtually any human language virtu-
ally anywhere in the world. That, however, is now
becoming a reality.
See also: Asia, Ancient Southwest: Scripts, Modern Semit-
ic; China: Writing System; Digital Fonts and Typography;
Japan: Writing System.
Bibliography
Gillam R (2003). Unicode demystified: a practical
programmer’s guide to the encoding standard. Boston:
Addison-Wesley.
Graham T (2000). Unicode: a primer. Foster City, CA:
M & T Books.
Lunde K (1999). CJKV information processing. Beijing:
O’Reilly & Associates.
Content/Character Distinction and
Semantics
Sentences containing indexicals or demonstratives are
context-dependent in two ways. First, contexts help
to determine what these sentences say. Second, con-
texts determine whether what is said is true or false.
For instance, suppose Sally says, ‘I’m cold now’ at
time t. The context supplies Sally as the referent for
‘I’ and time t as the referent for ‘now,’ so it helps to
determine what Sally said. Other facts about the con-
text, specifically whether Sally is cold at time t, deter-
mine whether she said something true or false.
Different contexts can play these different roles, as
they do when we ask whether what Sally said in one
context would be true in a slightly different context.
A central virtue of Kaplan’s semantics is that it
distinguishes between these two roles of context.
For Kaplan, a context of use plays the first role, of
300 Character versus Content
Figure 1 Two-dimensional matrix.
supplying contents for indexical expressions, and a
circumstance of evaluation plays the second.
A context of use is just a context in which an indexical
expression may be used, and which supplies a content
for the indexical expression. A circumstance of eval-
uation is an actual or merely possible situation in
which the content of an utterance is evaluated for
truth or falsehood.
A semantic framework like Kaplan’s, which cap-
tures the double-dependence of meaning on context,
is sometimes called a two-dimensional semantics.
In the two-dimensional framework, a meaningful
entity such as a linguistic expression or an utterance
determines not a single semantic value but a two-
dimensional matrix of semantic values. Figure 1
represents Kaplan’s semantics in this way. In Figure 1,
the vertical axis of the matrix displays contexts of
use (u1-u3) and the horizontal axis displays circum-
stances of evaluation (c1-c3). Each cell in the matrix
gives the extension of the linguistic expression e as
used in the specified context of use and evaluated
in the specified circumstance of evaluation. In this
matrix, the cell in row n and column m gives the
semantic value of e in the context of use specified
at the beginning of row n and evaluated in the
circumstance of evaluation specified at the top of
column m. If e is a sentence, cells will be filled in
with truth values as illustrated.
Kaplan offers a syntax and semantics for a formal
language containing indexicals, demonstratives, and
a variety of modal operators. In this formal system, a
context of use is an ordered n-tuple of contextual
features to which indexicals or demonstratives are
sensitive, such as the speaker, time, world, and loca-
tion of the context. A circumstance of evaluation is an
ordered n-tuple of a possible world-state or world-
history, a time, and perhaps other elements as would
be required given the sentential operators in the lan-
guage. For Kaplan, all contexts of use are proper,
which means that the speaker of the context must be
located at the time, place, and world of the context.
Circumstances of evaluation, however, need not be
proper.
Contexts of use and circumstances of evaluation
play a role in the specification of the character and
content of an expression. The character of any lin-
guistic expression e is a function from contexts of use
to contents appropriate for e, i.e., an individual if e is
a singular term, a proposition if e is a sentence, and
sets of n-tuples of individuals if e is an n-place predi-
cate. Indexical expressions only have contents rela-
tive to a context of use. So Kaplan speaks of the
content of an occurrence of an expression rather
than the content of the expression itself. Contents
are evaluated in circumstances of evaluation, and
these evaluations yield extensions appropriate to
the kind of content under evaluation. So we also
can characterize the content of an occurrence of
e as a function from circumstances of evaluation to
extensions of a type appropriate to e. For instance,
the extensions for sentences are truth values, for
indexicals, individuals, and for n-place predicates,
n-tuples of individuals. For individuals and n-place
predicates, these will be constant functions (i.e. the
function delivers the same extension in every circum-
stance of evaluation). It is often simpler to think of
contents as individuals (for singular terms), proposi-
tions (for sentences) and sets of n-tuples of individuals
(for n-place predicates), and Kaplan typically talks
about contents in this way. Both ways of thinking of
contents are semantically equivalent.
For Kaplan, indexicals and demonstratives are
both directly referential and rigidly designating. They
are directly referential because they contribute only
their referents to the propositions expressed by sen-
tences containing them. They are rigidly designating
because, once they secure a content in a context of
use, they retain that content in every circumstance of
evaluation. Indexicals and demonstratives contrast
with the typical definite description in both respects.
Definite descriptions typically contribute a descrip-
tive condition to a proposition rather than an individ-
ual, and this descriptive condition is typically satisfied
by different individuals in different worlds of evalua-
tion. Although Kaplan’s view that demonstratives
are directly referential is widely accepted, some recent
discussions of complex demonstratives (i.e. expres-
sions of the form ‘that F’) have defended a quanti-
ficational approach, and some considerations in
favor of such an approach may apply to the pure
demonstratives ‘this’ and ‘that’ (King, 2001).
Kaplan’s semantics has technical virtues lacking
in earlier treatments of natural language indexical-
ity. It shares with other double-indexing accounts
(Kamp, 1971) a technical superiority to single-index
theories, which evaluate sentences relative to a single
index, which is an ordered n-tuple of features of
a context, such as a speaker, time, location, and
world. Such theories cannot account for the interac-
tion of indexicals and certain sentence operators. To
evaluate the sentence (1), for instance, we need to
consider the truth value of the constituent sentence,
 Character versus Content 301

‘the man who is now President of the United States no As is evident to anyone who understands sentence
longer hold[s] that office’ in situations occurring after (2), it cannot be uttered falsely. Therefore, sentence
the sentence is uttered. (2) is in a certain sense a logical or a priori truth. Yet it
does not express a necessary truth, since occurrences
(1) Someday, the man who is now President of the
of (3) will typically be false.
United States will no longer hold that office.
(2) I am here now.
But the indexical ‘now’ in that constituent sentence
must still refer to the time (1) is used, and not the time (3) Necessarily, I am here now.
at which the constituent sentence is evaluated. As
Kaplan has suggested that we explain the special
Hans Kamp has argued, only a double-indexing theo-
status of (2) as follows: metaphysically speaking, (2)
ry will correctly predict the truth conditions for (1)
is contingently true in virtue of its content. But it has
(Kamp, 1971).
its special epistemic status in virtue of its character:
the character of (2) requires that it express a truth in
Content/Character Distinction and every context of use. Other sentences which may
Philosophy express the same content as a particular occurrence
of (2), but a different character, such as (4), do not
The content/character distinction sheds light on some
have the same special epistemic status.
specifically philosophical issues involving context-
sensitivity in thought and language. These applica- (4) GWB is in Washington, DC on June 16, 2004.
tions involve philosophically significant assumptions,
Because (4) and some occurrences of (2) share a
and are more controversial than the applications to
content but differ in their epistemic status, it is natural
the semantics of indexicals and demonstratives.
to conclude that contents cannot be the bearers of this
First, content and character play two roles that
special epistemic property. Critics of this account of the
Gottlob Frege initially envisioned for the meaning,
a priori (Soames, 2005) say that the content/character
or sense, of a sentence, one semantic and the other
distinction cannot underwrite the general account of a
more broadly psychological (Frege, 1892). Frege
priori knowledge that some of its defenders (Chalmers,
thought that the sense of a sentence should both
1996; Jackson, 1998) have claimed.
determine its truth condition and provide the cogni-
Third, some philosophers have used Kaplan’s
tive significance of beliefs expressible with that sen-
content/character distinction to distinguish narrow
tence. Although Frege expected that one entity, the
content (i.e. content determined by the internal state
sense, could play both roles, indexical and demon-
of the thinker) from wide content (i.e. content deter-
strative belief undermines this expectation, since it
mined by the internal state of the thinker and his or
appears to require two different entities to play the
her environment) (Fodor, 1987; see also Chalmers,
two roles. Different people who have a belief they
1996; Jackson, 1998, for a related application of
could express by saying ‘I’m cold’ will be in the
two-dimensional semantics to these ends). They sug-
same psychological/functional state. They will all be
gest that narrow content is loosely modeled on
shivering and trying to get warmer. But because each
Kaplan’s characters, and wide content on Kaplan’s
person who thinks, ‘I’m cold’ is a constituent of the
contents. That characters seem to capture something
content of that thought, all of these thoughts will
important about the psychological roles of belief
differ in content. The psychological role of an indexi-
makes them particularly attractive candidates to
cal belief appears to be more closely tied to the char-
model the purely internal aspects of thought. Critics
acter of the sentence the thinker would use to express
of the approach contend that although characters
that belief than to the content of the belief. But the
help to characterize internal states of thinkers,
content, rather than the character, is more directly
they are not themselves determined by such states
relevant to the truth condition of an occurrence of a
(Stalnaker, 1989).
sentence containing an indexical.
Second, Kaplan has suggested that the content/ See also: Analytic/Synthetic, Necessary/Contingent, and a
character distinction helps to explain the relation priori/a posteriori; Direct Reference; Essential Indexical;
between the epistemological notions of logical truth Indexicality: Philosophical Aspects; Reference: Philosoph-
and the a priori, on the one hand, and the meta- ical Theories; Rigid Designation; Situation Semantics.
physical notions of necessity and contingency on the
other. Other philosophers have put broadly similar
applications of the two-dimensional framework into
Bibliography
service to the same end (Stalnaker, 1978, cf. Almog J, Perry J & Wettstein H (1989). Themes from
Stalnaker, 2004; Chalmers, 1996; Jackson, 1998). Kaplan. New York: Oxford University Press.
302 Character versus Content
Chalmers D (1996). The conscious mind. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Fodor J A (1987). Psychosemantics: the problem of mean-
ing in the philosophy of mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Frege G (1892). ‘Ueber sinn und bedeutung.’ Zeitschr.
fur Philos. und Philos. Kritik 100. Feigl H (trans.). 190–202.
Jackson F (1998). From metaphysics to ethics. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Kamp H (1971). ‘Formal properties of ‘‘now’’.’ Theoria 37,
227–273.
Kaplan D (1989a). ‘Demonstratives.’ In Almog, Perry, &
Wettstein (eds.). 481–564.
Kaplan D (1989b). ‘Afterthoughts.’ In Almog, Perry, &
Wettstein (eds.). 565–614.
King J (2001). Complex demonstratives. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables
S G Pulman
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 505–508, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
For efficiency, most practical parsing algorithms (see
Parsing: Statistical Methods) are implemented using a
‘well-formed substring table’ (wfsst) to record parses
of complete subconstituents. This means that dupli-
cate paths through the search space defined by the
grammar are avoided. Since there may be many such
paths, use of such a table can sometimes mean
the difference between processing time of seconds, as
opposed to minutes or even hours.
Well-Formed Substring Tables
To illustrate the notion of a well-formed substring
table, consider the process of parsing a sequence
analyzable as:
(1) . . .(1) V (2) NP (3) PP (4)
(e.g., ‘. . .saw the man in the park’), given rules in the
grammar like:
(2) VP ! V NP
VP ! VP PP
NP ! NP PP
In a top-down parsing regime, there will be two
points at which the first of these rules will be used to
predict an NP beginning at position 2. One should
Kripke S (1980). Naming and necessity. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Lewis D K (1980). ‘Index, context, and content.’ In Kanger
S & Ohman S (eds.) Philosophy and grammar.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Soames S (2005). Reference and description: the case
against two-dimensionalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press.
Stalnaker R C (1978). ‘Assertion.’ In Cole P (ed.) Syntax
and ssemantics, vol. 9: pragmatics. New York: Academic
Press, Inc. 315–322.
Stalnaker R C (1989). ‘On what’s in the head.’ Philosophi-
cal Perspectives 3, Philosophy of Mind and Action
Theory. 287–316.
Stalnaker R C (2004). ‘Assertion revisited: on the inter-
pretation of two-dimensional modal semantics.’
Philosophical Studies 118(1–2), 299–322.
assume that the algorithm first finds the nonrecursive
NP from 2 to 3. Now, via the third rule, it will again
look for an NP, this time followed by a PP. The naive
algorithm might repeat the same sequence of actions
it has just performed in recognizing the original NP
from 2 to 3.
However, if it is assumed that, whenever a complete
constituent is recognized, it is recorded in a table, then
the algorithm can be changed to consult this table
whenever it is looking for a constituent of a particular
type at a given point. In this instance, there is already
an NP from 2 to 3; therefore, it is possible to proceed
directly to look for a PP beginning at position 3.
Having found this PP, it is possible to assemble two
VPs: one from 1 to 3, of the form [VP [V NP]], and
one from 1 to 4 of the form [VP [V [NP [NP PP]]]].
Now the situation is reached where the second rule
predicts a PP beginning at position 3. The naive algo-
rithm will again go ahead and recompute the sequence
of actions leading to the recognition of the PP. How-
ever, using the wfsst, the fact is already recorded that
there is a PP from 3 to 4, and instead the algorithm
can simply use that information to build a VP from 1
to 4 of the form [VP [VP PP]]. Thus, at least two
recomputations have been avoided. If this does not
sound very impressive, the reader is invited to work
through the steps involved in parsing a sequence like:
(3) V NP P NP P NP P NP
(e.g., ‘saw the man in the park with a telescope on
Friday’) given the above rules, along with P ! P NP,
and to check how many times the same constituents
302 Character versus Content
Chalmers D (1996). The conscious mind. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Fodor J A (1987). Psychosemantics: the problem of mean-
ing in the philosophy of mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Frege G (1892). ‘Ueber sinn und bedeutung.’ Zeitschr.
fur Philos. und Philos. Kritik 100. Feigl H (trans.). 190–202.
Jackson F (1998). From metaphysics to ethics. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Kamp H (1971). ‘Formal properties of ‘‘now’’.’ Theoria 37,
227–273.
Kaplan D (1989a). ‘Demonstratives.’ In Almog, Perry, &
Wettstein (eds.). 481–564.
Kaplan D (1989b). ‘Afterthoughts.’ In Almog, Perry, &
Wettstein (eds.). 565–614.
King J (2001). Complex demonstratives. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables
S G Pulman
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 505–508, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
For efficiency, most practical parsing algorithms (see
Parsing: Statistical Methods) are implemented using a
‘well-formed substring table’ (wfsst) to record parses
of complete subconstituents. This means that dupli-
cate paths through the search space defined by the
grammar are avoided. Since there may be many such
paths, use of such a table can sometimes mean
the difference between processing time of seconds, as
opposed to minutes or even hours.
Well-Formed Substring Tables
To illustrate the notion of a well-formed substring
table, consider the process of parsing a sequence
analyzable as:
(1) . . .(1) V (2) NP (3) PP (4)
(e.g., ‘. . .saw the man in the park’), given rules in the
grammar like:
(2) VP ! V NP
VP ! VP PP
NP ! NP PP
In a top-down parsing regime, there will be two
points at which the first of these rules will be used to
predict an NP beginning at position 2. One should
Kripke S (1980). Naming and necessity. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Lewis D K (1980). ‘Index, context, and content.’ In Kanger
S & Ohman S (eds.) Philosophy and grammar.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Soames S (2005). Reference and description: the case
against two-dimensionalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press.
Stalnaker R C (1978). ‘Assertion.’ In Cole P (ed.) Syntax
and ssemantics, vol. 9: pragmatics. New York: Academic
Press, Inc. 315–322.
Stalnaker R C (1989). ‘On what’s in the head.’ Philosophi-
cal Perspectives 3, Philosophy of Mind and Action
Theory. 287–316.
Stalnaker R C (2004). ‘Assertion revisited: on the inter-
pretation of two-dimensional modal semantics.’
Philosophical Studies 118(1–2), 299–322.
assume that the algorithm first finds the nonrecursive
NP from 2 to 3. Now, via the third rule, it will again
look for an NP, this time followed by a PP. The naive
algorithm might repeat the same sequence of actions
it has just performed in recognizing the original NP
from 2 to 3.
However, if it is assumed that, whenever a complete
constituent is recognized, it is recorded in a table, then
the algorithm can be changed to consult this table
whenever it is looking for a constituent of a particular
type at a given point. In this instance, there is already
an NP from 2 to 3; therefore, it is possible to proceed
directly to look for a PP beginning at position 3.
Having found this PP, it is possible to assemble two
VPs: one from 1 to 3, of the form [VP [V NP]], and
one from 1 to 4 of the form [VP [V [NP [NP PP]]]].
Now the situation is reached where the second rule
predicts a PP beginning at position 3. The naive algo-
rithm will again go ahead and recompute the sequence
of actions leading to the recognition of the PP. How-
ever, using the wfsst, the fact is already recorded that
there is a PP from 3 to 4, and instead the algorithm
can simply use that information to build a VP from 1
to 4 of the form [VP [VP PP]]. Thus, at least two
recomputations have been avoided. If this does not
sound very impressive, the reader is invited to work
through the steps involved in parsing a sequence like:
(3) V NP P NP P NP P NP
(e.g., ‘saw the man in the park with a telescope on
Friday’) given the above rules, along with P ! P NP,
and to check how many times the same constituents

are reparsed when a wfsst is not being used. For
constructions like this, the numbers can grow very
rapidly indeed. Use of a wfsst here is essential if
parsing algorithms are to be implemented in a practi-
cally usable form.
Another technique is to keep a record of subconsti-
tuents that have not been found beginning at a partic-
ular point in the input. For example, in the earlier
‘saw the man in the park’ example, when the VP of
the form [VP V [NP [NP PP]]] is found, it will, via the
second rule, cause a prediction of a PP beginning at
position 4. This prediction fails, because it is at the
end of a sentence. When the VP of the form [VP [VP
[V NP]] PP] is found, it too will cause the same predic-
tion, via the same rule. Although in this case discov-
ering that there are no more PPs is fairly trivial, this
will not always be so, and a lot of recomputation can
be saved by also checking that, when looking for a
constituent C at position P, one has not already tried
and failed to find C at P.
Basic Chart Parsing
A ‘chart’ is a generalization of a wfsst in which in-
complete constituents are also represented. Charts are
the basis on which many parsing algorithms are
implemented, and they provide a flexible framework
within which different types of processing regimes
and different types of grammatical formalism can be
handled.
A chart consists of a set of ‘edges’ and ‘vertices.’
Vertices represent the positions between words in an
input sentence, and edges represent partial or complete
analyses. An edge, at least when context-free rules or
related formalisms are involved, can be thought of as
something derived from a rule and having the following
structure:
(4) edge(Id, LeftVertex, RightVertex, MotherCat,
DaughtersFound, DaughtersSought)
In describing charts it is convenient to use a PROLOG-
like notation: Words in lower case are constants,
words beginning with upper case are variables, an
underscore is a variable whose value is not of interest,
and a list of items is enclosed in square brackets, with
the convention that an expression like [Head | Tail]
represents a list whose first member is ‘Head’ and
whose remaining members (a list) are ‘Tail.’ An edge
has an identifier and connects vertices. Daughters-
Found will usually be represented in terms of a list
of other edges representing the analysis of those
daughters. Daughters Sought is a list of categories. An
edge is complete if DaughtersSought is empty.
Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables 303
To specify a particular instantiation of a chart
framework, it is necessary to state the following:
1. a regime for creating new edges
2. a way of combining two old edges to form a
new edge
3. access to an ‘agenda’ of edges created by (1) or (2)
that are waiting for further processing when they
are entered into the chart
A Bottom-Up Chart Parser
One particular chart-based algorithm can be specified
as follows: It proceeds bottom-up, one word at a
time.
(5) New edges:
whenever there is a complete edge put in the
chart of the form edge(Id, From, To,
Category, -,-) then for each rule in the
grammar of the form Lhs ! Rhs where
Category is the first member of Rhs,
put a new edge on the agenda of the form
edge(NewId, From, From, Lhs, [], Rhs)
Not all rules in the grammar meeting this criteri-
on will lead to a complete parse. This step of the
procedure can be made sensitive to information pre-
computed from the grammar so as to select only rules
that are, say, compatible with the next word in the
input, or alternatively, compatible with the next
category sought of at least one incomplete edge end-
ing at the point where the current word starts (see
Aho and Ullman, 1977 for various types of relevant
grammar relations).
(6) Combine Edges:
Whenever a new edge is put into the chart of
the form: edge(Id1, B, C, Cat1, Found1, [])
then for each edge in the chart of the form:
edge(Id2, A, B, Cat2, Found2,
[Cat1 | OtherDaughtersSought])
create a new edge
edge(Id3, A, C, Cat2, [Id1/Found2] Other
DaughtersSought)
Whenever a new edge is put into the chart of
the form:
edge(Id1, A, B, Cat1, Found1,
[Cat2 | RestSought])
then for each edge in the chart of the form:
edge(Id2, B, C, Cat2, Found2, [])
create a new edge
edge(Id3, A, C, Cat1, [Id1/Found1]
RestSought)
The first part of ‘combine edges’ is triggered by the
addition of a complete edge to the chart, and produces
a new edge for each incomplete edge ending where
304 Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables

the complete edge begins that can combine with it. new edge e2(1, 1, S, [], [NP, VP])
These incomplete edges are already in the chart. The pop +e2
new edges are put on the agenda. combined el e2 e3(1, 2, S, [e1], [VP])
The second part is triggered by the addition of an pop +e3
new word edges e4(2, 3, Aux, [can], []),
incomplete edge to the chart, and produces a new edge
e5(2, 3, Vt, [can], [])
for each complete edge beginning where the incomplete
pop +e4
edge ends. These new edges are put on the agenda. new edge e6(2, 2, VP, [], [Aux, VP]),
Looking at things from the point of view of a com- e5
plete edge, the first part of ‘combine edges’ ensures pop +e6
that it is combined with whatever is already in the combine e4 e6 e7(2, 3, VP, [e4], [VP]), e5
chart that it can be combined with, whereas the sec- pop +e7 e5
ond part ensures that it will be combined with any pop +e5
future incomplete edges entering the chart. Thus, new edge e8(2, 2, VP, [], [Vt, NP])
no opportunity for combination will be missed, at pop +e8
whatever stage of parsing it arises. combine e5 e8 e9(2, 3, VP, [e5], [NP])
pop +e9
All that has to be done now to specify a complete
new word edges e10(3, 4, Vi, [fish], [])
chart-parsing procedure is to define access to the
e11(3, 4, NP, [fish], [])
agenda: either treat the agenda as a stack (last in, first pop +e10 e11
out) in which case the general search strategy will be new edge e12(3, 3, VP, [], [Vi]),
depth first, or as a queue (first in, first out) in which e11
case the search order of hypotheses will be breadth pop +e12 e11
first. There could also be more complex heuristics combine e12 e10 e13(3, 4, VP, [e10], []),
ordering edges on the agenda according to some e11
weighting function: This would mean that the highest pop +e13 e11
scoring hypothesis was explored first, independently combine e7 e13 e14(2, 4, VP, [e4, e13], []),
of the order in which they were generated. e11
pop +e14 e11
The procedure must also be embedded in some kind
combine e3 e14 e15(1, 4, S, [e1, e14], []),
of top-level driver, so as to start off the process and to
e11
check for complete analyses when the process is ended. pop +e15 e11
The final program, then, might have the following pop +e11
structure: new edge e16(3, 3, S, [], [NP, VP])
(7) Until no more words: combine e9 e11 e17(2, 4, VP, [e5, e11], [])
create new edges for next word e16
do New Edges for these edges. pop +e17 e16
Until agenda is empty: combine e3 e17 e18(1, 4, S, [e1, e17], [])
pop next edge off agenda and put in chart e16
do New Edges pop +e18 e16
do Combine Edges pop +e16
Check for complete edges of desired category combine e16 e11 e19(3, 4, S, [e11], [VP])
spanning start to finish pop +e19

Given the following grammar, the algorithm would At this point, no more processing can take place.
proceed as follows on the input sentence ‘they can Inspecting the chart, it can be found that these are
fish’ (with the words occupying chart positions 1 to 2, two complete edges (edges 15 and 18) spanning the
2 to 3, and 3 to 4, respectively): input of the desired category, S. By recursively tracing
S ! NP VP
through their contained edges, the syntactic structure
NP ! they | fish of the analyses implicit in the chart can be recovered. It
VP ! Aux VP can be noticed that, as well as sharing some complete
VP ! Vi subconstituents (edge 1), the final analyses were
VP ! Vt NP built up using some of the same partial constituents
Aux ! can (edge 3).
Vi ! fish
Vi ! can
Other Chart-Based Parsing Algorithms
Operation Chart Agenda
new word edge e1(1, 2, NP, [they], []) It is easy to formulate different processing regimes
pop e1 within the chart framework. By redefining the ‘new

edges’ routine to operate on incomplete edges, one
can implement a top-down, ‘Earley’ style of algorithm
(Thompson and Ritchie, 1984). Alternatively, it is
possible to define ‘new edges’ so that any arbitrary
constituent, rather than the first, is used to build new
edges, and with corresponding changes to ‘combine
edges,’ constituents can be built right to left, as well
as left to right (Steel and de Roeck, 1987). This can
be useful for practical efficiency when some con-
struction is ‘keyed’ by an item that is not the left-
most one, (e.g., conjunctions in English or verbal
complements in subordinate clauses in languages
like German). A left-to-right strategy would have
to allow for the possibility of many types of constitu-
ents before there was any evidence for them, possibly
leading to a lot of wasted computation most of the
time. This strategy can also be generalized to ‘head-
driven’ parsing, using information from the head of a
phrase to guide the search for its sister constituents to
the left or right (Kay, 1990).
For all of these different types of parsing algo-
rithms, appropriate search strategies can be imposed
by different methods of manipulating the agenda, as
mentioned earlier.
Chart parsing also offers a degree of robustness in
the case of a failure to find a complete parse, either
because the input is ungrammatical or (what amounts
to the same thing from the point of view of the parser)
is not within the coverage of the grammar. Even if the
overall parse fails, an algorithm like the one above
will result in all well-formed subconstituents that are
present in the input being found. From these, different
types of heuristic strategy can be used to do some-
thing useful. Mellish (1989) described one such tech-
nique, which attempted to massage an ill-formed
input into a well-formed one by inserting or deleting
constituents after the ordinary parsing process has
failed.
It is also worth pointing out that many of the
virtues of charts as a basis for parsing are also desi-
derata for the reverse process of generation. In gener-
ation as well as in parsing, it is important to avoid
unnecessary recomputation. Shieber (1988) describe
that a chart-based framework that was intended to
accommodate a variety of generation and parsing
algorithms.
Packing
Although charts, as so far described, offer consider-
able economy of representation and processing, they
still take exponential time and space when there is an
exponential number of parse trees to be assigned to
a sentence. This can be improved on. Notice that in
the example above, two VP constituents were built
Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables 305
spanning 2 to 4, and these in turn gave rise to two
S constituents, each containing the same NP. This has
the advantage that all analyses of the sentence are
explicitly represented: There is an S edge for each
one. However, it has the disadvantage that the com-
bination is done redundantly on the second and any
further occasions. (This is where the exponential be-
havior arises.) If an NP can combine with one VP
from 2 to 4 to form a sentence, then it is obvious
that it can also combine with any other VP from 2 to
4. At the point at which this move is made, the fact
that the two VPs have a different internal structure
is irrelevant.
At a cost of extra work in spelling out explicit parse
trees when other processing has been completed, this
redundancy can be eliminated. In the chart frame-
work developed here, this is most easily achieved by
generalizing the representation of complete edges so
that the ‘constituents’ or ‘Daughters Found’ field is a
disjunction of lists of edge identifiers, rather a single
list. Then the algorithm must incorporate the extra
step, whenever it is building a complete edge, of
checking to see whether there is already in the chart
a complete edge of the same category and with the
same ‘from’ and ‘to’ labels. If there is, it can simply
make a disjunction of the constituents field of the
edge being built with that of the existing edge and
no new edge is needed, or anything else. Any analyses
that the existing edge already takes part in will also
involve the new edge, and the new edge will be in-
cluded in any further analyses involving the existing
edge. Thus, in the case of the second VP edge, at the
point where edge 9 can combine with edge 11 to form
edge 17, edge 14 would have extended to look like:
e14(2, 4, VP, [ [e4, e13], [e5, e11] ], [])
Then the combination of edge 3 with edge 14
to make a sentence would represent both analyses,
without needing to repeat the combination explic-
itly. In this case, only one set of operations is saved,
but it is easy to see that in cases like the multiple
PP sentence encountered earlier, the savings can be
considerable.
This extension is essentially the notion of ‘packing,’
as described in, for example, Tomita (1987). If explic-
it parse trees are required, then there is an extra cost
in a post-processing phase, for each disjunction will
need to be unpacked into a separate analysis. This
step may be exponential even where parsing time was
polynomial: The complexity is moved, not elimi-
nated. However, the number of constituents created
and the number of computational operations per-
formed while actually parsing will usually be far
smaller if packing is used than if the simple chart
scheme is used. Moreover, in many practical NLP
306 Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables
systems, parse trees do not need to be enumerated
explicitly, except perhaps for debugging purposes, as
they are merely a preliminary to semantic interpreta-
tion. In some of these systems (e.g., that described in
Alshawi et al., 1988), many aspects of semantic inter-
pretation can be done on packed structures directly,
saving yet more computational work.
See also: Parsing: Statistical Methods.
Bibliography
Aho A V & Ullman J D (1977). Principles of compiler
design. Reading, MA: Addison Wesley.
Alshawi H et al. (1988). ‘Overview of the core language
engine.’ Proc Int Conf 5th Generation Computer Systems,
Tokyo.
Chatino See: Zapotecan.
Chatterji, Suniti Kumar (1890–1977)
K Karttunen, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Suniti Kumar Chatterji was born in Sibpur, Howrah on
November 26, 1890, and died in Calcutta on May 29,
1977. He was born in a traditional Sāmaveda Brahman
family of Kas̄yapa clan originating in Eastern Bengal.
He was educated at Motilal Sil’s Free School, Scottish
Church College (B.A. 1911), and Calcutta University
(M.A. 1913 in English, then also Sanskrit studies until
1919). In 1913 he became Professor of English at
Vidyasagar College in Calcutta, and in 1914–1919 he
taught English as an Assistant Professor at Calcutta
University.
Chatterji undertook further studies of Indo-Aryan
and Indo-European in London in 1919–1921 (D.Litt.
1921 in Indo-Aryan philology, under L. D. Barnett,
F. W. Thomas et al.) and in Paris in 1921–1922 (under
Bloch, Meillet, Przyluski, Pelliot et al.). In 1922 he
became Khaira Professor of Indian Linguistics and
Phonetics at Calcutta University, and in 1952 he
was named Emeritus Professor of comparative philol-
ogy. As a friend of Tagore, he served many years as
a member of the governing body of Visva-Bharati
Kay M (1990). ‘Head driven parsing.’ In Parsing Tech-
nologies. Proceedings of an International Workshop.
Carnegie–Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA.
Mellish C (1989). Some chart-based techniques for
parsing ill-formed input. Proceedings of 27th ACL,
Vancouver.
Shieber S (1988). A uniform architecture for parsing and
generation. COLING 88, Budapest.
Steel S & de Roeck A (1987). ‘Bidirectional chart parsing.’
In Mellish C S & Hallam J (eds.) Advances in artificial
intelligence. Proceedings of AISB-87. Ellis Horwood.
Chichester.
Thompson H S & Ritchie G D (1984). ‘Implementing natu-
ral language parsers.’ In O’Shea T & Eisenstadt M (eds.)
Artificial intelligence: tools, techniques, and applications.
New York: Harper and Row.
Tomita M (1987). ‘An efficient augmented context-free
parsing algorithm.’ Computational Linguistics 13,
31–46.
University. In the 1950s and 1960s he was Chairman
of the Upper House of the West Bengal Legislature.
He attended numerous congresses and traveled wide-
ly, e.g., around 1951 acting as visiting lecturer at
Pennsylvania University for 6 months. He won
many honors, e.g., Dr.h.c. in 1960 from Rome and
D.Litt.h.c. in 1965 from Delhi. From 1964 on he was
National Research Professor of Humanities.
Chatterji’s London dissertation, Origin and develop-
ment of Bengali, published in 1926, made him famous
as the foremost linguist of India. He was no theoreti-
cian but had a good grasp of historical linguistics and
discussed questions of Old and Middle Indo-Aryan,
Bengali, and Hindi and contacts of Indo-Aryan with
other Indo-European and non-Indo-European lan-
guages. He was one of the first phoneticians in India.
In addition to linguistic works he edited Bengali and
Maithili texts and wrote a number of books and essays
on such topics as languages, literature, history, national
questions, and travel books in English, Bengali, and
Hindi. Among his students were M. M. Ghosh and
S. Sen.
See also: Bloch, Bernard (1907–1965); Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936); Sen, Sukumar (1900–1992).
306 Chart Parsing and Well-Formed Substring Tables
systems, parse trees do not need to be enumerated
explicitly, except perhaps for debugging purposes, as
they are merely a preliminary to semantic interpreta-
tion. In some of these systems (e.g., that described in
Alshawi et al., 1988), many aspects of semantic inter-
pretation can be done on packed structures directly,
saving yet more computational work.
See also: Parsing: Statistical Methods.
Bibliography
Aho A V & Ullman J D (1977). Principles of compiler
design. Reading, MA: Addison Wesley.
Alshawi H et al. (1988). ‘Overview of the core language
engine.’ Proc Int Conf 5th Generation Computer Systems,
Tokyo.
Chatino See: Zapotecan.
Chatterji, Suniti Kumar (1890–1977)
K Karttunen, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Suniti Kumar Chatterji was born in Sibpur, Howrah on
November 26, 1890, and died in Calcutta on May 29,
1977. He was born in a traditional Sāmaveda Brahman
family of Kas̄yapa clan originating in Eastern Bengal.
He was educated at Motilal Sil’s Free School, Scottish
Church College (B.A. 1911), and Calcutta University
(M.A. 1913 in English, then also Sanskrit studies until
1919). In 1913 he became Professor of English at
Vidyasagar College in Calcutta, and in 1914–1919 he
taught English as an Assistant Professor at Calcutta
University.
Chatterji undertook further studies of Indo-Aryan
and Indo-European in London in 1919–1921 (D.Litt.
1921 in Indo-Aryan philology, under L. D. Barnett,
F. W. Thomas et al.) and in Paris in 1921–1922 (under
Bloch, Meillet, Przyluski, Pelliot et al.). In 1922 he
became Khaira Professor of Indian Linguistics and
Phonetics at Calcutta University, and in 1952 he
was named Emeritus Professor of comparative philol-
ogy. As a friend of Tagore, he served many years as
a member of the governing body of Visva-Bharati
Kay M (1990). ‘Head driven parsing.’ In Parsing Tech-
nologies. Proceedings of an International Workshop.
Carnegie–Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA.
Mellish C (1989). Some chart-based techniques for
parsing ill-formed input. Proceedings of 27th ACL,
Vancouver.
Shieber S (1988). A uniform architecture for parsing and
generation. COLING 88, Budapest.
Steel S & de Roeck A (1987). ‘Bidirectional chart parsing.’
In Mellish C S & Hallam J (eds.) Advances in artificial
intelligence. Proceedings of AISB-87. Ellis Horwood.
Chichester.
Thompson H S & Ritchie G D (1984). ‘Implementing natu-
ral language parsers.’ In O’Shea T & Eisenstadt M (eds.)
Artificial intelligence: tools, techniques, and applications.
New York: Harper and Row.
Tomita M (1987). ‘An efficient augmented context-free
parsing algorithm.’ Computational Linguistics 13,
31–46.
University. In the 1950s and 1960s he was Chairman
of the Upper House of the West Bengal Legislature.
He attended numerous congresses and traveled wide-
ly, e.g., around 1951 acting as visiting lecturer at
Pennsylvania University for 6 months. He won
many honors, e.g., Dr.h.c. in 1960 from Rome and
D.Litt.h.c. in 1965 from Delhi. From 1964 on he was
National Research Professor of Humanities.
Chatterji’s London dissertation, Origin and develop-
ment of Bengali, published in 1926, made him famous
as the foremost linguist of India. He was no theoreti-
cian but had a good grasp of historical linguistics and
discussed questions of Old and Middle Indo-Aryan,
Bengali, and Hindi and contacts of Indo-Aryan with
other Indo-European and non-Indo-European lan-
guages. He was one of the first phoneticians in India.
In addition to linguistic works he edited Bengali and
Maithili texts and wrote a number of books and essays
on such topics as languages, literature, history, national
questions, and travel books in English, Bengali, and
Hindi. Among his students were M. M. Ghosh and
S. Sen.
See also: Bloch, Bernard (1907–1965); Meillit, Antoine
(Paul Jules) (1866–1936); Sen, Sukumar (1900–1992).

Bibliography
Bhattacharji S, Banerji P K & Kanjilal A K (1970). Suniti
Kumar Chatterji. The Scholar and the Man. Calcutta: Jijnasa.
Chatterji S K (1926). Origin and development of Bengali
language. Calcutta: Calcutta University Press. 1–2 (2nd
edn., 1970; Part 3. Additions and corrections, index.
London, 1978).
Chatterji S K (1928). A Bengali phonetic reader. London:
University of London Press.
Chatterji S K (1942). Indo-Aryan and Hindi. Ahmedabad:
Gujarat Vernacular Society (2nd rev. and enl. edn.,
Calcutta, 1960).
Chatterji S K (1963). Languages and literatures of modern
India. Calcutta: Prakash Bhavan.
Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877)
J van Pottelberge, Ghent University, Ghent, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Honoré Chavée, a Belgian comparative linguist who
specialized in Indo-European and Semitic languages,
initiated the school of naturalist linguistics in France
and became one of its main representatives. He was
born in Namur (Belgium) on June 3, 1815, and
trained as a Roman Catholic priest at the Namur
Diocesan Seminary (1833–1838). In 1840 he became
parish priest of Floriffoux, but soon quit in 1843,
moving to Brussels and eventually to Paris, teaching
classes at Stanislas College (1846–1848) that formed
the basis for his early magnum opus, Lexiologie
indo-européenne (1849). Soon afterward he aban-
doned the priesthood and the Christian faith, em-
braced Auguste Comte’s positivism, and became a
Freemason. From 1848 on Chavée taught his stu-
dents at his home; he gave guest lectures in Pisa and
Bologna, and taught German at the École Polytech-
nique in Versailles in 1871–1872. He died after a
lingering illness on July 16, 1877.
Apart from his studies of Semitic languages at
Leuven under Jan Theodoor Beelen (a biblical exegete
and orientalist) from 1838 until 1840 and classes
with Eugène Burnouf in Paris, Chavée was essentially
self-taught, though influenced by the writings of
Frédéric Eichhoff, Friedrich Diez, Franz Bopp, and
others. Very much like August Schleicher, with
whose work he did not however become acquainted
until later, Chavée adopted the view that language is a
living organism (and that the loss of transparent mor-
phological structure represents ‘illness’ or decay), and
took a historical and glottogonic approach to com-
parativism. Throughout his work, he reconstructed
Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877) 307
Chatterji S K (1968). Balts and Aryans in their Indo-
European Background. Simla: Indian Institute of Ad-
vanced Study.
Chatterji S K (1972). Select papers. New Delhi: People’s
Pub. House.
Chatterji S K (1983). On the development of Middle Indo-
Aryan. Calcutta Sanskrit College Research Series 132.
Calcutta: Sanskrit College.
Chatterji S K & Sen S (1957). A Middle Indo-Aryan Reader.
Calcutta: Calcutta University Press.
Singh U N (ed.) (1997). S. K. Ch. A centenary tribute.
Papers from the proceedings of the National Seminar
on ‘Suniti Kumar Chatterji: An End-Century
Assessment’ held November 1989. New Delhi: Sahitya
Akademi.
primitive monosyllabic roots of language, which con-
sisted of only two classes: syllables expressing sensa-
tions (verbs) and demonstrative syllables (pronouns).
He considered both kind of etymological roots to be
spontaneous creations of the brain and, consequently,
regarded linguistics as a branch of anthropology and
ultimately as a natural science. Given that compara-
tive research demonstrated the distinct origins of Se-
mitic and Indo-European roots, Chavée drew the
conclusion from the polygenetism of the languages
that the races who speak them also have a polygenetic
origin.
Unlike other comparative work of his time,
Chavée’s research included (lexical) meaning, as he
tried to establish primitive semantic kernels and clas-
sified all verbal roots into onomasiological ‘natural
families’ after the model of biological taxonomy.
Being over-eager to schematize, however, most of his
reconstructions are speculative.
Together with Abel Hovelacque, his most famous
pupil, Chavée founded the Revue de Linguistique et
de Philologie Comparée in 1867 (which appeared
until 1916), the first French journal devoted to lin-
guistics and the main dissemination channel of the
naturalist school. Apart from his comparative work,
Chavée wrote on language education; his descriptions
of his native Walloon language are still valuable.
See also: Bopp, Franz (1791–1867); Diez, Friedrich (1794–
1876); Indo–European Languages; Naturalism; Schlei-
cher, August (1821–1868); Semitic Languages.
Bibliography
Chavée H (1849). Lexiologie indo-européenne. Paris:
Franck.

Bibliography
Bhattacharji S, Banerji P K & Kanjilal A K (1970). Suniti
Kumar Chatterji. The Scholar and the Man. Calcutta: Jijnasa.
Chatterji S K (1926). Origin and development of Bengali
language. Calcutta: Calcutta University Press. 1–2 (2nd
edn., 1970; Part 3. Additions and corrections, index.
London, 1978).
Chatterji S K (1928). A Bengali phonetic reader. London:
University of London Press.
Chatterji S K (1942). Indo-Aryan and Hindi. Ahmedabad:
Gujarat Vernacular Society (2nd rev. and enl. edn.,
Calcutta, 1960).
Chatterji S K (1963). Languages and literatures of modern
India. Calcutta: Prakash Bhavan.
Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877)
J van Pottelberge, Ghent University, Ghent, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Honoré Chavée, a Belgian comparative linguist who
specialized in Indo-European and Semitic languages,
initiated the school of naturalist linguistics in France
and became one of its main representatives. He was
born in Namur (Belgium) on June 3, 1815, and
trained as a Roman Catholic priest at the Namur
Diocesan Seminary (1833–1838). In 1840 he became
parish priest of Floriffoux, but soon quit in 1843,
moving to Brussels and eventually to Paris, teaching
classes at Stanislas College (1846–1848) that formed
the basis for his early magnum opus, Lexiologie
indo-européenne (1849). Soon afterward he aban-
doned the priesthood and the Christian faith, em-
braced Auguste Comte’s positivism, and became a
Freemason. From 1848 on Chavée taught his stu-
dents at his home; he gave guest lectures in Pisa and
Bologna, and taught German at the École Polytech-
nique in Versailles in 1871–1872. He died after a
lingering illness on July 16, 1877.
Apart from his studies of Semitic languages at
Leuven under Jan Theodoor Beelen (a biblical exegete
and orientalist) from 1838 until 1840 and classes
with Eugène Burnouf in Paris, Chavée was essentially
self-taught, though influenced by the writings of
Frédéric Eichhoff, Friedrich Diez, Franz Bopp, and
others. Very much like August Schleicher, with
whose work he did not however become acquainted
until later, Chavée adopted the view that language is a
living organism (and that the loss of transparent mor-
phological structure represents ‘illness’ or decay), and
took a historical and glottogonic approach to com-
parativism. Throughout his work, he reconstructed
Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877) 307
Chatterji S K (1968). Balts and Aryans in their Indo-
European Background. Simla: Indian Institute of Ad-
vanced Study.
Chatterji S K (1972). Select papers. New Delhi: People’s
Pub. House.
Chatterji S K (1983). On the development of Middle Indo-
Aryan. Calcutta Sanskrit College Research Series 132.
Calcutta: Sanskrit College.
Chatterji S K & Sen S (1957). A Middle Indo-Aryan Reader.
Calcutta: Calcutta University Press.
Singh U N (ed.) (1997). S. K. Ch. A centenary tribute.
Papers from the proceedings of the National Seminar
on ‘Suniti Kumar Chatterji: An End-Century
Assessment’ held November 1989. New Delhi: Sahitya
Akademi.
primitive monosyllabic roots of language, which con-
sisted of only two classes: syllables expressing sensa-
tions (verbs) and demonstrative syllables (pronouns).
He considered both kind of etymological roots to be
spontaneous creations of the brain and, consequently,
regarded linguistics as a branch of anthropology and
ultimately as a natural science. Given that compara-
tive research demonstrated the distinct origins of Se-
mitic and Indo-European roots, Chavée drew the
conclusion from the polygenetism of the languages
that the races who speak them also have a polygenetic
origin.
Unlike other comparative work of his time,
Chavée’s research included (lexical) meaning, as he
tried to establish primitive semantic kernels and clas-
sified all verbal roots into onomasiological ‘natural
families’ after the model of biological taxonomy.
Being over-eager to schematize, however, most of his
reconstructions are speculative.
Together with Abel Hovelacque, his most famous
pupil, Chavée founded the Revue de Linguistique et
de Philologie Comparée in 1867 (which appeared
until 1916), the first French journal devoted to lin-
guistics and the main dissemination channel of the
naturalist school. Apart from his comparative work,
Chavée wrote on language education; his descriptions
of his native Walloon language are still valuable.
See also: Bopp, Franz (1791–1867); Diez, Friedrich (1794–
1876); Indo–European Languages; Naturalism; Schlei-
cher, August (1821–1868); Semitic Languages.
Bibliography
Chavée H (1849). Lexiologie indo-européenne. Paris:
Franck.
308 Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877)

Chavée H (1857). Français et wallon, parallèle linguistique. Leroy M (1985). ‘Chavée (Honoré-Joseph).’ In Biographie
Paris: Truchy. nationale publiée par l’Académie royale des sciences, des
Desmet P (1996). La linguistique naturaliste en France lettres et des beaux-arts de Belgique, vol. 44. Brussels:
(1867–1922). Leuven: Peeters. Bruylant. 197–206.

Chibchan
A Constenla Umaña, University of Costa Rica, San Dorasque (both in western Panama, Chiriquı́ Lagoon
José, Costa Rica area, beginning of the 20th century), Antioquian
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. (central and northeastern Department of Antioquia,
Colombia, 18th century), Tairona (the coast to the
north of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, 18th
The Chibchan stock is currently composed of the 16 century or before), Kankuama (eastern slopes of the
languages from Central America and northwestern Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, first half of the 20th
South America listed below with their main current century), Duit (Boyacá Department, Colombia, 18th
alternate names, approximate number of speakers, century), and Muisca (Cundinamarca Department,
and location: Pech (Paya; 900; Olancho Depart- Colombia, 18th century).
ment, eastern Honduras), Rama (20; Rama Cay and
other localities south of Rı́o Escondido, southeastern
Subgrouping
Nicaragua), Maléku Jaı́ka (Guatuso; 300; Guatuso
County, northern plains of Costa Rica), Cabécar The following subgrouping is based on both lexico-
(8500; Atlantic watershed and southern Pacific statistical and comparative evidence (Constenla,
slope of the Talamanca Range, southern Costa 1995: 42):
Rica), Bribri (6000; southern Atlantic and Pacific
I. Pech.
slopes of the Talamanca Range), Boruca (Brunka; 2,
II. Core Chibchan:
20 semi-speakers with a passive domain of the lan-
IIA. Votic: Rama, Guatuso.
guage; Térraba Valley, southwestern Costa Rica), Ter-
IIB. Isthmic:
ibe (a dialect of Naso; 3000; Teribe and Changuinola
B1. Viceitic: Cabécar, Bribri.
rivers area, northwestern Panama; Térraba, the Costa
B2. Boruca.
Rican dialect, is extinct), Buglere (Bocotá, Guaymı́
B3. Teribe.
Sabanero; 3700; Bocas del Toro, Veraguas, Chir-
B4. Guaymiic: Ngäbere, Buglere.
iquı́ Provinces, western Panama), Ngäbere (Guaymı́;
B5. Doracic: Dorasque, Chánguena.
110 000 in the Bocas del Toro, Chiriquı́, and Vera-
B6. Kuna.
guas provinces, Western Panama, and 2172 in the
IIC. Magdalenic:
bordering area of southwestern Costa Rica), Kuna
C1. Core Magdalenic:
(70 000 in the eastern Atlantic coast and the south-
C1.1. Southern Magdalenic:
eastern Paya and Pucuro localities of Panama, and
C1.1a. Chibcha: Muisca, Duit.
800 in Arquı́a and Caimán Nuevo in the Urabá
C1.1b. Tunebo.
Gulf, Colombia), Chimila (450; lowlands to the
C1.2. Arhuacic:
south of Fundación River, Magdalena Department,
C1.2a. Cogui.
Colombia), Cogui (Cágaba; 6000; northern, eastern,
C1.2b. Eastern-southern
and western slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa
Arhuacic:
Marta, Colombia), Damana (Malayo; 1500; southern
C1.2b.1. Eastern
and eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa
Arhuacic:
Marta), Ica (Bı́ntucua; 8000; southern slopes of the
Damana,
Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta), Barı́ (Motilón; 1500
Kankuama.
in Colombia, 850 in Venezuela; Serranı́a de Moti-
C1.2b.2. Ica.
lones), and Tunebo (Uwa; 3500, mostly in Colombia,
C2. Chimila.
a few in Venezuela; eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada
C3. Barı́.
de Cocuy). Formerly, the stock included at least eight
more languages which are listed with their original There are some indications that (a) the Isthmic
location, and approximate time of extinction: Huetar group could be divided into two branches: Viceitic-
(central Costa Rica, 18th century), Chánguena, Boruca and Teribe-Guaymiic-Doracic-Kuna, (b) the
308 Chavée, Honoré (1815–1877)

Chavée H (1857). Français et wallon, parallèle linguistique. Leroy M (1985). ‘Chavée (Honoré-Joseph).’ In Biographie
Paris: Truchy. nationale publiée par l’Académie royale des sciences, des
Desmet P (1996). La linguistique naturaliste en France lettres et des beaux-arts de Belgique, vol. 44. Brussels:
(1867–1922). Leuven: Peeters. Bruylant. 197–206.

Chibchan
A Constenla Umaña, University of Costa Rica, San Dorasque (both in western Panama, Chiriquı́ Lagoon
José, Costa Rica area, beginning of the 20th century), Antioquian
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. (central and northeastern Department of Antioquia,
Colombia, 18th century), Tairona (the coast to the
north of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, 18th
The Chibchan stock is currently composed of the 16 century or before), Kankuama (eastern slopes of the
languages from Central America and northwestern Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, first half of the 20th
South America listed below with their main current century), Duit (Boyacá Department, Colombia, 18th
alternate names, approximate number of speakers, century), and Muisca (Cundinamarca Department,
and location: Pech (Paya; 900; Olancho Depart- Colombia, 18th century).
ment, eastern Honduras), Rama (20; Rama Cay and
other localities south of Rı́o Escondido, southeastern
Subgrouping
Nicaragua), Maléku Jaı́ka (Guatuso; 300; Guatuso
County, northern plains of Costa Rica), Cabécar The following subgrouping is based on both lexico-
(8500; Atlantic watershed and southern Pacific statistical and comparative evidence (Constenla,
slope of the Talamanca Range, southern Costa 1995: 42):
Rica), Bribri (6000; southern Atlantic and Pacific
I. Pech.
slopes of the Talamanca Range), Boruca (Brunka; 2,
II. Core Chibchan:
20 semi-speakers with a passive domain of the lan-
IIA. Votic: Rama, Guatuso.
guage; Térraba Valley, southwestern Costa Rica), Ter-
IIB. Isthmic:
ibe (a dialect of Naso; 3000; Teribe and Changuinola
B1. Viceitic: Cabécar, Bribri.
rivers area, northwestern Panama; Térraba, the Costa
B2. Boruca.
Rican dialect, is extinct), Buglere (Bocotá, Guaymı́
B3. Teribe.
Sabanero; 3700; Bocas del Toro, Veraguas, Chir-
B4. Guaymiic: Ngäbere, Buglere.
iquı́ Provinces, western Panama), Ngäbere (Guaymı́;
B5. Doracic: Dorasque, Chánguena.
110 000 in the Bocas del Toro, Chiriquı́, and Vera-
B6. Kuna.
guas provinces, Western Panama, and 2172 in the
IIC. Magdalenic:
bordering area of southwestern Costa Rica), Kuna
C1. Core Magdalenic:
(70 000 in the eastern Atlantic coast and the south-
C1.1. Southern Magdalenic:
eastern Paya and Pucuro localities of Panama, and
C1.1a. Chibcha: Muisca, Duit.
800 in Arquı́a and Caimán Nuevo in the Urabá
C1.1b. Tunebo.
Gulf, Colombia), Chimila (450; lowlands to the
C1.2. Arhuacic:
south of Fundación River, Magdalena Department,
C1.2a. Cogui.
Colombia), Cogui (Cágaba; 6000; northern, eastern,
C1.2b. Eastern-southern
and western slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa
Arhuacic:
Marta, Colombia), Damana (Malayo; 1500; southern
C1.2b.1. Eastern
and eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada de Santa
Arhuacic:
Marta), Ica (Bı́ntucua; 8000; southern slopes of the
Damana,
Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta), Barı́ (Motilón; 1500
Kankuama.
in Colombia, 850 in Venezuela; Serranı́a de Moti-
C1.2b.2. Ica.
lones), and Tunebo (Uwa; 3500, mostly in Colombia,
C2. Chimila.
a few in Venezuela; eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada
C3. Barı́.
de Cocuy). Formerly, the stock included at least eight
more languages which are listed with their original There are some indications that (a) the Isthmic
location, and approximate time of extinction: Huetar group could be divided into two branches: Viceitic-
(central Costa Rica, 18th century), Chánguena, Boruca and Teribe-Guaymiic-Doracic-Kuna, (b) the

Magdalenic group could be also divided into two
branches: Southern Magdalenic-Barı́ and Arhuacic-
Chimila, (c) Huetar might belong to Votic, and (d)
Tairona to Eastern-southern Arhuacic (Jackson, 1995:
67–68).
The split of Proto-Chibchan into the ancestors of
Pech and Core Chibchan occurred, according to glot-
tochronology, around 6550 years BP, at the times
of the beginning of the transition from the hunter-
gatherer way of life to the agricultural one. The greater
diversity between the languages is found to the west
and north, in Central America, which suggests that the
Chibchan people’s homeland must have been there,
probably in Costa Rica and Panama, where archeology
has found the oldest sites related to them.
External Relationships
There have been proposals of relationships between
Chibchan and at least a score of other Amerindian
language groups and isolates from Florida in the United
States to northern Chile and Argentina (such as Timu-
cua, Tarascan, Cuitlatec, Xincan, Lencan, Misumal-
pan, Chocoan, Andaquı́, Betoy, Warao, Yanomama,
Paez, Barbacoan, Mochica, Kunza, Allentiac), which
together would constitute a Macro-Chibchan phylum.
None of these have been proved, and the quality of the
supposed evidence in their favor is extremely poor
(Constenla, 1993: 81–95).
Typology
The Chibchan languages belong to the Lower Central
American Linguistic Area, characterized by features
such as SOV order, postpositions, prepositive geni-
tive, postpositive numerals and adjectives, lack of
gender contrasts, and contrasts between voiced and
voiceless stops.
The Chibchan languages of southern Costa Rica
and western Panama, together with the Chocoan lan-
guages, constitute a Central Subarea characterized
by the predominance of features such as distinctive
Chickasaw See: Mobilian Jargon; Muskogean Languages.
Chibchan 309
vowel nasality, tense/lax vocalic contrasts, ergative or
active case systems, and absence of person inflections.
Most Chibchan languages in this subarea present
numeral classifiers, postpositive demonstratives, and
tone contrasts.
Pech, Rama, and Maléku Jaı́ka are part of a North-
ern Subarea, and the Magdalenic languages, of an
Eastern Subarea. Although each of these subareas
possesses its own characteristics, they share the pre-
dominance of features, both positive and negative,
opposed to those of the Central subarea such as
accusative-nominative case systems (Maléku Jaı́ka
and Tunebo are exceptions to this), person inflection
for possession in nouns and for agent and patient
in verbs, prepositive demonstratives, and lack of
numeral classifiers, distinctive vowel nasality, and
tense/lax vocalic contrasts.
See also: Choco Languages; Colombia: Language Situa-
tion; Costa Rica: Language Situation; Honduras: Lan-
guage Situation; Misumalpan; Nicaragua: Language
Situation; Panama: Language Situation; Venezuela: Lan-
guage Situation.
Bibliography
Constenla A (1991). Las lenguas del Area Intermedia:
introducción a su estudio areal. San José: Editorial de la
Universidad de Costa Rica.
Constenla A (1993). ‘La familia chibcha.’ In Rodrı́guez de
Montes M L (ed.) Estado actual de la clasificación de las
lenguas indı́genas de Colombia. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y
Cuervo. 75–125.
Constenla A (1995). ‘Sobre el estudio de las lenguas chib-
chenses y su contribución al conocimiento del pasado de
sus hablantes.’ Boletı́n Museo del Oro 38–39, 13–55.
Holt D (1986). ‘The development of the Paya sound system.’
Ph.D. diss. University of California, Los Angeles.
Jackson R (1995). ‘Fonologı́a comparativa de los idiomas
chibchas de la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta.’ Boletı́n
Museo del Oro 38–39, 57–69.
310 CHILDES Database
CHILDES Database
A Theakston, University of Manchester,
Manchester, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Overview of the System
The Child Language Data Exchange System
(CHILDES) has revolutionized the way that research
is carried out among the child language research com-
munity in the 20 years since its inception. The system
was first developed by Brian MacWhinney and
Catherine Snow and put in place at Carnegie Mellon
University in the United States. MacWhinney has
remained the driving force behind the development
of the system. The CHILDES system consists of three
main tools: a system of transcription for linguistic
data (CHAT format), a set of tools for analyzing
those data when transcribed according to the princi-
ples of the system (the CLAN programs), and a data-
base of linguistic corpora provided by members of the
language research community for use by the wider
research community. All aspects of the system are
available online and can be downloaded from the
CHILDES homepage. In addition, the CHILDES sys-
tem supports online access to membership lists and
e-mail distribution lists (info-childes) that have
encouraged discussion and debate among eminent
researchers and new researchers. From its humble
beginnings, the system has grown to include corpora
from more than 30 languages, covering first-language
acquisition, bilingual acquisition, language disorders,
and narrative. The transcripts are generated from
case studies and from groups of children, and include
both longitudinal and cross-sectional data. Although
American English and British English are well repre-
sented, other languages such as Sesotho, Estonian,
Spanish, and Cantonese are included in the database.
A key benefit of the CHILDES system is in provid-
ing researchers with a wealth of data on which to
base their analyses of children’s early language. Due
to time and financial constraints, researchers wishing
to use longitudinal data have made recordings (tradi-
tionally approximately one hour every week) from
small numbers of children or even from case studies.
This means that it is sometimes difficult to generalize
research findings to other children. Researchers are
now able to compare the results from their own data
with those from other comparable children from
the CHILDES database. Indeed, many researchers
use the database as the sole source of data for their
analyses. However, to use the CHILDES system prop-
erly, it is essential to understand the basics of tran-
scription. In addition, as a courtesy to those who
donate data, it is necessary to cite an appropriate
reference to recognize the researchers who contribu-
ted the data used in an analysis. Researchers should
also cite the CHILDES handbook (MacWhinney,
2000a, MacWhinney, 2000b) to acknowledge use
of the system and to recognize the work of Brian
MacWhinney in developing and maintaining the
system.
Transcription and CHAT Format
The first major tool of the CHILDES system is the
CHAT format for transcription. This is a set of guide-
lines for transcription that, if followed correctly,
enables all researchers who understand the system
to accurately interpret any transcripts contributed
to the database and to use the data in their analyses.
The system is relatively straightforward but takes a
bit of time to master. A handbook written by Brian
MacWhinney entitled The CHILDES Project: tools
for analyzing talk, Vol. 1 (2000a) provides details of
the various aspects of transcription, but readers are
advised to consult the online transcription manual for
up-to-date information, as the format for transcrip-
tion is sometimes modified in line with developments
in the overall system.
A simple transcript includes header tiers that pro-
vide background information, for example the parti-
cipants, the location or setting, the date, and so on.
The header tiers are then followed by the transcript.
Each main line of the transcript represents a separate
utterance and is identified by a speaker ID followed
by the utterance. Each main line can then be accom-
panied by any number of dependent tiers that appear
directly beneath the utterance and allow more de-
tailed coding, for example speech act coding, glosses
of second languages, error coding, and any general
comments that assist the researcher. All transcripts
must finish with a final ‘End’ line. Figure 1 shows a
sample transcript in the CLAN window. The tran-
script shows headers, main lines, and a few dependent
tiers (for errors –%err, and morphological analysis,
%mor), and also includes examples of coding for
retracings [/], imitations [þ I], unintelligible speech
(xxx, [þ PI]), incomplete utterances þ//. [þ IN], and
omitted material prefaced with 0.).
When transcribing data, transcripts can be made as
simple or as complex as is required by the individual
researcher. However, as transcription is a lengthy
process (often up to 10 hours per hour of data),
forward planning is essential to make the most of
the time available. It is possible to save a lot of time
if sufficient thought is given in advance to the kinds of

Figure 1 A sample transcript (adapted from the Manchester corpus available on CHILDES, Theakston et al., 2001).
questions the researcher might want to ask of the data
and the transcript is coded accordingly. Many aspects
of linguistic interactions are easy to code as transcrip-
tion is taking place, but are somewhat harder to
locate at a later stage should it be necessary for a
given analysis. For example, argument structure over-
generalizations (e.g., Don’t giggle me) are difficult to
locate unless coded as errors, and the identity of
omitted words or morphemes may be evident in the
context of the recording when intonation patterns are
available, but may be unclear when we are faced with
the bare transcript. However, the vast range of coding
possibilities available and the necessity of selecting
among these to address the needs of the immediate
research means that when using data available on
CHILDES that has been contributed by other
researchers, it is essential to ascertain whether the
coding carried out is sufficient to support your own
specific analyses.
Analysis and the CLAN Programs
Once the researcher has transcripts available for anal-
ysis, either through the transcription of new data,
CHILDES Database 311
or by accessing data online, the second component
of the CHILDES system comes into play. The CLAN
programs provide a powerful computerized system
of analysis for transcripts in CHAT format. There
are about 40 programs, although most researchers
will find themselves using just a handful. To run the
programs, it is necessary to type fairly basic com-
mands into the command window (see Figure 2),
and to ensure that this is done accurately, as programs
will either not run or will generate inaccurate results
if the command is flawed. The most commonly used
programs allow automated calculation of standard
measures such as mean length of utterance or turn
(MLU, MLT), type token ratios and measures of lexi-
cal diversity (VOCD, FREQ), and enable researchers
to conduct basic frequency counts on words or pho-
nemes quickly and accurately (FREQ, PHONFREQ).
More advanced programs allow researchers to iso-
late utterances containing specific words, word
types, or word combinations either alone or with
preceding and following linguistic context (KWAL
and COMBO). It is also possible to generate co-
occurrence data showing the frequency with which
individual combinations of words occur together
(COOCCUR).
312 CHILDES Database
Figure 2 The CLAN commands window.
Those researchers who take the time to fully under-
stand the CLAN programs will be rewarded, as many
more complex research questions require the use of a
combination of different programs in sequence, using
the output of one program as input to another to
generate results. Using the CLAN programs can be
confusing for the novice, as all programs have a
number of switches that allow different output. For
example, it is possible to output information with
or without line numbers, in alphabetical order, pre-
serving details of file names, or merging all output
from several files together. As for transcription, there
is a published manual (MacWhinney, 2000a, 2000b)
providing guidance on the use of the programs, but
readers are advised to consult the online manual, as
many programs are regularly updated as the capabil-
ities of the system improve. The manual also provides
basic tutorials in the use of the programs.
At the most straightforward level, analyses are
carried out on all speakers and on the main line in
the transcript. However, it is possible to fine-tune
analyses by specifying individual speakers or individ-
ual tiers over which to conduct these analyses. More-
over, it is possible to run the programs on single
transcript files, or over many files simultaneously,
and to generate output file by file, or to merge output
together across files and/or speakers. Search com-
mands can be modified to include wildcards to allow
more complex analyses. Anyone carrying out ana-
lyses using the CLAN programs should check the
output against the original files, at least in the first
instance, to check that the search is operating in the
way expected. Although the programs are powerful
and can perform searches quickly and efficiently,
the accuracy of the output relies crucially on the
accuracy of the transcription, coding, and the search
command.
In addition to the analysis programs, the MOR
and POST programs allow researchers to add a
line of morphological coding to their transcripts.
For researchers interested in the development of
grammar, these programs provide an extremely valu-
able tool. Once a transcript has been coded, it is then
possible to search for specific word types, for example
verbs, pronouns, and for combinations of these items,
allowing much more powerful analyses. To date,
almost all of the English data in CHILDES has been
run through the MOR program by Brian MacWhin-
ney and colleagues, as well as some Spanish, Japa-
nese, and Cantonese corpora. For English, the POST
program provides almost fully automated coding (the
MOR program alone generates options for grammat-
ical coding, but the choice of the correct coding is
largely done by hand). There are currently MOR
grammars available for Cantonese, Chinese, Dutch,
English, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and
Spanish, and grammars are being developed for a
number of other languages. Of course, the accuracy
of any analysis based on the line of morphological
coding depends on the accuracy of the coding itself.
Although the grammars are continually being
updated, in the past there have been a few problems
with the accuracy of the coding, so researchers are
advised to check transcripts carefully prior to running
any analyses to ensure that the coding is correct.
New Directions
One of the more recent developments of the
CHILDES system is the ability to link transcripts to
digitized audio and video data. It is necessary to
create a digitized sound or video file, but it is then
possible to create a direct link between an individual
utterance in a transcript and the corresponding sec-
tion of audio or video recording. This has the poten-
tial to revolutionize child language research, as it will
allow us to investigate issues that were not considered
by the original researchers, by recoding the audio
or video data. For example, this may be useful to
people interested in phonological development, as
few recordings are transcribed phonetically by
researchers interested in later language development
or the acquisition of grammar. It will also allow
researchers to double-check utterances that they are
unsure of, for example, children’s errors or utterances
marked unintelligible by the original transcriber. It is
now possible to access linked transcripts for a number
of datasets from the CHILDES website and either
download these or view them online.
New improvements in technology bring with them
potentially difficult issues with respect to partici-
pant consent and confidentiality. When parents and
children agree to participate in studies of child lan-
guage acquisition, we have a responsibility to ensure
that we obtain consent for all uses of the resulting

data. In the past, parents would not have envisaged
transcripts of their interactions with their children
appearing on the Internet, available to anyone who
cares to look and listen. Traditionally, researchers
have dealt with this problem by giving children pseu-
donyms and removing any potentially identifying
information from the transcripts. Of course, this is
easy to do with written transcripts, but much more
difficult if we intend to make audio and video
recordings available online to the wider research
community. The availability of audio and video re-
cordings also means a much wider range of questions
that may potentially be asked of the data than the
original researchers intended, again raising issues of
participant consent.
A second ongoing development is the transforma-
tion of the CHILDES database into XML format
through the Talkbank project. This will eventually
allow researchers to access the CHILDES database
online and to run analyses directly without having
to download the data to their own computers. Of
course, many researchers prefer to recode data before
analysis, but the facility to run analyses online will
doubtless prove useful to many people.
Conclusion
The CHILDES system has led to significant improve-
ments in research in child language acquisition over
the last 20 years, and will continue to do so with the
new developments taking place. It is a huge benefit to
the research community that there are now large
amounts of data for English, and increasing amounts
of data from a wide range of other languages. How-
ever, it is necessary for researchers to exercise caution.
First, over-reliance on the CHILDES database can
lead to the extensive analysis of data from just a few
children, which may bias our findings in various
ways. Second, when comparing children using data
from CHILDES, it is important to carefully control
for the age and linguistic stage of the children con-
cerned, and to ensure that the corpora are comparable
CHILDES Database 313
in terms of transcription procedures and coding
before carrying out any analyses. Third, the increas-
ing trend toward analyses at the lexical level means
that although the CHILDES system provides data
from many children, relatively few of these children
have enough data in a dense enough time period to
support such analyses. These issues mean that al-
though the CHILDES database is a valuable resource,
it is essential that researchers continue to donate new
data to CHILDES to promote rigorous cross-linguis-
tic research into language acquisition.
See also: Corpora of Spoken Discourse; Corpora; Corpus
Linguistics; Language Development: Overview; Parsing
and Grammar Description, Corpus-Based.
Bibliography
Berko Gleason J & Thomson R B (2002). ‘Out of the baby
book and into the computer: child language research
comes of age.’ APA Review of Books 47, 4.
MacWhinney B (1999). ‘The CHILDES system.’ In Ritchie
W & Bhatia T (eds.) Handbook of child language acqui-
sition. San Diego, CA, US: Academic Press, Inc. 457–494.
MacWhinney B (2000a). The CHILDES project: tools
for analyzing talk, vol. 1: Transcription format and pro-
grams. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
MacWhinney B (2000b). The CHILDES project: tools for
analyzing talk, vol. 2: The database. Mahwah, NJ: Law-
rence Erlbaum Associates.
MacWhinney B (2001). ‘From CHILDES to TalkBank.’
In Almgren M, Barrena A & Ezeizaberrena M (eds.)
Research on child language acquisition. Somerville,
MA: Cascadilla. 17–34.
Sokolov J & Snow C (eds.) (1994). Handbook of research
in language development using CHILDES. Hillsdale, NJ:
Erlbaum.
Relevant Websites
http://childes. psy.cmu.edu – CHILDES.
http://xml.talkbank.org – Talkbank.
314 Children’s Literature: Translation of
Children’s Literature: Translation of
T Puurtinen, University of Joensuu, Savonlinna,
Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Role and Readership
Translation of children’s literature poses particular
challenges owing to some special characteristics of
children’s books and qualities of child readers. The
fact that children’s literature tends to have a peripher-
al position in cultures (Shavit, 1986) and suffer from
lack of prestige makes it possible to manipulate texts
translated for children in various ways to make them
accord with the expectations of the receiving culture.
Furthermore, children are not expected to tolerate as
much strangeness and foreignness as adult readers,
and therefore, modification of the content and lan-
guage of source texts is often considered necessary.
Instead of being innovative, translated children’s
books thus tend to conform to conventional, accepted
forms, models, and language. However, children’s
literature plays an important part as a tool for educa-
tion, socialization, development of linguistic skills,
and spreading world knowledge. Especially in minor
language cultures, where translations account for a
large proportion of published children’s literature,
children are likely to come into contact with litera-
ture and its educative and entertaining functions
mainly through translations. Therefore, translations
may have a key role in introducing child readers to
characters, events, and language typical of fiction.
The term ‘children’s literature’ usually refers to
fiction targeted at readers from preliterate children
to young teenagers; nonfiction, such as school text-
books, is excluded. Children’s fiction is, in fact, not
a uniform genre either; its various subgenres, e.g.,
fairy tales and fantasy stories, detective novels, realis-
tic stories, differ in terms of purpose and language
(see Puurtinen, 2003: 402), which is likely to affect
the choice of translation methods. Here, how-
ever, children’s fiction is treated as one, albeit very
heterogeneous, genre.
Although children are the primary readership, chil-
dren’s books actually have an important secondary
target group – adult readers, whose preferences and
literary tastes must be taken into account by both
authors and translators. However, Oittinen (1993,
2000) advocates translating for children, rather than
translating children’s literature, and emphasizes the
significance of children’s culture and their magical
world, as well as society’s image of childhood and
the translator’s own child image (Oittinen, 2000:
41–60).
In addition to the existence of two target groups,
children’s literature has a number of other special
qualities, which have an effect on both the content
and language of translations: strong ideological,
didactic, ethical, and moral norms, ambivalence, aim
at high readability and speakability, and text–picture
relationship. (Nikolajeva, 1996, is an extensive dis-
cussion of features and forms of children’s literature.)
Translation problems and their solutions made at
the level of language tend to reflect, and result from,
these hierarchically higher levels. (For a comprehen-
sive review of studies on the translation of children’s
literature, see Tabbert, 2002.)
Cultural Norms
Various norms regulating the translation of children’s
literature can be subsumed under the more extensive
concept of culture, or ideology in a neutral sense,
referring to taken-for-granted assumptions, beliefs,
and values shared by a particular society or culture.
In fact, ideology is the overriding constraint, an
umbrella concept, dictating what is acceptable chil-
dren’s literature (see Stephens, 1992; Knowles and
Malmkjær, 1996). In general, children’s books are
expected to be in some way beneficial to children
and sufficiently easy in terms of plot, characteriza-
tion, and language to be comprehensible (Shavit,
1981: 172, 1986: 112–128). These two requirements
may sometimes be contradictory. For instance, a
maximally understandable text may be regarded as
too simple to teach anything new and, in that respect,
benefit the child reader. Moreover, notions of what is
beneficial and comprehensible vary from culture to
culture and change with time, which often leads
to manipulation of source texts in translation (see
Shavit, 1981, for examples of manipulation, and
Desmidt, 2003, for didactic norms and readability).
A good example of the effect of strong didactic
norms on language is the French translation of Pippi
Longstocking, the originally Swedish Pippi Lång-
strump by Astrid Lindgren. While the original Pippi
shows disrespect towards adults in her anarchic,
norm-breaking language use, the French translation
has turned her into a more obedient, well-behaved
girl by, e.g., toning down impolite expressions
(Heldner, 1993). Another example of didacticism is
provided by the older German (German, Standard)
translations of Tove Jansson’s originally Swedish
Moomintroll books, which have, e.g., omitted refer-
ences to kissing, poker games, and American dance
music, because these were considered unsuitable for
German children’s literature in the 1950s, at the time

of publishing the translations (Bode, 1996; for cen-
sorship in East Germany, see Thomson-Wohlgemuth,
2003).
Ambivalence
The need to appeal to adult readers leads to the
creation of ambivalent texts, which can be read
and interpreted differently by children and adults
(Shavit, 1986: 63–91). Well-known classics, such as
Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s adventures in wonderland and
Kenneth Grahame’s The wind in the willows,
are examples of ambivalent texts, which children are
supposed to read on only one level, as simple fairy
tales, whereas adults are expected to be aware of the
ironical or satirical levels as well. Intertextuality, such
as allusions to other literary texts, films and real-life
or fictional characters, is a typical element of ambiv-
alence intended to please the more knowledgeable
adult audience. When translated, an ambivalent chil-
dren’s book may be simplified and directed merely to
children by omitting all ingredients of ambivalence;
sometimes two different translations can be made,
one for children and the other, retaining ambivalence,
primarily for adults.
Readability and Speakability
All special features and norms typical of children’s
literature are naturally to some extent manifest in the
language used, but the feature which is the most
directly related to linguistic details is readability, or
comprehensibility. Although readability is also influ-
enced by other factors than purely linguistic ones
(e.g., such text-external factors as the reading situa-
tion, the reader’s subject and world knowledge, inter-
est, and motivation), it is usually defined as a textual
quality determined by the level of linguistic difficulty.
The main determinants of readability include the
length and complexity of sentences and the length
and familiarity of words (Puurtinen, 1995: 104–115,
135–164; see also Puurtinen, 1997, for syntactic
norms). Readability can be understood to cover
speakability, the ease of reading aloud, which is
an important quality in children’s books read aloud
by adults to small children (see Puurtinen, 1995:
164–178; Dollerup, 2003). In addition to lexical
and syntactic features relevant to readability, speak-
ability is also affected by, e.g., rhyme, rhythm, and
alliteration, which make reading aloud fluent and
pleasant.
If readability requirements in the source and target
literatures are different, the translator may, e.g.,
simplify sentence structures, decrease sentence length,
or use more familiar, concrete vocabulary. The age of
Children’s Literature: Translation of 315
the potential readers is crucial, as the reading skills of
different age groups vary extensively. The educative
function of children’s literature and aim at high
readability in translation may sometimes be contra-
dictory: Culture-specific elements, such as references
to foreign places and customs, convey information
about foreign cultures if retained in translation, but
they also reduce readability. If, on the other hand,
such elements are replaced with familiar, domestic
ones, i.e., if cultural adaptation is carried out, read-
ability is increased, but the opportunity to improve
knowledge is simultaneously lost. (For preservation,
neutralization, and adaptation of culture-specific ele-
ments, see, e.g., Klingberg, 1986; Nord, 1993.) In
Israel, the desire to teach children the highly valued
literary form of Hebrew through literature resulted in
a translation policy which forced translators to turn
even colloquial source text dialogues into standard,
formal Hebrew (Even-Zohar, 1992). Easily under-
standable, everyday source text language was thus
replaced with the traditional, varied, but less readable
Hebrew variant. Since the 1980s, didactic intentions
have been giving way to considerations of readability
in Hebrew children’s literature (Du-Nour, 1995).
In some cases high readability may clash with the
aim to create an inspiring, enjoyable translation. The
numerous descriptive personal names in the Harry
Potter books (e.g., Neville Longbottom, Minerva
McGonagall, Vindictus Viridian) are complicated
enough to have a negative effect on readability, but
as they often refer to some special qualities of the
characters and require inferences and interpretation
from the reader, they are likely to make the reading
process more active and enjoyable. Therefore, most
translators tend to choose such target language
equivalents for the names that also trigger inferences
(Davies, 2003; for functions and translation of proper
names in children’s literature, see Nord, 2003).
Relationship between Text
and Illustrations
The relationship between text and illustrations is par-
ticularly important in picture books for small chil-
dren, where pictures are the dominant element. In
illustrated books for older children, pictures may
also have a central role in supporting the text. There
is interaction between words and pictures. Pictures
influence the interpretation of the content of the
story, and words create a point of view to the pictures
(Oittinen, 1993: 113–139, 2000: 100–114, 2001,
2003). Thus, the translator’s interpretation of
the story is affected by the pictures, and this interpre-
tation is reflected in the formulation of the transla-
tion. Although translators try to make the text and
316 Children’s Literature: Translation of
illustrations cohere, discrepancies are sometimes
created if, e.g., the translator has to work on the
basis of the verbal text only, or if the translator is
provided with new pictures different from the origi-
nal ones. To improve correspondence between text
and pictures, the translator may also deviate from the
text of the original (Dollerup, 2003: 88). However,
the original balance between text and pictures can
be disturbed, if the translator adds such information
into the target text which in the original is only
conveyed by pictures (see Tabbert, 1991; O’Sullivan,
2000: 287–291). Translating illustrated texts requires
specialized knowledge of the text–picture relation-
ship, child readers’ picture reading abilities, and
potential cultural differences in the conventions of
illustrated books.
Bibliography
Bode A (1996). ‘Vieraskielisiä sanoja taikurin hatusta.
Muumikirjojen käännökset saksaan ja slaavilaisiin
kieliin.’ In Kurhela V (ed.) Muumien taikaa. Tutkimus-
retkiä Tove Janssonin maailmaan. Suomen Nuorisokir-
jallisuuden Instituutin julkaisuja 20. Helsinki: BTJ
kirjastopalvelu. 110–134.
Davies E E (2003). ‘A goblin or a dirty nose? The treatment
of culture-specific references in translations of the Harry
Potter books.’ The Translator. Studies in Intercultural
Communication 9(1), 65–100.
Desmidt I (2003). ‘‘‘Jetzt bist du in Deutschland, Däuml-
ing.’’ Nils Holgersson on foreign soil—subject to new
norms.’ Meta. Translators’ Journal 48(1–2), 165–181.
Dollerup C (2003). ‘Translation for reading aloud.’ Meta.
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Du-Nour M (1995). ‘Retranslation of children’s books as
evidence of changes of norms.’ Target. International
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children’s literature: the case of Astrid Lindgren.’ Poetics
Today 13(1), 231–245.
Heldner C (1993). ‘Une anarchiste en camisole de force.
Fifi Brindacier ou la métamorphose française de Pippi
Långstrump.’ Moderna språk 87(1), 37–43.
Klingberg G (1986). Children’s fiction in the hands of the
translators. Lund: CWK Gleerup.
Knowles M & Malmkjær K (1996). Language and control
in children’s literature. London: Routledge.
Nikolajeva M (1996). Children’s literature comes of age:
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Nord C (1993). ‘Alice im Niemandsland: die Bedeutung
von Kultursignalen für die Wirkung von literarischen
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zum 70. Geburtstag. Studia translatologica ser A, vol. 3.
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Alice in Wonderland as a case in point.’ Meta.
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Oittinen R (1993). I am me – I am other: on the
dialogics of translating for children. Acta Universitatis
Tamperensis, series A, (vol. 386). Tampere: University
of Tampere.
Oittinen R (2000). Translating for children. New York:
Garland.
Oittinen R (2001). ‘On translating picture books.’ Perspec-
tives. Studies in Translatology 9(2), 109–125.
Oittinen R (2003). ‘Where the wild things are: translating
picture books.’ Meta. Translators’ Journal 48(1–2),
128–141.
O’Sullivan E (2000). Kinderliterarische Komparatistik.
Heidelberg: C. Winter.
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Puurtinen T (1997). ‘Syntactic norms in Finnish children’s
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Tabbert R (1991). ‘Bilderbücher zwischen zwei Kulturen.’
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Thomson-Wohlgemuth G (2003). ‘Children’s literature
and translation under the East German regime.’ Meta.
Translators’ Journal 48(1–2), 241–249.

Chile: Language Situation
A Valencia, University of Playa Ancha,
Valparaiso, Chile
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Chile is situated in the southwest of South America.
After gaining independence from Spain, it became an
independent republic in 1810. Its geography is un-
even and mountainous with a surface of 756 626
sq km, out of which 379.9 sq km are islands. With
15 116 435 inhabitants (census of 2002), Chile is a
country with a stable economy and has become one of
the most powerful countries of South America, with
great human potential as well as potential natural
resources and natural beauties.
The official language is Spanish, but there are
also minority languages. Autochthonous languages in-
clude Mapudungún, Aymara, Rapanui, and Qawásqar,
the language of the last representatives of the ethnic
group known as Alacalufe. A number of foreign lan-
guages are spoken, resulting from successive migra-
tions during the 19th century that were facilitated by
the structure of the territory: 4300 km of coastline and
innumerable geographical irregularities that generate
relatively isolated spaces. All this has influenced the
linguistic evolution of the country and, as a conse-
quence, Chile is today a multilingual and pluricultural
country.
The education is in Spanish; however, second lan-
guages are taught, notably English, but also German
(German, Standard), French, Italian, Hebrew, and
Japanese.
Spanish Spoken in Chile
The Spanish spoken in Chile is a dialect of the Spanish
language and includes characteristics that are also
present in other dialects of Spanish, but it is set
apart by the frequency in the use of some forms.
Phonologically, Chilean Spanish is, like other South
American dialects of Spanish, characterized by seseo
(that is, European Spanish /y/ is pronounced /s/). For
example, zapato, ‘shoe’, is pronounced [sapáto], as
opposed to European Spanish [yapáto]. Yeı́smo (/l/
is pronounced /^!/); caballo, ‘horse,’ is pronounced
[kaßá^!o]. Other features in the speech found in vari-
eties of Chilean Spanish are the aspiration or elision
of /s/ in coda position (e.g., [áhno] for asno, ‘donkey’),
and lenition or elision of intervocalic /d/ (e.g., [aláðo]
! [alá:o] for alado, ‘winged’).
In morphology and syntax, a distinct feature of
Chilean Spanish is the use of definite articles before
Chile: Language Situation 317
first names, especially with female names (e.g., la
Maria). These are used less frequently with male
names (e.g., el Juan), and not with family names
(e.g., #la González). In tense-aspect morphology,
future tense is often formed with a periphrastic con-
struction with ir a (‘go to’) plus infinitive, e.g., voy a
amar, ‘I will love,’ instead of the synthetic amaré.
Another relevant phenomenon related to the forms
of address is the one known as ‘voseo,’ a phenomenon
that, in Chile, has a verbal character: VERB2psing þ
PRON tú. In this way, the canonical forms ‘‘tú cantas,
tú quieres, tú ves’’ [kántas, kjéres, bes] ‘you sing, you
like, you see’ are pronounced ‘‘tú cantai, tú querı́(h),
tú veı́(h)’’ [kantái, kerı́h, beı́h]. The use of the pro-
noun vos is stigmatized. Although the phenomenon of
voseo does not exist in formal speech, this is quite
common in colloquial speech as a sign of ‘familiarity’
between speaker and hearer. Similarly, ustedes
replaces vosotros, and os is not used at all.
On the lexical level, Chilean Spanish includes
several loanwords from Amerindian languages,
e.g., guata, ‘belly,’ chuncho, ‘owl,’ laucha, ‘little
mouse,’ and pololo, ‘boy friend’ from Mapudungún;
and camanchaca, ‘mist,’ and calato, ‘naked,’ from
Aymara. In addition, there are loanwords from
European languages such as kuchen, ‘cake,’ pizza,
and sandwich. There is an increasing influence
of English, especially in sport-slang, economy, and
business. Specific uses in informal speech include
huevón [weßón], ‘fool,’ used as an emphatic term of
address, as well as gallo, ‘cock,’ for ‘man,’ cabro,
‘goat,’ for ‘boy,’ and cabra, ‘she-goat,’ for ‘girl.’
This is why it is not strange that, as a humorist once
said, ‘‘En Chile los gallos se casan con las cabras’’ (‘In
Chile roosters marry goats’).
Autochthonous Languages
Mapudungún is the language of the about 1 000 000-
strong Mapuche ethnic group. The smaller groups of
Pehuenches and Huilliches also belong to this ethnic
group and speak languages similar to Mapudungún.
Mapudungún (also called Mapuche or Araucanian)
is an SVO language. The Mapuche population is
predominantly bilingual Mapudungún-Spanish, but
has managed to maintain its linguistic identity,
despite the violent process of acculturation and eco-
nomic control suffered from the 16th century on-
wards. Mapudungún has been studied since the 17th
century. In 1992, Adalberto Salas published Mapuche
or Araucanian: phonology, grammar and analysis of
texts, the most complete and modern work on this
language.
318 Chile: Language Situation
Chilean Aymara is spoken by approximately
40 000 people in small villages in valleys of the moun-
tain range and high plateau strip in the northern
part of Chile, at altitudes of 3000–3800 m. Little
work has been done on Chilean Aymara. It is an
agglutinative language with a large amount of affixes.
The phonological and lexical variations detected
until now indicate that it is a variety of the Bolivian
Aymara. The Chilean group has developed a form of
Aymara-Spanish bilingualism of its own kind.
Rapanui, or Pascuense, is an Austronesian VSO
language spoken by approximately 2400 speakers
on Easter Island, an island about 3700 km off the
Chilean coast. The important and enigmatic archaeo-
logical history of this island is responsible for a great
flow of tourism and multinational research, which
favors the multilingual activity of the island’s inhabi-
tants. Bilingual Spanish-Rapanui education is offered
in primary and secondary education. Many students
continue their studies in universities in continental
Chile. There are a number of studies on Rapanui,
and there are descriptions of the current language
being developed.
Fuegian Languages
Of all the languages once spoken in the inhospitable
Chilean Patagonia, the languages of the Ona (or
Selk’nam) became extinct in 1928, and of the Yámana
or Yagan, in 2003; only a small community of about
20 Qawásqar or Alacalufes persists. There are lin-
guistic studies that have been developed and others
still in development, before the inevitable extinction
of these languages.
Conclusion
The Spanish spoken in Chile is a peripheral dialect in
relation to the rest of the Spanish-speaking world.
It has evolved by preserving archaisms and develop-
ing a creativity with its own rules. It is in contact
with two vernacular Indoamerican languages and
one Austronesian language. With current globaliza-
tion, it is also experiencing a notable increase of
anglicisms.
As for the autochthonous languages, there are
initiatives with the Department of Education and
university researchers for their study and conserva-
tion. It is interesting to note the active participation of
the young people of these groups. The promulgation
of the Indigenous Law – though a great part of these
declarations remain effective only on paper – in
some way has given place to the recognition of the
autochthonous people. In contact areas, some schools
give primary education in minority languages. Alpha-
bets have been created for these languages and several
universities are preparing teachers for a bicultural
and bilingual education.
See also: Austronesian Languages: Overview; Mapudun-
gan; Spanish.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 49.
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ficado de chilenismos y de otros usos diferenciales del
español de Chile (4 vols). Santiago: Editorial Universi-
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Oroz R (1966). La lengua castellana en Chile. Santiago:
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Ortiz H & Saavedra E (2003). La fonética en Chile. Biblio-
grafı́a analı́tica 1829–2000. Santiago: Phoné Libros.
Rabanales A (1981). ‘Perfil lingüı́stico de Chile.’ In
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orem Eugenio Coseriu, vol. 5. Madrid: Gredos. 447–464.
Rabanales A (1998). ‘La polı́tica lingüı́stica en Chile.’ In
Matluck J & Solé C (eds.) La lengua española: pasado,
presente y futuro. Austin: University of Texas. 111–120.
Rabanales A & Contreras L (1979, 1990). El habla culta de
Santiago de Chile. Materiales para su estudio (vol. I). In
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(vol. II). Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo.
Rabanales A & Contreras L (1987). Léxico del habla culta
de Santiago de Chile. México: Centro de Lingüı́stica
Hispánica.

Sáez L (2000). Cómo hablamos en Chile. Ocho aproxima-
ciones. Santiago: Editorial BACH-SOCHIL.
Sáez L (2002). El español de Chile. La creatividad lingüı́s-
tica de los chilenos. Santiago: Editorial BACH-Colección
IDEA.
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lismo lingüı́stico, la educación y el desarrollo nacional.’
In Lingüı́stica y Literatura. Anejo 1.
Salas A (1973). ‘The phonemes of the language of Easter
Island.’ RLA [Concepción] 11, 61–66.
Salas A (1992). El mapuche o araucano. Fonologı́a, gramá-
tica y antologı́a de cuentos. Madrid: MAPFRE.
Salas A & Valencia A (1988). ‘Fonologı́a del aymara
altiplánico chileno.’ Filologı́a y Lingüı́stica [San José
de Costa Rica] XIV 2, 119–122.
Salas A & Valencia A (1990). ‘El fonetismo del yámana
o yagán. Una nota en lingüı́stica de salvataje.’ RLA
[Concepción] 28, 147–169.
China: Language Situation
D Bradley, La Trobe University, Victoria,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
China is known in Chinese as Zhongguo ‘middle na-
tion,’ and indeed the cultural influence of China and
the Chinese on all its neighbors has been profound.
Chinese has been the dominant language of China for
millennia, but many other languages are spoken in
China. The languages of China fall into ten main
groups:
1. Sino-Tibetan, including Sinitic (Han Chinese, the
majority nationality) and Tibeto-Burman (17
nationalities, more than 100 languages) through-
out the country;
2. Manchu-Tungus (Manchu, Xibo, Ewenk, Oro-
qen and Hezhe nationalities, seven languages)
mainly in the northeast;
3. Mongol in the north central region (5.5 nation-
alities, including half of the Yugur, seven lan-
guages);
4. Turkic (6.5 nationalities and seven languages,
with the other half of the Yugur);
5. Austro-Asiatic or Mon-Khmer in the far south-
west (Wa, Bulang, De’ang, and Jing nationalities,
plus some small unclassified groups, more than
12 languages);
6. Tai-Kadai in the southwest (nine nationalities,
more than 20 languages);
7. Miao-Yao in the southwest central area (Miao,
Yao, and She nationalities, 27 languages);
China: Language Situation 319
Valencia A (1995). ‘Chile.’ In Lopez H (dir.) ALFAL, El
español de América. Cuadernos bibliográficos, vol. 6.
Madrid: Arco Libros [Contiene información de 1843 a
1994.]
Valencia A (2002). ‘Aspectos del habla femenina de
Santiago de Chile.’ In Parodi G (ed.) Lingüı́stica e inter-
disciplinariedad: Desafı́os del nuevo milenio. Ensayos en
honor a Marianne Peronard. Valparaı́so: Ediciones
Universitarias. 439–456.
Valencia A (2003). ‘Algunos fraseologismos chilenos.’ In
Sánchez J P & Werner R (eds.) Lexicografı́a y lexicologı́a
en Europa y América. Homenaje a Günther Haensch.
Madrid: Gredos. 663–681.
Wagner C (1997). ‘Las construcciones con que en el español
formal de Chile.’ Estudios Filológicos [Valdivia] 30,
19–27.
8. Indo-European (two nationalities, Tajik and
Russian, plus creole Portuguese in Macao);
9. Korean; and
10. Austronesian (the Gaoshan nationality, a dozen
languages indigenous to Taiwan, with few speak-
ers on the mainland).
The historical linguistic connection between Chinese
and the Tibeto-Burman languages is fully estab-
lished (Benedict, 1972; Coblin, 1986; Thurgood and
LaPolla, 2003). The relationships within the Tibeto-
Burman language family are also widely researched
(Bradley, 1979; Matisoff, 2003). Chinese scholars
suggest a close link of Sino-Tibetan languages with
the Tai-Kadai languages, but this has been disproven
by Benedict (1975), who instead linked the Tai-Kadai,
Austronesian, and Miao-Yao families. The ‘Altaic
hypothesis’ links Turkic, Mongol, Manchu-Tungus,
and Japanese-Korean, although this is dubious. Mar-
ginal to China are the Mon-Khmer or Austro-Asiatic
groups in the southwest and the Indo-European
groups. Conversely, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam were
long under the cultural influence of China.
The Chinese Language
There is a long tradition of philological and epi-
graphic work on Chinese, notably Karlgren (1957);
the best summary is Sagart (1999). There are also
many excellent studies of Chinese syntax, especially
Mandarin, notably Li and Thompson (1981). Chinese
linguists have worked particularly on phonology and
lexicon.

Sáez L (2000). Cómo hablamos en Chile. Ocho aproxima-
ciones. Santiago: Editorial BACH-SOCHIL.
Sáez L (2002). El español de Chile. La creatividad lingüı́s-
tica de los chilenos. Santiago: Editorial BACH-Colección
IDEA.
Saez L, Tassara G & Valencia A (eds.) (1996). ‘El plura-
lismo lingüı́stico, la educación y el desarrollo nacional.’
In Lingüı́stica y Literatura. Anejo 1.
Salas A (1973). ‘The phonemes of the language of Easter
Island.’ RLA [Concepción] 11, 61–66.
Salas A (1992). El mapuche o araucano. Fonologı́a, gramá-
tica y antologı́a de cuentos. Madrid: MAPFRE.
Salas A & Valencia A (1988). ‘Fonologı́a del aymara
altiplánico chileno.’ Filologı́a y Lingüı́stica [San José
de Costa Rica] XIV 2, 119–122.
Salas A & Valencia A (1990). ‘El fonetismo del yámana
o yagán. Una nota en lingüı́stica de salvataje.’ RLA
[Concepción] 28, 147–169.
China: Language Situation
D Bradley, La Trobe University, Victoria,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
China is known in Chinese as Zhongguo ‘middle na-
tion,’ and indeed the cultural influence of China and
the Chinese on all its neighbors has been profound.
Chinese has been the dominant language of China for
millennia, but many other languages are spoken in
China. The languages of China fall into ten main
groups:
1. Sino-Tibetan, including Sinitic (Han Chinese, the
majority nationality) and Tibeto-Burman (17
nationalities, more than 100 languages) through-
out the country;
2. Manchu-Tungus (Manchu, Xibo, Ewenk, Oro-
qen and Hezhe nationalities, seven languages)
mainly in the northeast;
3. Mongol in the north central region (5.5 nation-
alities, including half of the Yugur, seven lan-
guages);
4. Turkic (6.5 nationalities and seven languages,
with the other half of the Yugur);
5. Austro-Asiatic or Mon-Khmer in the far south-
west (Wa, Bulang, De’ang, and Jing nationalities,
plus some small unclassified groups, more than
12 languages);
6. Tai-Kadai in the southwest (nine nationalities,
more than 20 languages);
7. Miao-Yao in the southwest central area (Miao,
Yao, and She nationalities, 27 languages);
China: Language Situation 319
Valencia A (1995). ‘Chile.’ In Lopez H (dir.) ALFAL, El
español de América. Cuadernos bibliográficos, vol. 6.
Madrid: Arco Libros [Contiene información de 1843 a
1994.]
Valencia A (2002). ‘Aspectos del habla femenina de
Santiago de Chile.’ In Parodi G (ed.) Lingüı́stica e inter-
disciplinariedad: Desafı́os del nuevo milenio. Ensayos en
honor a Marianne Peronard. Valparaı́so: Ediciones
Universitarias. 439–456.
Valencia A (2003). ‘Algunos fraseologismos chilenos.’ In
Sánchez J P & Werner R (eds.) Lexicografı́a y lexicologı́a
en Europa y América. Homenaje a Günther Haensch.
Madrid: Gredos. 663–681.
Wagner C (1997). ‘Las construcciones con que en el español
formal de Chile.’ Estudios Filológicos [Valdivia] 30,
19–27.
8. Indo-European (two nationalities, Tajik and
Russian, plus creole Portuguese in Macao);
9. Korean; and
10. Austronesian (the Gaoshan nationality, a dozen
languages indigenous to Taiwan, with few speak-
ers on the mainland).
The historical linguistic connection between Chinese
and the Tibeto-Burman languages is fully estab-
lished (Benedict, 1972; Coblin, 1986; Thurgood and
LaPolla, 2003). The relationships within the Tibeto-
Burman language family are also widely researched
(Bradley, 1979; Matisoff, 2003). Chinese scholars
suggest a close link of Sino-Tibetan languages with
the Tai-Kadai languages, but this has been disproven
by Benedict (1975), who instead linked the Tai-Kadai,
Austronesian, and Miao-Yao families. The ‘Altaic
hypothesis’ links Turkic, Mongol, Manchu-Tungus,
and Japanese-Korean, although this is dubious. Mar-
ginal to China are the Mon-Khmer or Austro-Asiatic
groups in the southwest and the Indo-European
groups. Conversely, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam were
long under the cultural influence of China.
The Chinese Language
There is a long tradition of philological and epi-
graphic work on Chinese, notably Karlgren (1957);
the best summary is Sagart (1999). There are also
many excellent studies of Chinese syntax, especially
Mandarin, notably Li and Thompson (1981). Chinese
linguists have worked particularly on phonology and
lexicon.
320 China: Language Situation
Outsider linguists often say that the Han Chinese
speak seven distinct, mutually unintelligible lan-
guages:
. Beifanghua (‘northern speech’) (known as
Mandarin in English) in the north and west;
. Wu around Shanghai;
. Min in and around Fujian and in Taiwan;
. Yue (known as Cantonese in English, from the
name of Guangdong Province) around Hong
Kong, Guangzhou city, and most of Guangdong;
. Hakka (also known as Gejia in Mandarin), widely
scattered across the southeast; and
. The inland varieties Gan and Xiang.
Some scholars further subdivide Mandarin, and
there may be some additional varieties of Chinese,
such as Waxianghua in southwestern Hunan. From
a Chinese perspective, these varieties are all histori-
cally part of the Han Chinese majority group, all
share the same zhongwen ‘middle writing’ Chinese
character writing system, and all speak some fangyan
of the Han Chinese yuyan. Fangyan is usually trans-
lated as ‘dialect’ and yuyan as ‘language’, but their
meanings are broader. Among the minority lan-
guages, many historically related and structurally
similar mutually unintelligible speech varieties are
also classified together.
Norman (1988) and Ramsey (1987) provide an
excellent introduction to the differences between
the various varieties of Han Chinese. These are par-
ticularly great in phonology and lexicon, with lesser
morphosyntactic differences. Many scholars suggest
that the Han Chinese varieties diverged in the 7th
century A.D., but some separated considerably earlier.
The non-Mandarin speech varieties of many cities
also continue to be written, especially for local opera
and folklore; additional local characters are used
for words that do not exist in Mandarin. Lexically,
every non-Mandarin speech variety is full of borrow-
ings from other varieties, especially from Mandarin,
including several strata from Mandarin of different
periods.
Sociolinguistics of Chinese
In the long history of China, diglossia developed
gradually, with Confucian and other texts from the
mid-first millennium B.C. remaining the standard
for official literary use up to 1911; this came to be
called wenyan ‘writing sound’. Alongside this, popu-
lar spoken-language literature, known as baihua
‘white speech’, came into use over the last millenni-
um. During most dynasties, the spoken language of
daily administration has been a Mandarin dialect,
and this came to be known as guanhua ‘official
speech’; however, other varieties of Chinese were
used locally. During the Republic period (1911–
1949), the Mandarin of Beijing was standardized
and made the official written language as well, under
the name guoyu ‘nation language’. In the 1950s,
Beijing Mandarin was again codified, and in 1958 it
was made the national language, under the name
putonghua ‘common speech’. The lexical differences
between guoyu, which is still the official language in
Taiwan, and putonghua, which has constitutional sta-
tus as the national language in the People’s Republic of
China (PRC), are substantial and growing. The PRC
has made major educational achievements in spread-
ing putonghua alongside other spoken varieties of
Chinese and minority languages and literacy in Chi-
nese characters. There is also a standard romanization
for putonghua called pinyin ‘phonetic writing’, intro-
duced in 1958. Pinyin was originally intended to re-
place characters, but this plan was soon dropped.
The sociolinguistic situation in Hong Kong is inter-
esting. Cantonese is diglossic, with a literary and for-
mal spoken high version that is quite different from
the spoken low version. Since mid-1997 Cantonese,
Mandarin, and English have had co-official status.
Knowledge and use of Mandarin has spread widely
since the late 1980s, but is still far behind most of
China; traditional rather than simplified characters
and Cantonese continue in general use.
Writing Systems
The Chinese character writing system, with nearly
four millennia of history, is a strong unifying charac-
teristic for Han Chinese of all spoken varieties. Be-
cause it is logographic, sound change does not require
orthographic reform. However, in 1958 a major
reform was introduced in China; this simplified more
than 36% of the frequently used characters and
restricted the use of all but 6196 characters (Bradley,
1991: 310). The traditional full-form characters are
still used in Hong Kong and Taiwan and by many
overseas Chinese, but simplified characters are now
used in Singapore and Malaysia. Conversely, full-
form characters have been returning to use in China
since the 1990s, especially for contacts with overseas
Chinese, study of ancient literature, and greater status
and formality.
Some of the other languages of China also have
logographic scripts; some are directly derived from
traditional Chinese characters, with additions follow-
ing the same principle of combining a radical (seman-
tic element) plus a phonetic. These include the Zhuang
orthography as well as the better-known Japanese
kanji ‘Chinese characters’, Vietnamese chu nôm,
pre-hangul Korean, and so on. Distinct logographic

systems include Naxi and four separate traditions
of Yi.
Mongol (Peripheral Mongolian) and Manchu were
long written with Sogdian scripts. Tibetan is written
with an Indic-derived script; one Mongol emperor tried
unsuccessfully to replace Chinese characters with a
modified Tibetan script in 1269. Turkic and other
language groups in western China switched from
Sogdian to Arabic scripts in the 13th century A.D.
Some minority languages had scripts (mainly romani-
zations) devised by Christian missionaries. The mis-
sionary Samuel Pollard used roman letters, letters
from Pitman shorthand, and invented letters in his
script, mainly used for Miao and some Yi languages.
In Pollard scripts, consonants are large, vowels are
small, and the position to the vowel relative to the
consonant indicates the tone: above for high etc.
From the 1950s onwards, new romanizations for
many minority languages were produced following
the principles of pinyin. Some were created to replace
existing orthographies (for Lisu, Lahu, Miao, Wa,
and other Christian scripts, along with various Arabic
scripts); others were created for then-unwritten lan-
guages. When Russian linguists were active in China,
some Cyrillic letters were used; but after 1958 most
were removed. Since the 1980s, some groups have
gone back to their pre-1950 scripts, especially Arabic
in Xinjiang and Christian romanizations and others
in the southwest (Lisu, Miao, etc.). Conversely, the
Yao pinyin-based script of the 1950s became the
basis of a unified Yao orthography also used by Yao
outside China.
Minority Languages
The classification of non-Han ethnic groups was a
gradual process. Four historically important groups
– the Mongols, Manchu, Tibetans, and Hui – were
recognized during the Republic period (1911–1949);
the PRC flag has one large star representing the Han
majority and four smaller stars representing these four
groups. During the 1950s, a further fifty national
minorities were recognized, and in 1978 the Jinuo
nationality was added. Like the Han Chinese major-
ity, some of the national minorities are linguistically
highly composite; the Yi nationality, for example,
includes six language clusters and many more distinct
languages. In some cases, the ethnic classification
links unrelated or distantly related languages. For
example, the Lajia of eastern Guangxi, who speak a
Tai-Kadai language (Lakkia), are included in the Yao
nationality; the Yao of Hainan are included in the
Miao nationality; and the Nu nationality includes
speakers of four languages – two of which, Raorou
(Zauzou) and Nusu, are Burmese-Yi languages, one of
China: Language Situation 321
which, Dulong (Drung), is also the language of the
Dulong nationality, and the last of which, Anong
(Nung), is related to Dulong and to Rawang in
Burma (Myanmar). For maps and linguistic classifica-
tion, see Wurm et al. (1987/1991) or Moseley and
Asher (1994).
Ramsey (1987) and Bradley (1994, 2001) have dis-
cussed language policy for minorities. Briefly, each
recognized nationality has the constitutional right
(but not the obligation) to maintain and develop its
language and culture, and for each nationality one or
more ‘standard’ varieties has been selected and codi-
fied. The overall policy is transitional bilingual educa-
tion in the first few years of primary school. In some
minority autonomous areas, local government has
decided to maintain their language even up to univer-
sity level, but this is the exception. With the transition
to a market economy, education in and use of minority
languages is decreasing.
Table 1 gives census population figures for all
recognized groups in China. The large minority
population increases between 1982 and 2000 reflect
minority re-identification of Sinicized people who do
not speak their traditional minority languages. The
Unclassified category includes many very small
groups who have not been recognized as separate
national minorities and has gradually decreased as
some such groups have been assigned to existing
nationalities. For example, the 40 000 Kucong of
south central Yunnan, who speak a language quite
closely related to Lahu, were amalgamated into the
Lahu nationality in 1987; and the 5000 Laomian in
southwestern Yunnan, whose language is only dis-
tantly related to Lahu but who live in Lahu areas
and are mostly bilingual in Lahu, were amalgamated
into the Lahu nationality in 1990.
The Hui nationality is mainly composed of Muslim
speakers of local varieties of Chinese and is usually
said not to have a language. However, there is one
group of Hui in Gansu who speak a distinctive
variety of verb-final Chinese, presumably as a result
of influence from languages of the area. Another
group of Hui in Tongren County, the Qinghai Prov-
ince, are locally called Kangjia and speak a Mongol
language closely related to Bao’an (Bonan). A third
group of Hui in southern Hainan speak a Chamic
Austronesian language, Tsat.
The Mongol nationality also shows how ethnic
identity and language are not necessarily linked. This
group includes the Mongols, whose language is simi-
lar to the speech of Mongolia and of the Buriats in
Russia. It also includes several southwestern groups
who claim descent from Mongol armies sent to China
during the Yuan (Mongol) Dynasty. The ‘Mongols’ of
southwestern Sichuan are in fact Moso, speakers of a
322 China: Language Situation

Table 1 Population of China by ethnic groupa language classified as eastern Naxi, whose speakers
1982 1990 2000
are included in the Naxi nationality in adjacent Yun-
nan. The ‘Mongols’ of Tonghai County in south
Han (Chinese) 936 675 1 042 482 1 137 386 central Yunnan speak a Yi language. The Yugur
Zhuang 13 378 15 490 16 179 nationality is another composite group; about half
Manchu 4299 9821 10 682
Hui 7219 8603 9817
speak a Turkic language and half speak a Mongolic
Miao 5031 7398 8940 language.
Uighur 5957 7214 8399
Tujia 2833 5704 8028
Yi 5453 6572 7762 Contact Languages
Mongol 3412 4807 5814
Tibetan 3870 4593 5416
Since the 1950s putonghua has increasingly become
Buyi 2120 2545 2971 the lingua franca throughout China. It is used as a
Dong (Kam) 1425 2514 2960 second Mandarin variety by those whose first speech
Yao 1403 2134 2637 variety is another kind of Mandarin, as a second
Korean 1764 1921 1924 Chinese variety by 300 million whose first speech
Bai 1131 1594 1858
Hani 1059 1254 1440
variety is a non-Mandarin variety, and by an increas-
Kazakh 908 1112 1250 ing proportion of minorities. The trend is for the
Li 817 1111 1247 urbanized or educated minority group members not
Dai 840 1025 1159 to speak their traditional languages at all.
She 369 630 710 Several contact languages have developed in China.
Lisu 481 575 635
Gelao 54 438 579
One such language is spoken in Wutun and two near-
Dongxiang (Santa) 279 374 514 by villages in northeastern Qinghai; it is structurally
Lahu 304 411 454 mainly Mongol, with extensive postpositional agglu-
Shui 286 346 407 tinative morphology. However, the speakers follow
Wa 299 352 397 Tibetan Buddhism (as most Mongols did from the
Naxi 245 278 309
Qiang 103 198 306
Yuan Dynasty onward) and have long been in close
Tu (Monguor) 159 192 241 contact with Tibetans and Han Chinese; therefore,
Mulao 90 159 207 the speech of Wutun contains a very large proportion
Xibo 83 173 189 of Tibetan and Chinese lexicon and also shows some
Kirgiz 114 142 161 influence from the syntactic structures of Tibetan and
Daur 94 121 132
Jingpo 93 119 132
Chinese. Another is the Portuguese creole of Macao,
Maonan 38 72 107 now moribund; it has extensive Cantonese lexicon,
Salar 69 88 105 in addition to the various strata of lexicon from pre-
Bulang 58 82 92 vious contact in Malacca (now in Malaysia) and
Tajik 27 34 41 India.
Achang 20 28 34
Pumi 24 30 34
Ewenk 19 26 31 Language Endangerment
Nu 23 27 29
Jing (Vietnamese) 12 19 23 Several large nationalities are rapidly losing their
Jinuo 12 18 21 languages. This includes the very large Manchu
De’ang 12 15 18
Bao’an 9 12 17
nationality, former rulers of the Jin and Qing dynasties,
Russian 3 14 16 with about 20 very old speakers left in remote areas. In
Yugur 11 12 14 the southeast, the language of the She nationality in
Uzbek 12 15 12 Guangdong Province now has fewer than a thou-
Menba (Monpa) 6 7 9 sand speakers, or less than 0.1% of this group. The
Oroqen 4 7 8
Dulong 5 6 7
Gelao nationality, mainly in Guizhou, has fewer than
Tatar 4 5 5 1% speaking any of the various Gelao languages. Simi-
Hezhe (Nanai) 1 4 5 larly, less than 1% of the Tujia nationality in Hunan
Gaoshan 2 3 4 and nearby speak either of the two traditional Tujia
Luoba 2 2 3 languages (Northern and Southern Tujia). The Xixia
Foreign-born citizens 5 3 1
Unclassified 879 749 734
language, formerly spoken in what is now Ningxia
and Gansu, has been extinct for over 700 years; many
a
Numbers shown in thousands; 1982 1990 and 2000 census data other languages have doubtless disappeared, their
shown. descendants now speaking Chinese.

Many of the smaller groups included within
composite national minorities speak endangered
languages. Bradley (forthcoming) lists 90, including
49 Tibeto-Burman, 16 Tai-Kadai, 7 Miao-Yao, 7 Tun-
gusic, 6 Mon-Khmer, two Turkic, two Mongol, and
one Indo-European creole. One example is the Sanie
just west of Kunming in Yunnan (Bradley, 2005;
Bradley and Bradley, 2002; Bradley et al., 1999). In
76 villages there are 17 320 Sanie, classified as Yi
nationality; some of the Han Chinese population of
Kunming doubtless also have unremembered Sanie an-
cestry. All 8000 remaining speakers are bilingual in
Yunnanese Mandarin, and most of these are adults.
The long-term prognosis for many non-Han lan-
guages of China is bleak. This is especially so for
those that are spoken only in less remote areas
of China, are not designated as the standard lan-
guage for their nationality, and do not extend into
adjacent countries where they also have official
status (Mongol, Korean, Russian, Vietnamese, Tajik,
Kazakh, Kirghiz, and Northern Uzbek).
See also: Chinese; Language Education Policy in China;
Minorities and Language; Sino-Tibetan Languages.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Map 81–83.
Bibliography
Benedict P K (1972). Sino-Tibetan: a conspectus. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Benedict P K (1975). Austro-Thai language and culture.
New Haven, CT: HRAF Press.
Bradley D (1979). Scandinavian Institute of Asian Studies
monograph series 39: Proto-Loloish. London/Malmö:
Curzon Press.
Bradley D (1991). ‘Chinese as a pluricentric language.’ In
Clyne M G (ed.) Pluricentric languages. Berlin: Mouton
de Gruyter. 305–324.
Bradley D (1994). ‘Building identity and the modernisation
of language: minority language policy in Thailand and
China: Language Situation 323
China.’ In Gomes A (ed.) Modernity and identity:
Asian illustrations. Bundoora: Institute of Asian Studies,
La Trobe University for Asian Studies Association of
Australia. 192–205.
Bradley D (2001). ‘Language policy for the Yi.’ In Harrell S
(ed.) Perspectives on the Yi of southwest China. Berkeley/
Los Angeles/London: University of California Press.
195–214.
Bradley D (2005). ‘Sanie and language loss in China.’
International Journal of the Sociology of Language
173.
Bradley D (Forthcoming). ‘East and Southeast Asia.’ In
Moseley C (ed.) Encyclopedia of endangered languages.
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Bradley D & Bradley M (eds.) (2002). Language endanger-
ment and language maintenance. London: Routledge
Curzon.
Bradley D, Bradley M & Li Y X (1999). ‘Language mainte-
nance of endangered languages in central Yunnan,
China.’ In Ostler N (ed.) Endangered languages and edu-
cation. Bath: Foundation for Endangered Languages.
13–20.
Coblin W S (1986). A Sinologist’s handlist of Sino-Tibetan
lexical comparison. Nettetal: Steyler.
Karlgren B (1957). ‘Grammata serica recensa.’ Bulletin of
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Li C & Thompson S A (1981). Mandarin Chinese: a func-
tional reference grammar. Berkeley/Los Angeles/London:
University of California Press.
Matisoff J A (2003). Handbook of Proto-Tibeto-Burman.
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Moseley C & Asher R (eds.) (1994). Atlas of the world’s
languages. London: Routledge.
Norman J (1988). Chinese. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Ramsey S R (1987). The languages of China. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Sagart L (1999). The roots of Old Chinese. Amsterdam/
Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Thurgood G & LaPolla R (eds.) (2003). Sino-Tibetan
languages. London: Routledge.
Wurm S A W, T’sou B K & Bradley D (eds.) (1987/1991).
Language atlas of China (2 vols). Hong Kong:
Longmans.
324 China: Religions
China: Religions
V Goossaert, CNRS-EPHE, Paris, France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chinese Religion
Scholars have devised several models to describe the
Chinese religious situation at various periods of his-
tory. One model that well describes the situation since
the Song dynasty (960–1279) considers that – with
the exception of religions (Islam, Christianity) that
arrived in China from the outside and could not be-
come fully integrated because of exclusive claims of
truth – all religious practices, beliefs, and organizations
in China belong to a single system, best called Chinese
religion. This organic, pluralist, and nonhierarchi-
cal system integrates traditions of individual salvation
(meditation and bodily techniques, morality, and spirit-
possession techniques, including spirit writing), com-
munal celebration (cults of local saints and ancestors),
and death rituals together with three institutionalized
religions, Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism. The
sectarian tradition that formed around the 15th centu-
ry has sometimes been described as China’s fourth
religion; it has distinctive scriptures and a theology of
its own, but is actually well integrated socially into the
larger religious system.
The basic principles of Chinese religion were al-
ready attested in late antiquity (before the advent of
the Qin empire in 221 B.C.E.). They include a cosmol-
ogy describing an organic universe without either
notions of separate matter and spirit or an external
creative force that evolves continuously according to
objective rules explained by symbolical models (yin
and yang, five phases, trigrams. . .); a sacrificial litur-
gy for ancestors and local territorial gods as well as
dead heroes and related purification rules (zhaijie);
practice of spirit possession; and exorcisms to cure
illnesses and improper possessions. During the Han
dynasty (206 B.C.E.–220 C.E.), Confucianism, the heir
of the sacrificial religion of the nobility, was consti-
tuted as state religion; Taoism was fully formed as a
religion with a distinctive theology, liturgy, clergy,
and churchlike organization; and Buddhism began
to arrive from Central Asia.
During the medieval and Tang periods (3rd to 9th
centuries), Taoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism
alternated competition and cooperation before the
affirmation of their coexistence and equal orthodoxy
was firmly established as an imperial doctrine. All
three institutionalized religions attempted to take
control of numerous local cults and their spirit
mediums with limited success. During the Song peri-
od, within the context of a strong demographic and
economic expansion, local communities constituted
around the cults of their saints, as well as corporate
lineages devoted to the cult of their ancestors,
emerged as the most common and powerful religious
institutions and ushered in a tremendous rise of ver-
nacular religious arts (notably opera and other per-
forming arts in the framework of temple festivals)
and techniques (spirit writing, which allows an un-
mediated direct access to deities and saints). Mean-
while, the clerical institutions of the three religions
remained extremely prestigious and respected as they
provided scriptural (elaborating theological justi-
fications for local cults) and liturgical services to
such local, lay religious communities. This pluralist
system remained in place until a sudden shift in reli-
gious policies during the 20th century, inspired by the
introduction of Western notions, restrained the extent
of officially tolerated religious activities. The Repub-
lican (1912–) and Communist (1949–) regimes distin-
guished five authorized although controlled religions
(Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Catholicism, and Protes-
tantism) but actively suppressed superstitions, nota-
bly local cults (the Nationalist government in Taiwan
has strongly liberalized its stance since the 1970s).
This suppression, though, has been much less effec-
tive than expected, as the strong renewal throughout
the Chinese world, notably on the mainland since the
1980s, shows.
The three institutionalized religions are each pre-
cisely defined by a distinctive clergy, a canon (scrip-
tures, which define orthodoxy), a liturgy, and training
centers (monasteries, academies, where the canon is
kept and the clergy is trained and ordained). The
institutions defined by these four characteristics
can be properly named Buddhism, Taoism, and Con-
fucianism. They do not exist in isolation but serve
Chinese religion as a whole. This whole is not syncre-
tism as it is too often described; the three institutiona-
lized religions are expected to coexist but not mingle,
and people do not confuse them. It is an organic,
pluralistic religious system. Also, it might prove very
useful to dispense totally with the much-abused no-
tion of ‘popular religion’ or ‘folk religion’ and indeed
with the very word popular. The many independent
communities that form the social structure of Chinese
religion choose within the shared repertoire of beliefs
and practices and the services offered by the three
religions those that give them relevant meaning, and
their choices hinge on socioeconomic, ideological,
and theological considerations much more complex
than an elite/popular dichotomy can suggest.
The role of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism
within Chinese religion then is not to exist as exclusive

institutions providing their members a way to salva-
tion, as the 19th-century Western concept of religion
would imply, but rather to transmit their tradition
of practice and make it available to all, either as
individual spiritual techniques or liturgical services
to entire communities. In late imperial times and
well into the 20th century, only clerics and a small
number of retired laymen (jushi) would declare them-
selves Buddhist or Taoist, but very few Chinese in-
deed would never engage in Buddhist or Taoist
practices. The wide acceptance and official status of
the doctrine of the three religions’ coexistence made
them complementary. The services offered by the
three religions and their clerics were comparable in
many respects, sometimes causing collaboration and/
or competition, while each of the three also provided
unique services.
The Three Religions’ Approach to
Languages and Texts
The birth of Chinese writing is closely associated with
religious practices, as the earliest available instances
of Chinese writing are divination records, the jiagu
wen. These texts were written on tortoise breastplates
and mammal bones that had been heated after a
question was asked of ancestors or other gods, and
the answer was read in cracks caused by the heating:
both question and answer were subsequently noted
on the used breastplate or bone and kept in royal
archives. Written language served to keep track of
divinations, then, but was not instrumental in the
divination process itself.
Among the various institutionalized religions that
developed in China, whether indigenous (Confucian-
ism, Taoism) or imported (Buddhism) (see Buddhism,
Tibetan), we might oppose those essentially based on
oral teaching and liturgy, that is, Confucianism and
Buddhism, and Taoism, which is fundamentally pre-
dicated on written texts. This might come as a surprise
since both Confucianism and Buddhism are well
known for their extensive canons, exegetical tradi-
tion, and high valuation of reading and study. How-
ever, both these religions describe their own history as
initially characterized by oral transmission before
reaching a stage at which writing texts became neces-
sary, and only then as a way to safeguard the tradition.
Confucius himself claimed to have merely written the
texts that he, like any gentleman, had learned as a
child. These texts, which became the scriptures/clas-
sics (jing), that is, authoritative standards for ortho-
doxy within Confucianism, are fundamentally linked
to liturgy. They include the Book of Odes (Shijing),
essentially odes and hymns to be sung during rituals;
the Book of Documents (Shujing) recording the grand
China: Religions 325
rituals performed by past kings; the Yijing, a divina-
tion manual; and liturgical manuals.
A broadly similar process, but under very different
circumstances in India, occurred in Buddhism, in which
the teachings of the Buddha were reportedly trans-
mitted orally and only noted down during a council
when various versions began to diverge too widely. It
was only much later, within the early so-called Maha-
yana (great vehicle) networks, that a devotion to texts
as objects formed, linked to a divinization of texts
themselves identified as Buddhas and also to specific
revelation techniques.
On the other hand, Taoism very early developed a
specific theology of writing, whereby written charac-
ters in their primordial form (of which the commonly
used characters were merely imitations) are consid-
ered fundamental elements in the structure of the
universe, embodying primordial truths, hence the
name zhenwen (transcendent writs) for scripts used
in the construction of Taoist ritual altars. Similarly,
talismans (fu) are construed the true names of various
cosmic forces, and the proper writing of talismans
gives the priest command on such forces. Talismans
and transcendent writs are not pronounced but only
written. Thus, in contrast to Confucian and Buddhist
liturgies in which the crucial act is the proper recita-
tion of texts and hymns, Taoist liturgy hinges on
written communication with forces of the Dao. The
priest, after purification, writes the various memoirs,
requests, and other communications according to
precise forms, rules, and models (writing mistakes
are punished by the gods); burns them (fire is the
main channel of communication between this and
the other world); and silently in meditation raises to
submit the requests himself in audience with Heaven.
This liturgy of the sacrifice of scriptures (which with-
in Taoism replaces the sacrifice of meats of common
religion, see Schipper, 1974) has been well attested
since the 2nd century C.E. and remains central to
Taoist liturgy in the 21st century.
Devotional practices linked to written characters
found their first known expression in Taoist commu-
nity rules (the ‘Hundred eighty rules of the Supreme
lord’, probably 2nd or 3rd century C.E.) and much
later developed into a practice known as xizi, ‘Care
for written characters’, embedded into common reli-
gious ethics of the early modern period (16th to 19th
centuries). Xizi adepts consider throwing away a
paper or other material with any written characters
on it (not only scriptures, but any text) as a sin; they
treat all such material with care, pick up those dis-
carded by others, and regularly burn them in a clean
furnace before bringing the ashes to the sea or a river.
Buddhist influence, notably through the Lingbao
revelations (early 5th century C.E.), has caused Taoism
326 China: Religions
to adopt the oral recitation of scriptures (different
modes of chanting exist according to the exact nature
of the text, see Boltz, 1996) as a part of rituals and to
adopt notions (of Indian origin) of sacred and effica-
cious sounds proper to the Buddhist tradition. The
Buddhist tantric tradition of dharani, texts whose
recitation provoke a spiritual effect, was also adopted
in China well beyond Buddhist circles, and dharani
texts are found engraved on many supports and are
recited in case of danger (Strickmann, 1996).
As a consequence of the adoption of Buddhist
notions of efficacious sounds, Buddhist and Taoist
clerics have to pronounce (in some cases orally, in
others silently) incantations/spells, zhou (see Sawada,
1984), that ensure purity and avoid demonic contam-
ination in many precise circumstances (eating, urinat-
ing, getting to sleep). Moreover, Chinese religious
practice, including the sectarian tradition, values
mantras, that is, secretly transmitted efficacious
words, either in proper Chinese or in (pseudo-)San-
skrit (see Sanskrit). On the other hand, the Taoist
focus on the written word has not diminished because
of Buddhist influence, and Chinese Buddhism had
even adopted the Taoist practice of written commu-
nication with the otherworld. Large Buddhist rituals
since at least the Song period have also included
sending written petitions to the Buddhas. Writing
and speaking are then two distinct, parallel modes
of communication with the divine, the former more
Taoist oriented and the latter more Buddhist and
Confucian oriented, although all traditions and com-
munities use both media. Ordinary devotees address
the deities they pray to either orally in the vernacular
(no specific language of prayer has developed) or,
with the help of a clerical specialist, by writing and
burning a formal request (shu).
Scriptures and Revelations
The language of the Confucian and Taoist scriptures
is not fundamentally different from that of other
contemporary texts. Confucian scriptures were used
in educating children (who learned them by rote) and
formed the curriculum of state and private schools
that developed gradually and, notably under the Song,
in relation to state civil service examinations. The
style of these scriptures was thus widely imitated,
and citations are found throughout any oral or written
discourse to the present day. Taoist scriptures, many
of which were transmitted only to initiates, did not
enjoy such a status as models of writing and speech,
yet also exerted a deep influence on poetry, notably
the Shangqing texts (revealed during the late 4th
century B.C.E.), whose rich and often arduous flowery
metaphors and mystic vocabulary informed later
secular poetry. Aesthetic judgments on poetic and
calligraphy style and doctrinal contents are deeply
interconnected in the transmission and diffusion of
all Chinese religious texts.
The status of Buddhist scriptures is different be-
cause these had to be translated from very differ-
ent languages, most of them Indo-European (see ).
Translation strategies varied, from using the existing
Taoist lexicon (which facilitated adoption, but caused
confusions), to transliterating original words, to
eventually creating, mostly from existing Chinese
words, a new Chinese Buddhist vocabulary (Zürcher,
1991). Part of this vocabulary, including a few trans-
literations from Sanskrit and other Indo-European
languages, has found its way into everyday language.
The translation of Buddhist texts was a huge enter-
prise lasting from the 2nd to the 13th centuries, with
the imperial state and rich patrons sponsoring whole
translating institutes where native speakers of Indian
or Central Asian languages and Chinese monks col-
laborated to produce word-for-word translations and
then readable final texts. Major texts were translated
several times by different teams, and the best, most
readable versions eclipsed others. Incidentally, in the
process of making technical Buddhist dictionaries
and transliterating names and words, Chinese scho-
lars developed ways to classify syllables according to
initials and finals. At the same time as thousands of
Buddhist texts were translated, others, the apocry-
pha, were written in Chinese while pretending to be
translations, and a good deal of the scholastic activity
of the Buddhist establishment consisted in compiling
canons and sorting apocrypha from true scriptures
according to philological as well as theological
criteria. The history of translation of Islamic and
Christian texts into Chinese, at later periods, bears
comparison with the great Buddhist translation enter-
prise, although the more limited impact of these ex-
clusive religions did not allow new words coined by
translators to become everyday vocabulary.
While the Buddhist and Confucian canons were
basically closed during the Song period, scriptures of
Taoism, local cults, and sectarian traditions continued
to appear in large numbers. One major feature of
Chinese religion is the openness of revelation. Spirit
possession is extremely common, and it is widely ac-
cepted that although certain forms of possession by
certain spirits are dangerous or not desirable, posses-
sion is an authentic means of communication with
deities and therefore of accessing truth and obtaining
grace. Official religion during antiquity institutiona-
lized possession, but this was no longer the case for
Confucianism after the Han or for Buddhism. On
the other hand, possession continues to this day to
be practiced within the confines of local cults,

devotional groups, and sectarian communities; spirit
mediums are not organized as a clergy but are trained
by Taoists and work for local communities. Temple
spirit mediums are usually regarded with disdain
and sometimes hostility by clerics, but play a crucial
role throughout China in answering personal queries
(difficult choices, righting wrongs) and healing ill-
nesses. When possessed, they may write talismans to
help, protect, or cure the patient, but also often act
as oracles, speaking with the voice of the god to an-
swer the question asked. The spirit mediums working
for spirit-writing groups are different, as they are
often considered to have a higher status. When pos-
sessed, they hold a forked object, usually made of
wood, over a tray of sand, ashes, or just a table and
write characters that are then interpreted and noted
by an assistant. Books revealed by such means are
extremely numerous, edited, printed, and freely
distributed (as a pious act) by the groups who received
them. They include morality books, shanshu, where
deities lay out the common ethics of Chinese religion
and tell tales of retribution for good or evil acts (on
the language aspects of shanshu, see Bell, 1996);
immortality techniques manuals, where immortals
guide directly their adepts in their self-cultivation
quest; medicinal recipes; and poetry and other
narratives. Such books have been produced by the
thousands since the Song, with a sharp increase
around the 17th century.
Classical and Vernacular Language
in Religious Practice
In China, as in many other cultures, the use of texts
and language style differentiates the religious practice
of various social classes and groups. As a general
rule, an explicit contrast opposes the clergies
(Buddhist, Taoist, Confucian), that is, specialists shar-
ing a nationwide training and ordination system and
practicing a (supposedly unified) liturgy, with the
same texts, music, and chanting/reciting techniques
throughout the country, to vernacular specialists
totally embedded in local village culture and not
related to larger clerical institutions. The former
speak (during the course of the ritual) national, clas-
sical language, whereas the latter only use the vernac-
ular local dialect (see Chinese). Such an opposition,
best known through the Taoist case where specialists
are divided into classical-speaking and vernacular-
speaking priests (see notably Schipper, 1985), is simi-
larly observed in the Buddhist and Confucian
contexts. It should be emphasized that the classical/
vernacular dichotomy is both real in the sense that it
is an explicit category for both specialists and lay-
people (it is crucial in this context that people do not
China: Religions 327
understand what priests say when speaking
in classical language) and an ideological construct
hiding much more complex realities. First, the classi-
cal language used, supposedly unique throughout
the Chinese world, actually varies very much from
one region to the next and is often a classical/archaic
form of the local language, rather than a language
understandable in other parts of China.
Second, rituals actually mix classical and vernacu-
lar language; Buddhist and Taoist rituals are com-
posed of many different rites, some very solemn
with hymns that have not changed for centuries and
some in which improvisation is possible, and the style
is much closer to spoken language. Clerics also fre-
quently sing ballads or tell devotional stories in the
vernacular, fully understood by the audience. Largely,
the same rhetorical dialectics and complementarity
between the more prestigious classical and the more
vulgar vernacular can be observed in the opera. Chi-
nese opera, which formed under the Song (on the
basis of more ancient and not well known ante-
cedents), is intimately linked to Chinese religion and
local cults, since temple festivals were the major
venue for opera shows. Large temple festivals includ-
ed both clerical (Buddhist, Taoist, Confucian) rituals
within the temple and opera shows outside, both
being offered to the local gods. Many opera plays
have religious themes (although there is no distinction
between profane/sacred themes), and some perfor-
ming arts have a direct ritual efficacy, such as exorcist
plays or puppet shows. Opera also mixed songs in
classical language with more vernacular dialogues.
Preaching
Even though the classical/vernacular dialectics valo-
rize the former, it would be wrong to think that
vernacular language was universally considered a
debased medium for communication with deities or
transmitting religious truths in Chinese religious cir-
cles throughout history. First, the Song period wit-
nessed a rise, which has not abated since, of the genre
of recorded conversations, yulu, of spiritual masters,
Confucian, Buddhist, and Taoist. Yulu are sup-
posed to be verbatim records of question-and-answer
exchanges between a master and his/her disciples as
actually spoken, that is, in the vernacular. Some
of them have actually been edited and cannot truly
reflect oral usage, yet such texts are among our
best witnesses of spoken Chinese language for the
early modern period. The valorization of vernacular
language in such texts is linked to a spiritual move-
ment to enhance the living master, his/her actions,
and everyday words, rather than the scriptures, as
the main guide to truth and transcendence: such
328 China: Religions
ideas were formulated by Quanzhen Taoism, Neo-
Confucianism, and Chan Buddhism, the latter having
expressed the most radical statements to this effect,
with a (rhetorical) rejection of scriptures as useless
and a glorification of ‘teaching without words’
(Gardner, 1991; Berling, 1987). The late Ming (16th
and early 17th centuries) move to use vernacular
language in literature (notably novels) was also a
religious movement with similar motivations, aiming
at retrieving the language Confucius spoke.
A second reason why some religious specialists
strove to use the vernacular both in print and in
speech was the need to preach. Because the three
religions do not have exclusive lay organizations
and share the status of orthodox teachings, they do
not much proselytize. Clerics and activists, however,
have been active throughout history in spreading
their message in both print and speech. Late imperial
Confucian activists wrote manuals aimed at helping
those who had, as the law mandated, to recite an
imperially written text on morality (the ‘Sacred
edicts’, shengyu) to villagers twice a month. As the
sacred edicts in terse written classical style were hard-
ly intelligible when recited aloud, these activists
wrote texts in various shades of vernacular aimed
at explaining them and providing simple examples
(Mair, 1985). Buddhist and Taoist preaching (see
Preaching) was usually somewhat different, being
less-tersely didactic and relying more on performing
arts techniques. Medieval (5th to 10th centuries C.E.)
manuscripts found in Dunhuang include such Bud-
dhist preaching texts (bianwen) alternating vernacu-
lar speech, rhymed songs, and large images to be
shown to the audience. Taoists also developed songs
(notably daoqing, ‘Taoist feelings’ ballads) to be sung
by clerics and/or professional performers during fes-
tivals, promising salvation and appealing to conver-
sion. Devotional literature, telling the stories of the
saints and the retribution of evil in the prosimetric
style alternating prose and rhymed songs and known
as baojuan, has been extremely widespread since the
16th century. Baojuan performers are invited during
temple festivals or in the houses of the large families
to recite their texts, a meritorious, pious, and at the
same time enjoyable performance that can last for
nights on end.
See also: Buddhism, Tibetan; Chinese; Preaching; San-
skrit; South Asia: Religions.
Bibliography
Bell C (1996). ‘A precious raft to save the world: The
interaction of scriptural traditions and printing in a
Chinese morality book.’ Late Imperial China 17(1),
158–200.
Berling J A (1987). ‘Bringing the Buddha down to earth:
notes on the emergence of Yü-lu as a Buddhist genre.’
History of Religions 27, 56–88.
Boltz J M (1996). ‘Singing to the spirits of the dead: a Daoist
ritual of salvation.’ In Yung B, Rawski E S & Watson R S
(eds.) Harmony and counterpoint, ritual music in Chi-
nese context. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
177–225.
Dean K (1993). Daoist ritual and popular cults of South-
east China. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Gardner D K (1991). ‘Modes of thinking and modes of
discourse in the Sung: some thoughts on the Yü-lu
(‘recorded conversations’) texts.’ Journal of Asian Studies
50(3), 574–603.
Lopez D S (ed.) (1996). Religions of China in practice.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Mair V (1985). ‘Language and ideology in the written
popularizations of the sacred edict.’ In Johnson D,
Nathan A J & Rawski E S (eds.) Popular culture in late
imperial China. Berkeley: University of California Press.
325–359.
Sawada M (1984). Chûgoku no juhô. Tokyo: Hirakawa.
Schipper K (1985). ‘Vernacular and classical ritual in
Taoism.’ Journal of Asian Studies 45(1), 21–51.
Schipper K (1974). ‘The written memorial in Taoist cere-
monies.’ In Wolf A P (ed.) Religion and ritual in Chinese
society. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
309–324.
Strickmann M (1996). Mantras et mandarins. Le boud-
dhisme tantrique en Chine. Paris: Gallimard.
Yang C K (1961). Religion in Chinese society. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Yü C (2001). Kuan-yin: the Chinese transformation of Ava-
lokitesvara. New York: Columbia University Press.
Zürcher E (1991). ‘A new look at the earliest Chinese
Buddhist texts.’ In Shinohara K & Schopen G (eds.)
From Benares to Beijing: essays on Buddhism and Chi-
nese religion in honour of Prof. Jan Yün-hua. Oakville,
Ontario: Mosaic Press. 277–304.

China: Scripts, Non-Chinese
M Bender, The Ohio State University, Columbus,
OH, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Soon after 1949, influenced by policies already insti-
tuted in the Soviet Union, the new government of
the People’s Republic of China decided to promote
the recognition of ethnic minority peoples on a
scale unprecedented in Chinese history. Groups with
fully functional, widely used traditional scripts in-
clude the Uygur, Kazak, Mongols, Koreans, and Tibe-
tans (Zhou, 2003: 280). The Yi, Naxi, and Dai had
writing systems used only by shamans, priests, or
monks. In the pre-1949 era, several scripts were cre-
ated by Western missionaries (such as Samuel Pollard,
Alfred Lietard, and Pere Paul Vial) for some divisions
of the Miao, Jingpo, Lisu, Hani, Lahu, and Wa (Va)
and the Yi subgroup known as Sani. Other scripts
used by the Zhuang, Shui, and Dong were based on
vernacular usages of Chinese characters and had very
limited implementation. Miao epic poems from Guiz-
hou Province mention an ancient, but lost, script. An
absolete form of phonetic script different in form
from both Chinese and Yi scripts (see below) and
consisting of approximately 180 graphs dates to the
Qing dynasty (1644–1911). A traditional ‘women’s
script’ (nushu) of unknown origin (some have sug-
gested a minority link) was in recent use in Jingyong
County, Hunan Province, for writing letters and
stories in verse.
One goal of the early era of minority recognition
was the creation of written scripts for those groups
that did not have a tradition of writing. By the early
1950s, Chinese linguists, often working with local
representatives, had begun to devise scripts for a
number of the groups, especially those living in the
border areas of the southwest. Initially, Cyrillic and
roman alphabets were utilized in creating new scripts.
In some cases, the International Phonetic Alphabet
(IPA) was also used, sometimes in combination with
the other systems. Ultimately, roman letters (some-
times with IPA symbols) prevailed in the official
scripts, which numbered approximately 13. The trend
toward roman letters was strongly influenced by the
adoption of the Pinyin romanization system, devel-
oped between 1956 and 1958, for writing the sounds
of Standard Chinese. Over the ensuing years, script
creation was affected by policy revisions, national
and local budget allocations, the rate of publica-
tion and distribution of script materials, and the
degree and effectiveness of local implementation and
use. In a few cases, the created scripts crossed borders,
China: Scripts, Non-Chinese 329
as in the case of the Jingpho (Jingpo) script used in
Yunnan and contiguous ethnic areas in Myanmar.
Among the first languages targeted for the creation
of a new script was Northern Zhuang (Zhuang).
China’s largest ethnic minority group, the Zhuang,
number approximately 15 million and live in the
Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region and surround-
ing areas in the southwest. A major challenge was
finding a system that could represent the sounds of
the various Zhuang dialects, some of which are mu-
tually unintelligible. The key question was which
dialect would be the basis for the writing system –
an issue in the creation of many of the other minority
scripts. At the urging of a Russian specialist, the
Wuming dialect was chosen as a standard. A roma-
nized script was first proposed in the early 1950s, but
again on Soviet advice, a system combining roman
letters, Cyrillic letters, and certain IPA symbols was
adopted in the mid-1950s. This script was put to
limited use until it was displaced by an all-roman
system in 1982. As with several other southern mi-
nority scripts, consonant letters placed at the end of a
morpheme were used to represent the linguistic tones.
Examples of the Pinyin-based script are as follows:
vunz (‘person’) employing the second tone (55), menh
(‘slow’) employing tone six (33), and laeuj ndok guk
(‘tiger bone wine’) employing an alternate usage of
the third tone (55) and tone seven (35). Dictionaries,
school texts, signs on government offices, and folk
literature utilizing the script appeared throughout the
1980s, though Chinese continues to be the primary
script for most Zhuang speakers.
By the mid-1950s, Russian linguists were also ad-
vising Chinese scholars either to adapt Cyrillic sys-
tems already developed in the Soviet Union for scripts
for small, seminomadic transborder groups such as
the Ewenki and Oroqen, or to create new Cyrillic-
based scripts for larger or more sedentary groups of
Mongolian-related speakers in northern and north-
eastern China. One case was Daur, spoken by approx-
imately 100 000 people in eastern Inner Mongolia
and Heilongjiang Province (with several thousand
speakers in Xinjiang, as well). Traditionally, the
Daur have no written scripts of their own. A Cyrillic-
based script was created. One concern was the repre-
sentation of vowel chronemes, which was solved
by using double roman letters (such as the Russian
‘a’ for the IPA ‘a’, represented as ‘aa’) (Zhou, 2003:
179–180). This script, however, was never widely
implemented. By 1980, a new romanized Daur script
was in limited use that included experiments with the
script in schools, the publishing of a Daur/Chinese
dictionary, and the publication of some folk songs
330 China: Scripts, Non-Chinese
and stories. Some features of the earlier Cyrillic-based
script were carried over into the Pinyin-based romani-
zation, including the representation of chronemes, as
exemplified by the words baatur (‘hero’), maamaa
(child’s term for ‘horse’), and taawudaar (‘number
five’ in a series). Similar conventions are used in some
other scripts, including a mixed IPA and Pinyin script
later developed for representing Oroqen, as with axaaj
(‘elder brother’) and axaxaan (‘little brother’).
The case of the Yi nationality of the Liangshan Yi
Autonomous Prefecture, Sichuan, is unique in that a
whole new syllabary was created out of traditional
logographic and syllabic graphs. Beginning in the
1950s, a romanized script was created to write
the sounds of a variety of Sichuan Yi (Northern Yi)
(Bradley, 2001: 207). Three of the four tones in
Shynra dialect are represented by final consonants;
t (55), x (44), p (21). The mid-level tome (33) is
unmarked. An example of the script from a textbook
(Li and Ma, 1981: 2) is as follows:
Speaker A: Nop jiet nyi zzyrmuo bat?
Your home also well (particle)?
Is your homes well also?
Speaker B: Zzyrmuo ggehni jjoddu ap jjo.
happy healthy worries not have.
No worries, all happy and healthy
The romanized script, however, failed to gain pop-
ularity, in part because of local attachments to the
native writing system (once used by approximately
2% of the population, mostly ritual specialists). In the
1970s, efforts were made to develop a syllabary based
on traditional graphs. By 1980, a new syllabic script
was being taught in many schools throughout the
Liangshan Prefecture and neighboring Ninglang Pre-
fecture in Northern Yunnan. The syllabic script was
based on 819 traditional graphs and the Shynra dia-
lect pronunciation (as spoken in Xide County).
Newspapers, journals, textbooks, poetry collections,
folklore, and other writings have been published in
the script, though most modern Nuosu authors write
and publish in Chinese, the medium of officialdom.
Although the script was welcome in Northern Yi-
speaking areas, it was inadequate to meet the needs
of speakers from other dialect areas where the tradi-
tional scripts vary greatly. Thus, attempts have been
made in Yunnan and Guizhou to create a ‘supra-X’
system based on approximately 2000 traditional
characters. It has yet to be fully developed and local
conventions are in use in several areas. For instance,
scholars of the Sani subgroup in Yunnan have pub-
lished a number of multilinear folk literature texts
combining local versions of traditional Yi characters,
IPA symbols to represent Yi sounds, and Chinese
graphs. Another factor working against script
acceptance in some areas of Yunnan and Guizhou is
a decline in speakers of local Yi dialects.
Around 1905, Samuel Pollard created a nonroman
alphabetic script for a Miao subgroup (Hua Miao) in
eastern Yunnan. The script was modified several
times in the 1950s, but is still in use in some areas
today (Zhou, 2003: 317–323). By the late 1950s,
Chinese linguists had devised romanized scripts for
several Miao groups in Guizhou and contiguous
areas. As with Yi, the varying degree of intelligibility
between dialects has made it difficult for researchers
to achieve the elusive goal of a universal Miao roman-
ization system. Although written Chinese is the major
script in all the Hmong-(Miao-) speaking areas, in
some places the romanized Miao scripts have
been implemented in limited ways. In the case of the
Eastern dialect (which represents a group of three
subdialects in the Eastern Guizhou province), diction-
aries, grammars, and folk literature texts have ap-
peared in bilingual editions. In a grammar designed
to introduce the Eastern romanized script, eight
speech tones are represented by consonants attached
to each morpheme: b (33), x (55), d (24), l (22), t (44),
s (23), k (53), f (21). An example of first tone usage
is dab (‘reply’), with the second tone dax (‘come’),
the third dad (‘length’), and so forth. The work
also included several long folk stories written in
the script. The following sample is from Dail Daib
Pik Vongx (The dragon maiden) (Wang, 1985: 224).
The text was presented in a multilinear format with
word-for-word Chinese (here substituted by English,
followed by a translation):
nongd nangx ngax hek jud, nenx ghax dad laib khangb
lol ket tob tob:
need eat meat drink wine, need then grab a calabash
come shake lightly lightly:
When he needed to drink wine, he just took the calabash
and shook it lightly, saying:
‘‘lol ngax khangb! lol ngax dit ob bad daib nangx
khangb!
‘‘come meat calabash! come meat for us father–son eat!
Calabash, bring on the meat, bring on the meat for this
father and son to eat!
lol jud khangb! lol jud dit ob bad daib hek khangb!’’
come wine calabash! come wine for us father–son drink
calabash!’’
Calabash, bring on the wine! bring on the wine for this
father and son to drink!’’
Since 1949, revisions have been made to a number
of the traditional scripts, and over a dozen official
scripts (and numerous unofficial ones) have been cre-
ated for various ethnic groups in China. However,
social and economic pressures will be a determining
factor in the continued use of the minority scripts.
The needs of information technology offer new

avenues for the development and use of romanized
scripts. By the late 1990s, computerized script pro-
grams had been developed for all the major tradition-
al written scripts and several of the newer ones. For
example, researchers have developed a romanized
Uyghur (Uygur) script that is more compatible with
on-line usage than the Arabic-based traditional script
(Zhou, 2003: 138). Nevertheless, without increased
promotion, it is likely that many of the newer scripts
will eventually exist primarily as tools for scholars
and symbolic markers of ethnicity.
See also: China: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bradley D (2001). ‘Language policy for the Yi.’ In Harrel S
(ed.) Perspectives on the Yi of Southwest China. Berkeley:
University of California Press. 195–213.
Chiang W W (1995). We two know the script; we have
become good friends: Linguistic and social aspects of
the women’s script literacy in southern Hunan, China.
New York: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc.
Enhebatu (1983). Da Han xiao cidian (DAOR NIAKAN
BULKU BITEG). Hohot: Neimenggu renmin chu-
banshe.
Han Y & Meng S (1993). Olunchunyu Hanyu duizhao
duben (Oroqen language and Han language
China: Writing System
D P Branner, University of Maryland, College Park,
MD, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Chinese characters are a unique form of writing
in the modern, integrated world. They have been the
primary script across East Asia, and they have proven
to be fascinating to the entire world. In China, their
two major forms are those of ancient inscriptions:
1. bronze (jı̄nwén )
2. oracle bone or ‘OBI’ (jiǎgǔwén , qı̀wén
)
3. seal (zhuànwén , zhuànshū , xiǎozhuàn
)
and the newer ink-brush styles:
1. clerical (lı̀shū )
2. ‘running’ and ‘grass’ (xı́ngshū , cǎoshū
3. modern square script (kǎishū )
In Chinese society today there is considerable knowl-
edge about ancient scripts outside of the community
China: Writing System 331
bilingual reader). Beijing: Zhongyang minzu xueyuan
chubanshe.
He L & Xiong Y (eds.) (1999). Yunnan shaoshu minzu
wenzi gaiyao (Introduction to the scripts of the Yunnan
ethnic minorities). Kunming: Yunnan minzu chubanshe.
Huang J M (2003). Yiwen wenzi xue (Study of Yi writing).
Beijing: Minzu chubanshe.
Huang Y (1983). Zhuangzu geyao gailun (Introduction to
Zhuang nationality folksongs). Nanning: Guangxi minzu
chubanshe.
Li M & Ma M (1981). Liangshan Yiyu huihua liubaiju
(Six hundred conversation sentences in Liangshan Yi
language). Chengdu: Sichuan minzu chubanshe.
Mackerras C (1995). China’s minority cultures: Identities
and integration since 1912. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
Ramsey S R (1981). The languages of China. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Wang C (1985). Miaoyu yufa, Qiandong fangyan/Benx wix
faf hveb hmub, wangf cunb deef hxad (Miao language
grammar, Southern Guizhou local dialect). Beijing:
Guangming erbao chubanshe.
Yunnan minzu xueyuan minzu yuyan wenxuexi. (Yunnan
Nationalities Institute, Ethnic Languages Literatures
Department) (eds.) (1997) Yunnan minzu yuyan
wenxue lunwenji (Collected articles on Yunnan ethnic
languages and literatures). Kunming: Yunnan minzu
chubanshe.
Zhou M (2003). Multilingualism in China: The politics
of writing reforms for minority languages 1949–2002.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
of scholars of paleography. All known styles of
Chinese script, including those recently rediscovered
through archaeological excavation, are the subject of
modern calligraphy practice, one of the prime vehi-
cles of self-cultivation in Chinese traditional secular
culture.
Ancient Inscribed Styles
Seal
Seal script has been used on signature seals since
‘Warring States’ times (475–221 B.C.E.), and was the
main form used in public inscriptions in the Qı́n
(221–206 B.C.E.) and Hàn (B.C.E. 206–221 C.E.) dynas-
ties. The Qı́n standardization of the script is thought
to have involved seal script, although it is less well
known that Qı́n itself cultivated a highly conservative
)
character structure in an effort to show that it was the
worthy successor of the Zhōu. Seal script has long
been used on official seals, and so is associated with
political legitimacy.

avenues for the development and use of romanized
scripts. By the late 1990s, computerized script pro-
grams had been developed for all the major tradition-
al written scripts and several of the newer ones. For
example, researchers have developed a romanized
Uyghur (Uygur) script that is more compatible with
on-line usage than the Arabic-based traditional script
(Zhou, 2003: 138). Nevertheless, without increased
promotion, it is likely that many of the newer scripts
will eventually exist primarily as tools for scholars
and symbolic markers of ethnicity.
See also: China: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Bradley D (2001). ‘Language policy for the Yi.’ In Harrel S
(ed.) Perspectives on the Yi of Southwest China. Berkeley:
University of California Press. 195–213.
Chiang W W (1995). We two know the script; we have
become good friends: Linguistic and social aspects of
the women’s script literacy in southern Hunan, China.
New York: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc.
Enhebatu (1983). Da Han xiao cidian (DAOR NIAKAN
BULKU BITEG). Hohot: Neimenggu renmin chu-
banshe.
Han Y & Meng S (1993). Olunchunyu Hanyu duizhao
duben (Oroqen language and Han language
China: Writing System
D P Branner, University of Maryland, College Park,
MD, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Chinese characters are a unique form of writing
in the modern, integrated world. They have been the
primary script across East Asia, and they have proven
to be fascinating to the entire world. In China, their
two major forms are those of ancient inscriptions:
1. bronze (jı̄nwén )
2. oracle bone or ‘OBI’ (jiǎgǔwén , qı̀wén
)
3. seal (zhuànwén , zhuànshū , xiǎozhuàn
)
and the newer ink-brush styles:
1. clerical (lı̀shū )
2. ‘running’ and ‘grass’ (xı́ngshū , cǎoshū
3. modern square script (kǎishū )
In Chinese society today there is considerable knowl-
edge about ancient scripts outside of the community
China: Writing System 331
bilingual reader). Beijing: Zhongyang minzu xueyuan
chubanshe.
He L & Xiong Y (eds.) (1999). Yunnan shaoshu minzu
wenzi gaiyao (Introduction to the scripts of the Yunnan
ethnic minorities). Kunming: Yunnan minzu chubanshe.
Huang J M (2003). Yiwen wenzi xue (Study of Yi writing).
Beijing: Minzu chubanshe.
Huang Y (1983). Zhuangzu geyao gailun (Introduction to
Zhuang nationality folksongs). Nanning: Guangxi minzu
chubanshe.
Li M & Ma M (1981). Liangshan Yiyu huihua liubaiju
(Six hundred conversation sentences in Liangshan Yi
language). Chengdu: Sichuan minzu chubanshe.
Mackerras C (1995). China’s minority cultures: Identities
and integration since 1912. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
Ramsey S R (1981). The languages of China. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Wang C (1985). Miaoyu yufa, Qiandong fangyan/Benx wix
faf hveb hmub, wangf cunb deef hxad (Miao language
grammar, Southern Guizhou local dialect). Beijing:
Guangming erbao chubanshe.
Yunnan minzu xueyuan minzu yuyan wenxuexi. (Yunnan
Nationalities Institute, Ethnic Languages Literatures
Department) (eds.) (1997) Yunnan minzu yuyan
wenxue lunwenji (Collected articles on Yunnan ethnic
languages and literatures). Kunming: Yunnan minzu
chubanshe.
Zhou M (2003). Multilingualism in China: The politics
of writing reforms for minority languages 1949–2002.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
of scholars of paleography. All known styles of
Chinese script, including those recently rediscovered
through archaeological excavation, are the subject of
modern calligraphy practice, one of the prime vehi-
cles of self-cultivation in Chinese traditional secular
culture.
Ancient Inscribed Styles
Seal
Seal script has been used on signature seals since
‘Warring States’ times (475–221 B.C.E.), and was the
main form used in public inscriptions in the Qı́n
(221–206 B.C.E.) and Hàn (B.C.E. 206–221 C.E.) dynas-
ties. The Qı́n standardization of the script is thought
to have involved seal script, although it is less well
known that Qı́n itself cultivated a highly conservative
)
character structure in an effort to show that it was the
worthy successor of the Zhōu. Seal script has long
been used on official seals, and so is associated with
political legitimacy.
332 China: Writing System
Figure 1 A page from a Sòng dynasty dictionary of seal forms, with text in square script.
Seal script has been the focus of traditional paleog-
raphy and graphology, because it is documented in
a 1st-century dictionary, the Shuōwén jiězı̀
, the oldest native work of its kind. But
seal script represents a highly evolved stage of devel-
opment and is not ideal for research on the early
history of Chinese writing. It is formalistic and most
of its graphs are broadly isomorphic with modern
square script, even though seal script differs in having
lines of even weight, rounded corners, and rounded
line-ends (see the example in Figure 1, from a Sòng
dynasty (960–1279) compendium). Characters are
written so as to conform to an invisible box and
look balanced and neat.
Bronze
Some of the most structurally conservative ancient
graphs tend to be those cast on early bronze vessels,

Figure 2 A Western Zhōōu bronze inscription.
which abound from the period of the Shāng (1766–
1122) and Western Zhōu dynasties (1122–221).
Bronze script was a monumental form; the sacrificial
vessels on which it appears were often costly and had
ritual functions in the ancestral temples of important
families. Many short inscriptions (5–20 characters)
exist, recording little more than personal names and
a few formal phrases associated with the commission-
ing of the vessel. An example appears in Figure 2,
from a Western Zhōu guı̌ vessel. But some longer
texts (as long as several hundred characters) also
exist and are a major source for historical and linguis-
tic study of this period. Their formal nature, however,
must never be forgotten; this was not a medium or a
context that lent itself to casual writing or to the
recording of natural speech.
Bronze script graphs tend to have both regular
angles and smooth curves, with lines of varying thick-
ness and separated by irregular spaces. Their size and
shape may vary considerably within a single inscrip-
tion, in contrast to more standardized graphs of later
periods. Texts are generally written in columns, top to
bottom, continuing right to left, and, in the best
inscriptions, the columns have a largely linear appear-
ance, with the graphs about equally spaced. But
graphs themselves vary a great deal in form; this is
true of both the appearance of primary elements and
the structure of compound graphs. Ancient bronzes
have been known and handled continuously since
their own time (there is a tradition in the received
literature that possession of certain vessels of state
betokens the possession of the throne). The collection
and study of their inscriptions continues in a tradition
China: Writing System 333
Figure 3 A fine oracle bone inscription on scapula.
unbroken since the Sòng dynasty, although modern
archaeological finds and linguistic method have
increased our knowledge incalculably in the past
half century. The form shown here is taken from a
modern rubbing (tàpiàn ).
Bone
The oldest Chinese writing now known and definitive-
ly identified as writing is the oracle bone inscriptions
(OBI), dating mainly from the time of the last 12 kings
of the Shāng dynasty, or the period ca. mid-14th-
century to 1122 B.C.E. Tortoise plastrons and carabao
scapulas were used in ritual divination by or for the
kings (some were also inscribed with related informa-
tion), and finally they were either stored or discarded.
They were first identified around the turn of the 20th
century, and so their study is entirely modern. The
great majority of authentic Shāng bones come from
an area near Ānyáng in China’s Hénán Province
, the site of the later Shāng capital; there
are also smaller finds from other parts of north China,
as well as pieces dating from the early Western Zhōu.
Inscriptions are generally classified into five very
rough stylistic periods.
Bone and scapula are harder materials than the soft
clay on which bronze inscriptions were actually
prepared, and OBI are rougher in appearance, with
simpler structure and lines that are more jagged
(see Figure 3 for an unusually legible and large
334 China: Writing System

inscription). Most OBI finds are fragmentary, and

even complete texts are usually short and highly com-
pact. For these reasons, the identification of graphs by
linguistic context is often much more tentative than
with bronze inscriptions.

Ink-Brush Styles
Although there is internal evidence that OBI and
bronze graphs must have developed from earlier ink
or painted forms, no undisputed specimens have yet
been unearthed. From the 4th and 3rd centuries B.C.E.,
however, there are a number of examples of cursive ink
writing on bamboo splints (zhújiǎn ) and silk
(bóshū ). Important recent finds come from sites
at Bāoshān and Guōdiàn in Húběi
Province. The texts represented in these documents
tend to vary a good deal from received versions, and
character structure seems to have been highly variable.
The Shuōwén records a tradition that, in the fragmen-
tation of ‘China’ prior to the Qı́n unification, each
politically independent region developed its own style
of writing. However, the variation is not simply geo-
graphical; we sometimes see the same character written
quite differently even within the same document. Mate- Figure 4 A fragment of Warring States brushwork.
rials of this type were not well known in traditional
times, although there is a Sòng dynasty dictionary, the
Hànjiǎn, that contains some related forms. , dated 185 C.E. and unearthed in the 16th cen-
Cursive brush forms tend to look much more ab- tury, is one of the most striking examples of the style;
stract than the older bone and bronze forms. Hori- see Figure 5. The characters are square, with many of
zontal strokes are often greatly thickened, and the basic stroke types formed in a regular and distinc-
vertical strokes tend to trail off unless they turn and tive way. Writers are evidently paying close attention
continue horizontally. A sample of a recent find at to control of the brush-tip. Structurally, most of the
Guōdiàn appears in Figure 4. characters are already very close to modern square
In all brush styles, whether cursive or formal, the script, in spite of stylistic differences.
brush allows control of the amount of ink released,
‘Running’ and ‘Grass’ Styles
and the thickening or narrowing of lines becomes an
essential part of the aesthetics of the script, in a way The ‘running’ (literally, ‘walking’) and ‘grass’ styles
that was not seen in the older inscriptional styles. are both characterized by ellipsis of discrete structural
However, from the Hàn onward, we see inscriptions elements and the flowing connection between various
using ink-brush styles, because paper (first widely used remaining lines of the graph. Grass style is the more
in the Hàn) could be pasted on stone and the ink elliptical of the two and, contrary to popular belief, is
characters on it carved there. That provided a way for the older, dating from the Western Hàn (B.C.E. 206–
medieval Chinese governments to promulgate standard 8 C.E.); it was originally a cursive development of
texts in standard script: they erected official editions of clerical script. It remains a favored style for calligra-
the classical texts that were a part of their intellectual phy, and the elegance of fine specimens arouses a
basis for rule, and visitors could make rubbings and visceral aesthetic response in some afficionados, al-
take them home for study and emulation. though the effect is often lost on viewers who cannot
read Chinese, and is even baffling to them. In more
Clerical
extreme examples, even people who appreciate callig-
True, so-called ‘clerical’ script is the term applied to raphy cannot always make out every character. The
cursive writing from the Qı́n and Hàn, but these are (relatively moderate) work of the 14th-century Kānglı̌
clearly a development from Warring States cursive Zı̌shān is shown in Figure 6. Running
tradition. From the Hàn we have a number of stone style is generally much more legible for the modern
steles carved from ink models. The Cáo Quán Stele reader; its forms bear a much closer relationship to
 China: Writing System 335

Figure 5 From a Hàn stele inscription in clerical script.

modern square script, and it developed later, in the

3rd century, probably as a casual style for use in
letters. A rubbing of the running script of the 8th
century Lı̌ Yōng is shown in Figure 7. When
the running and grass styles are compared with mod-
ern square script, the viewer becomes aware that a
kind of systematic vocabulary of ellipsis is involved,
and that vocabulary has been made the subject of a
number of books, including one in English by Fred
Fang-yü Wang (1958).

Modern Square Script and the Simplification

Movement

Modern square script is the style in common use

today. It seems to have developed by the 3rd century,
and rapidly became standard for official writing. No
later than the end of the 6th century there were dic-
tionaries circulating that exhibited standard square
script forms, no doubt for emulation. Square script
does not flow; lines are discrete and generally
straight. Vertical lines are supposed to go straight up
and down, and horizontal lines are supposed to be
almost level, or rising very slightly from left to right.
Changes of line direction are clearly expressed and
the narrowing and flaring of the different parts of
each line are exactly prescribed. Figure 8 shows a
6th-century example from the 7th-century tomb in-
scription of Sū Cı́ . Even though it is obviously
Figure 6 A sample of Mongol-era ‘grass’ script.
not contemporary, almost all the graphs are instantly
readable by any literate person today.
In the 20th century, both the Nationalist (KMT)
and Communist governments of China promulgated
official lists of ‘simplified’ characters (jiǎntı̌zı̀
). Many of these graphs are essentially run-
ning script forms given a square script cast, and al-
most all of them have been in popular handwritten
use for a very long time, at least regionally and often
universally. When the Chinese civil war wound down
336 China: Writing System

Figure 8 A sample of 7th-century square script.

simplified to , , and . But there are many

Figure 7 A sample of 8th-century ‘running’ script. other uncompleted sets: , , and remain un-
changed in the official simplified character set, as do
, , and .
to a stalemate in the 1950s, the Communist-governed As of the turn of the 21st century, there has not
mainland was promoting a simplified script as an aid been full popular integration of the simplified and
to proletarian literacy and as a step toward the even- traditional character sets in popular usage, even
tual eradication of the characters, while the KMT- though the actual differences between the two are
governed island of Taiwan was promoting traditional relatively superficial. Typically, a week of review is
script, as commonly seen in printed texts from the all that is needed for someone literate in one character
previous several centuries. In some cases, systematic set to master the other set. But many native speakers
principles are involved in how characters are simpli- of Chinese still claim only to be able to read one or
fied, but those principles were never fully implemen- the other set, a declaration that the neutral observer
ted. For example, the traditional form is officially suspects is really about political or regional allegiance
simplified to , to , to , to , to , rather than any intrinsic incompatibility between the
and so on. The example of is paralleled by , , two. Software developers have quietly made it possi-
and being simplified to , , and , and the ble for the two sets to be integrated in most computer
case of is paralleled by , , and being applications.

As for full alphabetization and the elimination of
the characters, as of this writing it remains official
Communist policy, but seems to this writer unlikely
ever to take place because of the dominating place of
the script in Chinese identity. Enthusiasts of alphabet-
ization include a number of prominent Western schol-
ars. DeFrancis (1950) and Serruys (1962) give good
resumes of the early history of the simplification and
alphabetization movement.
Other Matters of Form and Punctuation
Form of Connected Writing
Until recent decades, Chinese has conventionally
been written in straight columns, top to bottom and
continuing right to left. (Bronze inscriptions occa-
sionally run in columns from left to right, often in
only one of a pair of inscriptions facing each other on
the lid and body of a single vessel.) Over the course of
the 20th century, it became usual to write in rows
from left to right. Taiwan and conservative overseas
newspapers made the switch in the late 1990s. In
Taiwan and Hong Kong, much literature continues
to use the traditional format. In the mainland, only
scholarly works of classical literature and philology
still frequently follow the traditional format.
Chinese characters in modern print are generally
all the same size and occupy an (invisible) square, with
the same amount of space between them. Unstressed
syllables and the one important Mandarin subsyllabic
morpheme (the rhotacizing ‘suffix’ -r / ) always
take up the same amount of space as ‘full’ syllables.
Punctuation
Modern Chinese, since the early 20th century, has
been punctuated with a set of symbols derived from
Western usage: the period ! or ", the comma, colon,
semicolon, question mark, quotation marks, and ex-
clamation point: : ; ? !. There is also a special ‘half-
comma’ ( ) used for separating items in a list (and not
rendered orally as a pause, as a comma is in English).
The half-comma is derived from the shape of a simple
dot as conventionally written with a brush. There are
traditional quotation marks d and e (or : and in
columnar format) and brackets and ( / ), and
h and i ( / ). It is usual for all of these punctuation
marks to be given the same amount of space as
a normal character, although with the advent of
computers and wider exposure to other written
languages, many typographical practices are in rapid
coevolution. There was historically no such thing as
italicization, but its availability in word processors
has introduced it to the Chinese printed world since
the late 1980s.
China: Writing System 337
Traditional printed books usually had no punctua-
tion, although individual readers might ‘point’ the
text by hand, as needed, using a circle or half-
comma. However, Warring States bamboo manu-
scripts often have ‘half-comma’-like marks at the
ends of what we can identify as phrases and sen-
tences. Traditional teachers would sometimes mark
alternate tonal readings of a given character by
putting a dot or a small circle in one or another
of its corner (so-called quānpò ‘circling the
‘‘broken’’ reading’). Ancient bronze inscriptions
and bamboo texts made frequent use of a ‘doubling
mark’ (chóngwén ), which is the numeral
‘two’ ( ) added to the bottom right corner of a
character to indicate that the character was to be
read twice – sometimes a series of characters could
be so marked, meaning that a phrase was to be read
twice. Figure 2 contains one such example in the
upper left corner.
In later texts, broadly speaking from the Hàn
onward, the doubling mark is given its own
space as a character, fitting into its own invisible
square. By the 6th century we see a more elaborate
doubling mark used, which survives in handwriting
today.
Ligatures
Ligatures (héwén ) are very common in ancient
texts. We find two common characters pressed into
the space of one, often written in such a way as to
share strokes, and the doubling mark added at
bottom right. There is no firm evidence as to how
these were to be read; possibly two morphemes were
to be read, or possibly there was some kind of spoken
contraction involved.
In Warring States bamboo texts there is a second
kind of ligature, where a single compound character
has the doubling mark but is meant to be read as two
different morphemes. For example, the graph bı̀ng
‘together’ with the doubling mark added is under-
stood to be read as bı̀nglı̀ ‘standing together’;
the graph itself is historically two written side
by side, and the use of the doubling mark to indicate
requires that fact to be known to the reader.
The Internal Linguistic Structure of the
Chinese Script
The Chinese script is famous for being nonphonetic.
Although phonetic principles have plainly determined
its development, it remains highly ‘defective’ in the
technical sense: the sounds of speech are represented
inconsistently, and are often totally concealed.
338 China: Writing System
Figure 9 Pictographs: , , (top) and , , (bottom).
Primary Elements
Chinese characters are of two basic types: primary
elements and compound characters made from two
or more primary elements.
A primary element is one we recognize as being
indivisible, so that no discrete linguistic meaning
attaches to smaller components. Most primary ele-
ments are derived from ‘pictographs’ (xiàngxı́ng
‘form-depicting’ characters), which stylize some
physical object. Examples (from ca. 10th-century
B.C.E. bronze inscriptions) are shown in Figure 9: the
characters shown represent common Chinese words
for ‘horse,’ ‘to stand,’ ‘large’ (in the top row) and
‘mouth,’ ‘eye,’ and ‘moon, month’ (bottom row). In
their modern square script forms, the graphs are
, (top) and , , (bottom).
Another traditional category of primary elements is
the zhı̌shı̀ , graphs that ‘indicate a matter.’ They
are abstract and nondepictive. Figure 10 shows a few
examples: ‘one’ , ‘two’ (top) and ‘five’ , ‘on
top; to ascend’ (bottom). Relatively few primary
elements are of this type.
Compounding: Extension of Primary Elements
Through Polyvalence
Primary elements often appear as discrete graphs, but
frequently we do not see them used in their primary
meaning. Rather, the earliest attested usage is often as
a loan for a near homophone or synonym standing at
some distance from what we believe to be the primary
sense. Such ‘polyvalent’ usage is known in Chinese as
jiǎjiè (‘loan’) usage. Its best known form is
semantic polyvalence – ‘polysemy,’ or the ‘rebus’
principle, in which one graph represents two words
with different meanings but very similar sounds. Po-
lysemy allows us to write words for which no obvious
physical symbol can be found, by using any other
word that has a sound that is the same or similar.
Polysemy is a phonetic principle, and is the most
Figure 10 Symbol-graphs: , (top) and , (bottom).
fundamental linguistic principle involved in grasping
the structure of Chinese script.
As an example, represents an intransitive verb
meaning ‘to stand,’ but we often see it used in other
senses. One such usage is the transitive ‘to erect,’
although that is not usually considered to be jiǎjiè
because the meaning ‘to erect’ is not now associated
with a different graph or word. But also stands for
the word we now write ‘place, position.’ The
ancient spoken word originally written is recon-
structed *g-rep (Mandarin lı̀), and is reconstructed
*reps (wèi); we believe the two words were alike
enough in sound and meaning that the use of one to
stand for the other would not have been a big jump
for a literate reader. A third word sometimes written
with is *g-reps (qı̀) ‘to arrive at one’s place.’
The three words standardly written , , and
are close enough that we can believe they may have
been cognate, and so the use of a single form to stand
for all three does not surprise us. But to date we have
found no explicit native statement about these rela-
tionships, and so are forced to make deductions about
the range of loangraph relationships. We also have no
explicit word lists – lexicons showing sound, mean-
ing, and a conventional graphic representation –
older than about the 6th century C.E., and those from
the 6th century are filled with archaisms and late
standardizations. Consequently, our ability to recon-
struct the early language and identify the words repre-
sented by graphs in excavated materials is still very
limited.
A second form of polyvalence is ‘polyphony’ –
writing a graph usually associated with one word to
represent another word with a totally different sound
but similar in meaning. Relatively few examples of
this kind have survived the standardizing tendencies
of the past 2200 years, but we do see occasional
examples such as , associated both with *hngrat
‘sprout’ (a word long obsolete) and *’tshu /
‘plant’ in the received literature. In excavated ancient
documents, however, there appear to be a great many
examples of this kind.
 China: Writing System 339

Table 1 Phonetic compounds based on of the element with the sound *’taw. Many scho-
Graph Reconstruction Meaning Structure of graph
lars have proposed etymologizing these words so as to
link them to the basic meaning of *’taw, ‘blade or
*’taw ‘blade, pictograph knife’: perhaps ‘bright’ and ‘to shine’ suggest the
knife’ sharpness or glint of a blade, or perhaps ‘summon’
*’taws ‘to arrive’ disambiguated
by the addition of
and ‘command’ suggest compulsion by force of arms.
semantic But that is speculation; there is no reason to assume
determinative that was used as anything except a token of sound
*tits ‘to arrive’ in these graphs. If ‘blade’ and ‘bright’ are related, that
(the element is mainly a matter of the etymology of spoken words.
is an altered
form of )
Our ability to describe early graphic evolution in
*draws ‘to summon’ disambiguated by Chinese is greatly complicated by two problems.
the addition of First, compound graphs are rarely seen in their ear-
semantic liest meanings, and, second, primary graphs are rarely
determinative seen in the loan usages that we believe to have been
*kho ‘mouth; oral’
disambiguated later as distinct phonetic compounds.
Full documentation may never be possible, because it
Extension of Primary Elements Through
seems likely that many phonetic compound graphs
Compounding
known in post-Hàn times were perhaps formed di-
Primary elements are only a minute proportion of the rectly as compounds without having gone through the
total number of Chinese graphs. In most cases, a process of disambiguation of a primary polyphonic
typical Chinese graph is a compound of two or pictograph.
more of them. Compounding is thought to have A minority of compound graphs were formed by
come about at an early date because of the intrinsic the addition of a phonetic element to an older picto-
ambiguity of polyvalence. To resolve the ambiguity, graph. An example is the word zhù ‘to cast in metal’
‘determinative elements’ were added, forming a com- now written *tus (?). The modern square-script
pound graph. Determinatives may be either phonetic form is a phonetic compound, with *du as the
or semantic: they may give the reader a clue to the phonetic element and ‘metal’ *k(r)em as the se-
intended word through either sound or meaning. mantic determinative. Figure 11 shows several an-
The overwhelming majority of compounds involve cient forms of : the three in the top row have in
the addition of a semantic determinative to a primary common the primarly elements ‘vessel’ at the bot-
phonetic element that may once have been used poly- tom and what appear to be two hands holding some
phonically. Such ‘phonetic compounds’ (xı́ngshēng sort of inverted vessel at the top. Between these two
‘form and sound’ graphs) make up the vast parts are variously *’hmej ‘fire’, ‘metal’
proportion of all of the Chinese characters attested *k(r)em, and the element , whose reading and
from antiquity. Table 1 shows three graphs, two of meaning are disputed but which appear to be the
which are compounds, differentiated semantically phonetic element in modern . Of these three
from the first, which was a polysemous primary graphs, only the one containing is recognizable to
graph. us as a phonetic compound, in which specifies that
From , another graph was derived for the a word resembling *du is intended; the other two
word *’taw ‘to fall down (said of a person)’. is must be understood as compounds of some sort. In
two derivational steps away from : in it, the com- the bottom row of Figure 11, we see a form contain-
pound (associated with *’taws ‘to arrive’ and ing , and , followed by another form contain-
*’taw ‘to fall down’) has been disambiguated by ing only and with *’kho ‘mouth’ (an element
the addition of semantic determinative *nin ‘per- of modern ). Both of these must be forebears of
son’ for the word *’taw but not for *’taws. modern . Last is a form containing only and
From have sprung a whole series of secondary *stu (?; likely variant of ‘hand’, phonetic in
compound graphs, shown in Table 2. *stu ‘to protect’); this is also a phonetic compound
And from another (tertiary) compound has graph, using a different phonetic element from the
been derived, for *taws ‘to shine on’ by the addition received form. In sum, it appears that early ways of
of the semantic determinative ( ) *’hmej ‘fire’. writing ‘to cast’ were not phonetic, but that was
None of the elements , , , , , , , , , first added as a phonetic determinative and the com-
, , or appear to contribute to the overall pho- plex pictographic elements gradually reduced to ,
netic value of these graphs; in every case, our ability to which looks like a semantic determinative. But we
read a character stems from the original association can see that simple phonetic-plus-semantic structure
340 China: Writing System

Table 2 Phonetic compounds based on

Graph Reconstruction Meaning Structure of graph

*taw ‘bright’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *nit ‘sun’

*taw ‘to summon with the disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *hu ‘hand’
hand’
*taw ‘pond’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative ( ) *h(l)uj ‘water’
*taws ‘to command’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *ngan ‘to say’
*thraw ‘to exceed, surpass’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *’tso(k) ‘to run’
*daw ‘kind of ritual music’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *(r) m ‘music’
e
*daw ‘to connect’ disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *s ‘thread’
e
*tew ‘marten: kind of disambiguated by the addition of semantic determinative *lre (?) ‘any legless
weasel’ wild creature’ (!)

for a word meaning ‘to call.’ In addition to , com-

mon words using phonetically for this sound are
*meng ‘name, to name’ and * mrings ‘to com-
mand.’ Presumably, one of the three words *mreng
‘to crow,’ *meng ‘name,’ and *mrings ‘to command’
is what was originally intended by the use of the
primary element in all three graphs. Findings like
this are disputed in many circles, however; the huı̀yı̀-
type compound is part of the traditional lore of the
Chinese script, whether or not it turns out to have a
historical basis.

Character Structure and the Dictionary

Figure 11 Six bronze forms of zhù ‘to cast in metal’.
is actually late in this graph, and developed following
a different path than the compounds.
Semantic Compounds
Because compound characters are made of two or
more primary elements, it is often thought that it is
the meanings of those elements that combine to indi-
cate the meaning of the whole compound. That is a
misconception, one widespread in China as well as
abroad. Chinese traditionally call such ‘semantic
compounds’ huı̀yı̀ , graphs with ‘meanings con-
joined’. There are some graphs that (at present) are
almost always explained as semantic compounds; for
instance lı́n ‘forest’ is apparently composed of the
element mù ‘tree’ doubled. But by far the over-
whelming majority of compound graphs contain at
least one patently phonetic element. Moreover, mod-
ern scholars continue to study those compounds that
are ambiguous, and, in some cases, they have been
plausibly explained as originally phonetic com-
pounds in which the phonetic element has ceased to
be recognized. A fine example is *mreng ‘to crow,’
apparently a compound of the elements *’kho
‘mouth’ and *’tiw ‘bird,’ neither of which can
be phonetic. However, it has been proposed by
modern scholars that is actually a polyphonic ele-
ment, and that in addition to ‘mouth’ it also stands
Chinese dictionaries have been arranged by sound
since at least the 6th century C.E., but how does one
find a character if one doesn’t know how it is pro-
nounced? To solve this problem, Chinese dictionaries
are also arranged by character structure. Usually, the
semantic determinative, if there is one, is identified as
the classifying element of a graph, and all the char-
acters that have the same semantic determinative are
placed together. For example, the characters , ,
, , , , and are all placed under in the
dictionary, because is identified as a recurring
determinative element in all of them.
Westerners generally call this element the ‘radical’
of the character, but the Chinese name (bùshǒu )
is better translated as ‘classifier.’ ‘Radical’ suggests
that the determinative element is somehow the ety-
mological ‘root’ of the graph, when in fact most
semantic determinatives are late additions in com-
pound characters; it is the original polysemous pho-
netic element that really deserves the name ‘root.’
See also: Calligraphy, East Asian; Chinese; Printing and
Typewriting.
Bibliography
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Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide. Berkeley:

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Boltz W G (1999). ‘Language and writing.’ In Loewe M &
Shaughnessy E L (eds.) The Cambridge history of ancient
China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 74–123.
Boltz W G (2003). Origin and early development of the
Chinese writing system (Vol. 78). New Haven, CT:
American Oriental Society Monograph Series.
Boodberg P (1940). ‘‘‘Ideography’’ or Iconolatry?’ T’oung
Pao 35(4), 266–288.
Bottéro F (2004). ‘Chinese characters versus other writing
systems: the Song origins of the distinction between
‘‘non-compound characters’’ (wen) and ‘‘compound char-
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Meaning and form: essays in pre-modern Chinese
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DeFrancis J (1950). Nationalism and language reform in
China. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Hànjiǎn (1983). Lı̌ Ling (ed.). Pub. with.
Gǔwén sı̀shēng yùn . Běijīng: Zhōnghuá
Shūjú.
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California Press.
Chinantec: Phonology
D Silverman, Nanvet, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chinantecan is a group of about 14 VSO languages
within the Otomanguean family, spoken by ap-
proximately 90 000 people in northeastern Oaxaca,
Mexico, having branched from the Otomanguean
tree more than 16 centuries ago. The 14 major lan-
guages (where ‘language’ is defined as a speech com-
munity with mutual intelligibility not in excess of
80% with other communities) are Ojitlán, Usila, Tla-
coatzintepec, Chiltepec, Sochiapan, Tepetotutla, Tla-
tepusco, Palantla, Valle Nacional, Ozumacı́n, Lalana,
Lealao, Quiotepec, and Comaltepec. The first seven
are northern languages and tend to be more innova-
tive phonologically; the second seven southern lan-
guages are more conservative. Syllables are usually
CV, with only a few post-vocalic elements, among
them a nasal and/or laryngeals. Proto-Chinantec is
reconstructed as possessing consonants *p, *t, *k,
*kw, *b, *z, *g, *gw, *s, *m, *n, *N, *w, *l, *r,
and *j. Laryngeals *h and * could stand alone pre-
vocalically, or could precede any of the voiced con-
sonants. Additional consonant-glide clusters are
reconstructed as well. The reconstructed tonal inven-
tory includes *H, *L, *HL, *LH, and *HLH. Vowels
Chinantec: Phonology 341
Kern M (2000). The stele inscriptions of Ch`in Shih-huang:
text and ritual in early Chinese imperial representation.
New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society.
Qiú Xı́guı̄ (2000). Chinese writing. Mattos G L & Norman
J (trans.). Berkeley: Society of the Study of Early China
and Institute of East Asian Studies.
Serruys P L-M (1962). Survey of the Chinese language
reform and the anti-illiteracy movement in Communist
China. Studies in Chinese Communist Terminology,
No. 8. Berkeley: Center for Chinese Studies.
Shaughnessy E L (1991). Sources of Western Zhou history.
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Wang F Fang-yü (1958). Introduction to Chinese cursive
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Further Reading
The best Western-language overview of the modern native
tradition of paleography is Qiú (2000). The best presen-
tation of modern linguistic analysis of the structure of the
script is Boltz (2003), which, however, remains contro-
versial among traditionalists.
included *i, *e, *a, *u, *i$, and *e, as well as several
diphthongs. The vowels may be augmented in a
bewildering number of ways, however. In modern
Comaltepec – the most conservative Chinantecan lan-
guage – eight vowel qualities (i, e, æ, a, o, V, $i , u) may
be combined with five tonal qualities (L, M, H, LM,
LH), two voice qualities (plain and aspirated),
a nasality contrast, as well as a binary length con-
trast. The cross-classification of these 5 independent
systems results in 320 possible nucleus qualities
(8 ! 5 ! 2 ! 2 ! 2). Thus, a single vowel quality may
possess up to 40 contrastive values.
Chinantec roots and words are usually monosyl-
labic. The rich inflectional system normally involves
modification of root vowels, resulting in monosyllab-
ic stems that bear a particularly high informational
load. In Comaltepec, for example, a single syllable
may contain not only the root but also (in the case of
verb complexes) active/stative markers, gender mar-
kers (animate/inanimate), transitivity markers (in-
transitive/transitive/ditransitive), aspect (progressive/
intentive/completive), and possibly subject pronoun
clitics (two subsyllabic classes). Methods of stem
modification involve nasalization, tone, length, pho-
nation augmentation, and sometimes consonant
changes. Additionally, certain irregular patterns are
marked by ablaut. Due to their inherent inflection,

Society of the Study of Early China and Institute of East
Asian Studies. 429–442.
Boltz W G (1999). ‘Language and writing.’ In Loewe M &
Shaughnessy E L (eds.) The Cambridge history of ancient
China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 74–123.
Boltz W G (2003). Origin and early development of the
Chinese writing system (Vol. 78). New Haven, CT:
American Oriental Society Monograph Series.
Boodberg P (1940). ‘‘‘Ideography’’ or Iconolatry?’ T’oung
Pao 35(4), 266–288.
Bottéro F (2004). ‘Chinese characters versus other writing
systems: the Song origins of the distinction between
‘‘non-compound characters’’ (wen) and ‘‘compound char-
acters’’ (zi).’ In Takashima K & Jiang Shaoyu J (eds.)
Meaning and form: essays in pre-modern Chinese
grammar. Munich: LINCOM Europa, Studies in Asian
Linguistics. 1–17.
DeFrancis J (1950). Nationalism and language reform in
China. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Hànjiǎn (1983). Lı̌ Ling (ed.). Pub. with.
Gǔwén sı̀shēng yùn . Běijīng: Zhōnghuá
Shūjú.
Keightley D N (1978). Sources of Shang history.
Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of
California Press.
Chinantec: Phonology
D Silverman, Nanvet, NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chinantecan is a group of about 14 VSO languages
within the Otomanguean family, spoken by ap-
proximately 90 000 people in northeastern Oaxaca,
Mexico, having branched from the Otomanguean
tree more than 16 centuries ago. The 14 major lan-
guages (where ‘language’ is defined as a speech com-
munity with mutual intelligibility not in excess of
80% with other communities) are Ojitlán, Usila, Tla-
coatzintepec, Chiltepec, Sochiapan, Tepetotutla, Tla-
tepusco, Palantla, Valle Nacional, Ozumacı́n, Lalana,
Lealao, Quiotepec, and Comaltepec. The first seven
are northern languages and tend to be more innova-
tive phonologically; the second seven southern lan-
guages are more conservative. Syllables are usually
CV, with only a few post-vocalic elements, among
them a nasal and/or laryngeals. Proto-Chinantec is
reconstructed as possessing consonants *p, *t, *k,
*kw, *b, *z, *g, *gw, *s, *m, *n, *N, *w, *l, *r,
and *j. Laryngeals *h and * could stand alone pre-
vocalically, or could precede any of the voiced con-
sonants. Additional consonant-glide clusters are
reconstructed as well. The reconstructed tonal inven-
tory includes *H, *L, *HL, *LH, and *HLH. Vowels
Chinantec: Phonology 341
Kern M (2000). The stele inscriptions of Ch`in Shih-huang:
text and ritual in early Chinese imperial representation.
New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society.
Qiú Xı́guı̄ (2000). Chinese writing. Mattos G L & Norman
J (trans.). Berkeley: Society of the Study of Early China
and Institute of East Asian Studies.
Serruys P L-M (1962). Survey of the Chinese language
reform and the anti-illiteracy movement in Communist
China. Studies in Chinese Communist Terminology,
No. 8. Berkeley: Center for Chinese Studies.
Shaughnessy E L (1991). Sources of Western Zhou history.
Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of Califor-
nia Press.
Wang F Fang-yü (1958). Introduction to Chinese cursive
script. New Haven, CT: Far Eastern Publications, Yale
University.
Further Reading
The best Western-language overview of the modern native
tradition of paleography is Qiú (2000). The best presen-
tation of modern linguistic analysis of the structure of the
script is Boltz (2003), which, however, remains contro-
versial among traditionalists.
included *i, *e, *a, *u, *i$, and *e, as well as several
diphthongs. The vowels may be augmented in a
bewildering number of ways, however. In modern
Comaltepec – the most conservative Chinantecan lan-
guage – eight vowel qualities (i, e, æ, a, o, V, $i , u) may
be combined with five tonal qualities (L, M, H, LM,
LH), two voice qualities (plain and aspirated),
a nasality contrast, as well as a binary length con-
trast. The cross-classification of these 5 independent
systems results in 320 possible nucleus qualities
(8 ! 5 ! 2 ! 2 ! 2). Thus, a single vowel quality may
possess up to 40 contrastive values.
Chinantec roots and words are usually monosyl-
labic. The rich inflectional system normally involves
modification of root vowels, resulting in monosyllab-
ic stems that bear a particularly high informational
load. In Comaltepec, for example, a single syllable
may contain not only the root but also (in the case of
verb complexes) active/stative markers, gender mar-
kers (animate/inanimate), transitivity markers (in-
transitive/transitive/ditransitive), aspect (progressive/
intentive/completive), and possibly subject pronoun
clitics (two subsyllabic classes). Methods of stem
modification involve nasalization, tone, length, pho-
nation augmentation, and sometimes consonant
changes. Additionally, certain irregular patterns are
marked by ablaut. Due to their inherent inflection,
342 Chinantec: Phonology
Table 1 Partial verb paradigm from comaltepec
hit (transitive/inanimate) 1s 1p 2 3
progressive bah¥ ba¥ bah¥ bah¥
intentive bah¡ bah¡ bah¡ bah¥
completive bah¥ bah¡ bah bah¥
hit (transitive/animate)
progressive bV: £ bV: £ bV £ bV: £
intentive bV: ¡ bV: ¡ bV ¡ bV: £
completive bV: £ bV: ¡ bV: bV: £
bare verbal roots do not exist as such in Chinantecan.
All Chinantecan languages have a large number of
verb classes, along with many lexical exceptions.
Classes are differentiated by patterns of identity or
nonidentity across aspect/person combinations. For
example, in the partial paradigm for the verb ‘to hit’
shown in Table 1, some complexes are identical to
others, while others are different. Verbs in this class
will tend to show a similar pattern of identity and
nonidentity across cells, while verbs in other classes
show a different pattern.
Table 2 provides examples of stem inflection from
Quiotepec (Robbins, 1968).
In at least some Chinantecan languages, the verb
may be prefixed by a subject agreement marker for
intransitive verbs, or by an object agreement marker
for transitive verbs. Additional verbal prefixes in-
clude a negation marker, and tense and aspect mar-
kers (imperfect, past, hodiernal past, perfect, past
imperfect, etc.). Unlike verbs, nouns do not typically
display internal inflection, instead showing stability
across inflectional augmentation. In Tepetotutla, for
example, noun roots may concatenate with a quanti-
fier, a gender-inflected numeral, a classifier, etc. In
Lealao, constituents of the noun phrase may include
a quantifier, the head, a modifier, a possessor, and a
deictic marker, in that order, as well as a classifier
prefix in some cases.
Stem complexes are obligatorily stressed. Post-
tonic and pretonic syllables are not stressed. Stressed
syllables may possess greater phonological and mor-
phological complexity than do unstressed syllables.
In Sochiapan, unstressed syllables differ from stressed
ones in displaying a more limited distribution of
phonemes. Posttonic syllables in Palantla consist of
a small list of words that do not contrast for tonal
features. Pretonic syllables, while maintaining
tonal contrasts, do not possess postvocalic elements,
except in very careful speech. In Comaltepec, post-
tonic syllables consist of a limited set of clitics,
person-of-subject inflectors (in verbs), and possessors
(in nouns). Pretonic syllables consist of only several
verbal prefixes and a few proclitics, and possess a
smaller inventory of tone values. These syllables are
not a site for further inflection, and thus do not
Table 2 Examples of stem inflection in Quiotepec
(Robbins, 1968)
kwo:£ I give (something)
kwo: I gave (something)
kwo¢ o¡ thou givest (something)
kwo£ o¡ thou gavest (something)
kwo¢ o¢ I give (something to someone)
kwo¡ o£ I gave (something to someone)
kwo¢ o¡ thou givest (something to someone)
kwo¡ o thou gavest (something to someone)
kwo:j nn㣠I give (something animate)
kwoj¢˚ n˚ n㢠I gave (something animate)
kwo:j˚ ˚ nỹ¢ thou givest (something animate)
kwo:j£ nỹ¢ thou gavest (something animate)
kwo:j˚ nn㢠I give (something animate to someone)
kwoj £ n˚ n㢠I gave (something animate to someone)
kwo:j ˚ nỹ¢ thou givest, gavest (something animate to
someone)
possess morphological complexity. In Quiotepec,
too, stress falls on the major lexical classes (verbs,
nouns, etc.); most pretonic syllables consist of inflec-
tional material. Pretonic syllables only occur with
single tones, never with tonal contours. In at least
several Chinantecan languages, the vocalism of post-
tonic syllables is harmonically determined by the stem
vowel. Tone may spread from stem to suffix as well.
Regarding Chinantecan stress, several languages are
traditionally characterized as possessing either ‘ballis-
tic’ stress or ‘controlled’ stress on stem syllables. In
Palantla, Tepetotutla, Sochiapan, and Comaltepec,
ballistic syllables have been characterized by an initial
surge and rapid decay of intensity, and a loss of voicing
of postvocalic elements; controlled syllables exhibit no
such initial surge of intensity, displaying a more evenly
controlled decrease of intensity, and a lack
of postvocalic devoicing. Ballistic syllables tend to be
shorter in duration than controlled syllables, and may
possess a smaller inventory of tonal patterns. In at
least several Chinantecan languages, ballistic syllables
cross-classify with almost every other syllable type.
Both oral and nasal vowels, both long and short
vowels, preaspirated and preglottalized onsets
and plain onsets, open and checked syllables, and
nasally closed syllables, may all possess ballistic stress.
Ballistic stress interacts most significantly with tone,
tending to raise high tones and lower low tones. In
Lalana, ballistic stress (considered postvocalic h in
some analyses) may not occur with glottal checking,
and may occur with only H, L, and HL tones, whereas
controlled syllables reportedly also possess MH, LH,
and HLH, and may be checked. In Lealao, only level
tones (L, M, H, VH) may occur with ballistic stress,
whereas controlled syllables may also occur with tonal
contours (LM, LH). In Comaltepec, ballistic syllables
may occur with almost any tonal pattern.

Table 3 Tone sandhi in Comaltepec
Non-sandhi context Sandhi context Gloss
to:D kwa to: give a banana
Ni$hD kwa Ni$h give a chayote
ku:£ kwa ku: give money
hi£ mi$:£ hids I ask for a book
moh £ mi$:£ moh sd
I ask for squash
The ballistic stress found in some Chinantec lan-
guages corresponds to tonal lowering in Ojitlán
and Usila. Quiotepec is variously characterized
as possessing ballistic accent or raised tones in
these same contexts, often accompanied by post-
vocalic aspiration. The Chinantecan ballistic syllable
corresponds to postvocalic aspiration in related
Mixtecan and Otopamean languages, to prevocalic
aspiration in related Popolocan languages, and to
glottally ‘interrupted’ (CV V) syllables in the
Chatino, Zapotec, and Tlapanec languages. Chinan-
tecan ballistic syllables may derive from Proto-
Otomanguean *CVh syllables (which may or may
not have been phonetically realized as interrupted
vowels). Indeed, recent phonetic and phonological
investigations have recharacterized the ballistic phe-
nomenon as largely laryngeally-based, involving
postvocalic aspiration.
Segmental sandhi is rather limited in Chinantecan,
although tone sandhi is widespread, being both pho-
nologically and morphologically conditioned. The
best-studied tone sandhi system is that of Comalte-
pec. Here, LH tones spread their H component on to
a following vowel. Furthermore, M tones on un-
checked controlled syllables (deriving from Proto-
Chinantec H) trigger the presence of an H tone
Chinese
Y Gu, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing,
China
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The State of the Art
If language is ultimately seated in the minds of indi-
vidual speakers, as some linguists claim, then Chinese
can be described as a collection of over 1.3 billion
idiolects scattered around the world, in Mainland
China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Singapore in particu-
lar. If on the other hand language is held to be the
property of a speech community, as many linguists
believe, Chinese is then an assemblage of numerous
Chinese 343
on the following syllable. Examples are shown in
Table 3.
See also: Oto-Manguean Languages.
Bibliography
Anderson J L (ed.) (1989). Comaltepec Chinantec syntax.
Studies in Chinantec languages (vol. 3). Dallas: Summer
Institute of Linguistics.
Merrifield W R (1968). Palantla Chinantec Grammar.
Papeles de la Chinantla V. Seria Cientı́fica 9. Mexico:
Museo Nacional de Antropologı́a.
Merrifield W R & Rensch C R (eds.) (1990). Syllables, tone,
and verb paradigms. Studies in Chinantec languages
(vol. 4). Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics.
Rensch C R (1968). Proto Chinantec phonology. Papeles de
la Chinantla VI. Seria Cientifica 10. Mexico: Museo
Nacional de Antropologia.
Rensch C R (1976). Comparative Otomanguean phonol-
ogy. Indiana University: Bloomington.
Rensch C R (ed.) (1989). An etymological dictionary of the
Chinantec languages. Studies in Chinantec languages
(vol. 1). Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics.
Robbins F E (1968). Quiotepec Chinantec grammar.
Papeles de la Chinantla IV. Seria Cientı́fica 8. Mexico:
Museo Nacional de Antropologı́a.
Rupp J E (ed.) (1989). Lealao Chinantec syntax Studies in
Chinantec languages (vol. 2). Dallas: Summer Institute of
Linguistics.
Silverman D (1997). ‘Tone sandhi in Comaltepec
Chinantec.’ Language 73, 473–492.
Silverman D (1997). Phasing and recoverability. New York:
Garland.
Westley D O (1991). Tepetotutla Chinantec syntax Studies
in Chinantec languages (vol. 5). Dallas: Summer Institute
of Linguistics.
‘dialects’ spreading over different continents and
across time zones, some of which are so different
that their speakers cannot even communicate with
one another. In spite of the vast diversity, and even
some mutual oral unintelligibility, all literate speakers
can overcome the barrier imposed by the oral unin-
telligibility via reading (not aloud!) and writing. The
writing script partly enables the users to transcend the
differences of idiolects and dialects, and bridges
the past and the present.
In this article, Chinese will be discussed within
its two natural divisions: spoken Chinese and written
Chinese. The former includes (1) the classification
of dialects and their geographic and demographic

Table 3 Tone sandhi in Comaltepec
Non-sandhi context Sandhi context Gloss
to:D kwa to: give a banana
Ni$hD kwa Ni$h give a chayote
ku:£ kwa ku: give money
hi£ mi$:£ hids I ask for a book
moh £ mi$:£ moh sd
I ask for squash
The ballistic stress found in some Chinantec lan-
guages corresponds to tonal lowering in Ojitlán
and Usila. Quiotepec is variously characterized
as possessing ballistic accent or raised tones in
these same contexts, often accompanied by post-
vocalic aspiration. The Chinantecan ballistic syllable
corresponds to postvocalic aspiration in related
Mixtecan and Otopamean languages, to prevocalic
aspiration in related Popolocan languages, and to
glottally ‘interrupted’ (CV V) syllables in the
Chatino, Zapotec, and Tlapanec languages. Chinan-
tecan ballistic syllables may derive from Proto-
Otomanguean *CVh syllables (which may or may
not have been phonetically realized as interrupted
vowels). Indeed, recent phonetic and phonological
investigations have recharacterized the ballistic phe-
nomenon as largely laryngeally-based, involving
postvocalic aspiration.
Segmental sandhi is rather limited in Chinantecan,
although tone sandhi is widespread, being both pho-
nologically and morphologically conditioned. The
best-studied tone sandhi system is that of Comalte-
pec. Here, LH tones spread their H component on to
a following vowel. Furthermore, M tones on un-
checked controlled syllables (deriving from Proto-
Chinantec H) trigger the presence of an H tone
Chinese
Y Gu, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing,
China
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The State of the Art
If language is ultimately seated in the minds of indi-
vidual speakers, as some linguists claim, then Chinese
can be described as a collection of over 1.3 billion
idiolects scattered around the world, in Mainland
China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Singapore in particu-
lar. If on the other hand language is held to be the
property of a speech community, as many linguists
believe, Chinese is then an assemblage of numerous
Chinese 343
on the following syllable. Examples are shown in
Table 3.
See also: Oto-Manguean Languages.
Bibliography
Anderson J L (ed.) (1989). Comaltepec Chinantec syntax.
Studies in Chinantec languages (vol. 3). Dallas: Summer
Institute of Linguistics.
Merrifield W R (1968). Palantla Chinantec Grammar.
Papeles de la Chinantla V. Seria Cientı́fica 9. Mexico:
Museo Nacional de Antropologı́a.
Merrifield W R & Rensch C R (eds.) (1990). Syllables, tone,
and verb paradigms. Studies in Chinantec languages
(vol. 4). Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics.
Rensch C R (1968). Proto Chinantec phonology. Papeles de
la Chinantla VI. Seria Cientifica 10. Mexico: Museo
Nacional de Antropologia.
Rensch C R (1976). Comparative Otomanguean phonol-
ogy. Indiana University: Bloomington.
Rensch C R (ed.) (1989). An etymological dictionary of the
Chinantec languages. Studies in Chinantec languages
(vol. 1). Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics.
Robbins F E (1968). Quiotepec Chinantec grammar.
Papeles de la Chinantla IV. Seria Cientı́fica 8. Mexico:
Museo Nacional de Antropologı́a.
Rupp J E (ed.) (1989). Lealao Chinantec syntax Studies in
Chinantec languages (vol. 2). Dallas: Summer Institute of
Linguistics.
Silverman D (1997). ‘Tone sandhi in Comaltepec
Chinantec.’ Language 73, 473–492.
Silverman D (1997). Phasing and recoverability. New York:
Garland.
Westley D O (1991). Tepetotutla Chinantec syntax Studies
in Chinantec languages (vol. 5). Dallas: Summer Institute
of Linguistics.
‘dialects’ spreading over different continents and
across time zones, some of which are so different
that their speakers cannot even communicate with
one another. In spite of the vast diversity, and even
some mutual oral unintelligibility, all literate speakers
can overcome the barrier imposed by the oral unin-
telligibility via reading (not aloud!) and writing. The
writing script partly enables the users to transcend the
differences of idiolects and dialects, and bridges
the past and the present.
In this article, Chinese will be discussed within
its two natural divisions: spoken Chinese and written
Chinese. The former includes (1) the classification
of dialects and their geographic and demographic
344 Chinese
Figure 1 Classification of Chinese dialects.
distributions; (2) Putonghua as a lingua franca; and
(3) a brief discussion plus sound illustrations of three
major dialects. The latter includes (1) the writing
script, and (2) the historical evolution of written
Chinese from archaic Chinese to modern Chinese.
The article concludes with a summative account of
how Chinese, both spoken and written, is electroni-
cally processed.
Spoken Chinese
Although Chinese, like any other language in the
world, is substantiated in idiolects, i.e., parole in the
Saussurean term, they are thrown away after being
used as evidence for language system construction
i.e., the Chinese language. In other words, talking
about Chinese, over 1.3 billion idiolects are generally
ignored. What linguists are interested in is the various
dialects evolved from them. The number of dialects
depends on how fine-grained the researcher’s scheme
is intended to be. It is hardly a rare case that people in
two villages only a dozen of miles apart cannot intel-
ligibly communicate through speech.
Dialect Classification and Distribution
Chinese dialects can be classified by adopting a tree-
like structure. The first branching-out from the trunk
is the two major supergroups: Mandarin and non-
Mandarin. Mandarin includes eight subgroups: North-
eastern, Beijing, Beifang, Jiaoliao, Zhongyuan, Lanyin,
Southwestern, and Jianghuai. The non-Mandarin
group comprises nine subgroups: Jin, Wu, Hui, Gan,
Xiang, Min, Yue, Pinghua, and Hakka. Each of the
subgroups has its own clusters, each of which in turn
encompasses local dialects (see Figure 1).
Geographically speaking, Mandarin is spoken in
the following provinces and major cities: Heilong-
jiang, Jilin, Liaoning, the eastern part of the Inner
Mongolia Autonomous Region, Shandong, Beijing,
Tianjing, Hebei, Shanxi, Gansu, Qinghai, Ningxia
Hui Autonomous Region, Sichuan, Yunnan, Guizhou,
Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, western part
of Hubei, Chongqing, northern parts of Jiangsu, and
Anhui. The total Mandarin-speaking population,
based on the 1982 census, was about 662.23 million.
Table 1 shows the demographic distributions among
the subgroups of Mandarin. The demographic dis-
tributions of other non-Mandarin dialects are shown
in Table 2.
Mandarin Chinese is often nontechnically regarded
as an equivalent to Chinese, which was historically
the language of the Han nationality. Thanks to
massive immigration and frequent contact, Mandarin
Chinese is spoken by non-Han ethnic peoples as well.
Some members of the Hui nationality, for instance,
who are of Mohammedan origin, adopt Mandarin as
their mother tongue. Almost all members of the She
and Manchu nationalities speak Mandarin Chinese.
Conversely, some people of Han origin in Hainan
Province speak the Be language instead of Mandarin.
Putonghua as Lingua Franca
Dialects create diversity and local identity, and at the
same time impose constraints on communication and
social interaction. A tension always exists between
diversification and standardization of the language.
Many campaigns have been launched in the long
history of China in favor of standardizing both spo-
ken and written Chinese. The policy of shu tong wen
zi (‘writing according to the same script’) adopted
in the Qin Dynasty (248–207 B.C.) was in fact a sys-
tematic reform undertaken by the imperial court to
standardize the writing script. In the Sui Dynasty, Lu
Fayan’s (fl. 600 A.D.) Qieyun (‘Guide to poetic rhym-
ing’) became a standard reference on pronunciation

Table 1 Mandarin-speaking population by 1982
Northeastern 82.00
Beijing 18.02
Beifang 83.63
Jiaoliao 28.83
Zhongyuan 169.41
Lanyin 11.73
Southwestern 200.00
Jianghuai 67.25
*
Yet to be grouped 1.36
Total 662.23 (million)
for the generations to come, as well as for the recon-
struction of ancient phonological systems. The cam-
paign for the standardization of modern Chinese
started as early as the last leg of the Qing Dynasty
(1616–1911 A.D.) when the National Language
Movement was vigorously launched as a part of the
measures to revitalize the shattered country. It was
argued that the nation could not be unified without a
unified language. Guoyu (‘national language’) was
initially envisaged and artificially constructed on the
basis of some major dialects. This proved to be un-
tenable, for it was next to impossible to promote such
a language without natural speakers. New Guoyu
(‘new national language’), with the Beijing dialect
as its base, was proposed and eventually adopted.
Immediately after the founding of the People’s
Republic of China in 1949, language reform was
put high on the government’s agenda. Modern Stand-
ard Chinese, officially called Putonghua, was adopted
as the national language. It uses the Beijing dialect for
its standard pronunciation and northern dialects as
its base input. Putonghua is officially stipulated to be
the language of instruction at all levels of education,
and of mass media.
The term Guoyu is still being used in Taiwan,
while in Singapore it is called Huayu (i.e., Chinese).
Putonghua, Guoyu, and Huayu are three different
terms to refer to more or less the same Modern
Standard Chinese.
Modern Standard Spoken Chinese
Phonology The phonological structure of Modern
Standard Chinese is conceptualized more in tradition-
al Chinese terms than otherwise. A syllabic structure
has three essential components: initials, finals, and
tones. The initials and finals are two segments of
a syllable, while the tones are supersegmental, i.e.,
features superimposed on the segments. The initials
are the sounds known as consonants in Western liter-
ature. The finals, i.e., vowels, have internal structures
of their own: the medial and the root of the final,
Chinese 345
Table 2 Demographic distributions of other non-Mandarin
dialects by 1982
Jin 45.70
Wu 69.75
Hui 3.12
Gan 31.27
Xiang 30.85
Min 55.07
Yue 40.21
Pinghua 2.00
Hakka 35.00
*
Yet to be grouped 2.06
Total 315.03 (million)
which is further decomposed into two: the main
vowel and the syllabic terminal (see Figure 2).
The initial, the medial, and the syllabic terminal are
not obligatory to make a Chinese syllable. A simple
syllable can consist of a main vowel plus a tone only.
The possible initials, finals, and tones of Mod-
ern Standard Chinese are summarized in Tables 3, 4,
and 5, respectively.
It is perhaps well-known now to the non-Chinese
speaking world that Chinese tones are phonemic, that
is, the same phonetic syllable pronounced in different
tones will produce different words. The syllable /ma/
is the classic example: ma55 (mother), ma35 (hemp),
ma214 (horse), ma51 (scold), and ma0, (a functional
particle without a fixed lexical meaning).
While tones are properties of words, there are also
intonations of utterances. The relation between the
tone and the intonation is often metaphorized as
small ripples (cf. word tones) riding on large waves
(cf. utterance intonations). The interaction between
the tone and the intonation results in an algebraic
sum of the two kinds of waves.
Grammar It is generally held that, although Chinese
dialects are so diversified that mutual unintelligibility
in speech is not uncommon, they are conversely
amazingly unified in matters of grammar. There are
some minor divergencies found between dialects, for
example, with regard to the order of direct and indi-
rect objects, the Wu dialects and Cantonese differing
from Mandarin Chinese. Cases like this, however, are
extremely limited. It is quite valid to hold that there is
one universal Chinese grammar.
At the risk of oversimplification, which is unavoid-
able in such a short essay as the present one, Chinese
grammar, in comparison with English and other
European languages, is pragmatically oriented. The
subject and predicate in the grammar of Western
languages are best viewed as the topic and comment
in Chinese. The subject/actor and the predicate/action
are treated as a special case of topic and comment.
346 Chinese

Figure 2 Syllabic structure of Modern Standard Chinese.

Table 3 Initials of modern standard Chinese
Description Pinyin IPA
Bilabials b p
p p‘
m m
f f
Alveolars d t
t t‘
n n
l l
Dental sibilants z ts
c ts‘
s s
Retroflexes zh t§
ch t§‘
sh § also operates in compliment-taking. Complaints are
r r
Palatals j tç
q tç‘
x ç
Velars g k
k k‘
h x
Pragmatics One of the Chinese politeness maxims
dictates that the speaker should denigrate him or
herself, while elevating the other. This maxim
has been codified in a range of lexical items. All the
self-related expressions, including those referring to
one’s family members, relatives, properties, writings,
and so on, are marked with denigration, whereas the
other-referring expressions, including those referring
to the other’s family members, relatives, properties,
writings, and so on, carry the force of elevation. For
instance, a man referring to his own house will
politely use han she (‘cold living place’), but fushang
(‘mansion’) to refer to the other’s residence.
The self-denigration and other-elevation maxim
made about Chinese failing to take a compliment
gracefully. Hearing a compliment like ni de yifu hen
piaoliang (‘your dress is beautiful’), a Chinese lady
will vigorously insist that it is very ugly indeed: bu bu
bu, chou shile (‘no no no, deadly ugly’).

For instance, jiu bu he, yan chou (word-for-word
rendering: wine not drink, cigarette smoke) is
understood as ‘Talking about wine, I don’t drink;
but as for cigarettes, I do smoke.’
The topic-comment structure has something to
do with the complaint often made by Westerners
about Chinese saying ‘no’ but actually meaning
‘yes.’ Responding to the utterance zhe shu bu hao
(word-for-word rendering: ‘this book not good’), if
the speaker also thinks that the book is not good, he
will say shi (‘yes’), meaning that he agrees with what
the first speaker said about the book. While the
English mind checks the statement against the fact,
the Chinese mind expresses agreement or disagree-
ment with the speaker. In other words, the Chinese
mind tends to treat the speaker’s utterance as setting
up a topic, and the responder’s job is to comment on
the topic. The issue of the truth or falsehood of the
statement becomes secondary.
Written Chinese
In most languages, spoken and written forms are
generally regarded as two functional varieties of one
and the same language. The relation between spoken
and written Chinese, however, cannot be dealt with
so readily in the same way. Inscriptions incised on
oracle bones, dated 1400–1100 B.C., are the earliest
existent written records of Chinese. The inscriptions
were not transcripts of the speeches of emperors or
tribal kings. They can be regarded, at best, as setting
up some of the earliest instances of a particular genre
of written Chinese. By the time of the late years
of Qing Dynasty (1616–1911) 3000 years or so
later, the archaic written Chinese had become so dif-
ferent from the contemporary spoken Chinese that it
would take years of dedicated study before one could
read and write it. To make things even worse, the
archaic written Chinese was prescribed as the medi-
um of education. It was, and still is, no easier for
students to learn it than it would be to learn a foreign
tongue. Some language reform activists in the 1910s
went on record arguing that archaic written Chinese
 Chinese 347

Table 4 Finals of modern standard Chinese

Pinyin IPA Pinyin IPA Pinyin IPA Pinyin IPA

i i u u ü y
a a ia ia ua ua
o o uo
e X
ê E ie iE üe yE
ai ai uai uai
ei ei uei uei
ao au iao iau
ou ou iou iou
an an ian iEn uan uan üan yEn
en en in in uen un ün yn
ang aN ing iN ueng ueN
ong uN iong N
er 6

Table 5 Tones of modern standard Chinese
Chinese terms in Pinyin Description Value in five-point scale
Yinping (1st tone) high level 55
Yangping (2nd tone) rising 35
Shangsheng (3rd tone) falling- 214
rising
Qusheng (4th tone) falling 51
Qingsheng (neutral 0 tion. Later studies show that only four of them
tone)
was partially to blame for the humiliating decline of
the Chinese civilization following the time of the
Tang dynasty (618–907).
Attempts to reform written Chinese thus had two
aspects: the reform of the writing script and the reform
of archaic written Chinese as the medium of education.
Writing Script Reform: Alphabetization Versus
Simplification
he nature of the Chinese writing script has been dis-
puted for years, as can be seen in the variety of En-
glish terms used to designate the marks on paper
known in Chinese as hanzi (i.e., Chinese characters):
pictographs, pictograms, ideographs, ideograms,
phonograms, logographs, ideophonographs, lexi-
graphs, morphographs, sinographs, and so on. The
evidence for the claim that the Chinese writing origi-
nated from picture-drawing is substantial. Table 6
shows four instances of pictographs taken from
oracle bone inscriptions with their corresponding
present-day characters.
It is apparent that the pictographs have evolved,
through orthographic reforms, to such an extent that
even those characters with highly iconicized origins as
shown in the table have lost their picturesqueness.
Chinese characters are constructed from five basic
strokes (see Table 7) in a square space.
Picture-based character creation is only one of the
many ways in which Chinese characters are con-
structed. Some philologists in the Han dynasty
(206 B.C.–220 A.D.), on the basis of the then existent
writings, abstracted six principles of character forma-
are genuine: (1) zhi shi, the simple indicative princi-
ple; (2) xiang xing, the pictographic principle; (3)
hui yi, the compound indicative principle; and (4)
xing sheng, the semantic–phonetic principle. The pic-
tographic method of character formation had ceased
to be productive by the Han dynasty. The semantic–
phonetic character formation has been the most
productive of all, and the majority of Chinese char-
acters are thus constructed. It is on this account that
the Chinese writing system can be appropriately
designated as being morphosyllabic.
A Chinese character can be as simple as one stroke
(e.g., ‘one’), or as complex as dozens of strokes
(e.g., ‘snuffling’). Given a set of 11 834 characters,
the average number of strokes per character is
11.5516, and 63 percent of the set is made of
12-stroke characters. Since it is quite a challenging
task to learn to write such characters, there has been
no shortage of appeals to reform the writing script. As
early as the 1910s, some language reform activists
argued for abolishing the characters altogether, to be
replaced with a new alphabet script. This proved to
be completely infeasible. The PRC government even-
tually adopted three reform measures: (1) a romani-
zation alphabet known as Pinyin that is used to mark
the pronunciations of characters; (2) a simplification
scheme according to which 1754 characters would
be simplified; and (3) a total of 1055 duplicate
characters that were to be abolished.
348 Chinese
Table 6 Instances of Chinese pictographs
Pictographs found in oracle bone inscriptions
Corresponding present-day characters
English translation tiger
Table 7 Strokes and character writing
The Reform of Archaic Written Chinese
Archaic written Chinese models the writings preva-
lent from the Spring and Autumn (770–476 B.C.)
to the Later Han (25–220 A.D.) periods. Partially
because the characters were immune to the dynamic
changes of actual speech sounds over space and
time, archaic written Chinese achieved, as it were,
an independent symbolic existence. By the 1900s, it
had no natural speakers. It did, however, have several
potential rivals under the name baihua wen, literally
meaning ‘unadorned speech writing,’ which was far
closer to the contemporary vernacular speech. The
reform movement basically dethroned archaic writ-
ten Chinese and replaced it with the baihua wen that
had been formerly much despised. The reform proved
to be an uphill task, however, as it met with fierce
resistance from die-hard adherents.
Three Major Dialects
As graphically shown in Figure 1, the non-Mandarin
supergroup falls into nine subgroups of dialects,
which of course can be further divided into smaller
groups. In this section three dialects, Hong Kong
Cantonese, Shanghainese and Fuzhou dialect, repre-
senting the Yue group, the Wu group and the Min
group respectively, are examined as a window to
deer horse elephant
show what the non-Mandarin dialects look like.
They are highlighted here thanks to the demographic
size (see Table 2) and relatively prestigious status they
enjoy.
The Yue Group: Hong Kong Cantonese
Hong Kong Cantonese is one of the important vari-
eties of the Yue group. It is spoken by 89 percent of
Hong Kong’s 6.4 million population (by the 1996
census) in family discourse. It is also used in some
radio and TV programs, and as an instructional lan-
guage in schools and university classrooms. English
was the main official language in the former British
colony, but its use actually was, and still is, quite
limited. Since the return of sovereignty to China in
1997, Putonghua has become increasingly popular.
Having said this, Hong Kong Cantonese still remains
a true vernacular of the local people.
The term ‘Cantonese’ is derived from Guangzhou,
the most influential city in southern China, which is
known as Canton in English. Hong Kong and
Guangzhou Cantonese are not noticeably different
except that the former’s lexicon has more English
loan words than the latter’s. In speech Cantonese
and Mandarin or Putonghua are mutually unintelligi-
ble. Educated Cantonese speakers, however, use the
standard form of written Putonghua. There are some
spoken Cantonese words that have no corresponding
Putonghua characters. Some Cantonese written
words coined by local newspapers and in advertise-
ments in Hong Kong are unintelligible to Putonghua
readers.
Backed up by the economic and financial strength
and influence of Hong Kong and Guangzhou,
Cantonese is enjoying a prestige that is unprecedented
for any regional dialect in China, and is the most
studied of all the dialects. Grammars, dictionaries,
and textbooks have been written to render it more
like a language than a regional dialect.
Cantonese has 16 initial consonants. Unlike Man-
darin, it has completely nasal syllables with m and ng

functioning as vowels. For instance, the Cantonese
word for the Mandarin word wu (‘five’) is ng, which
can only be a syllabic nasal terminal of a final in
Mandarin. It has eight vowels, and two sets of
consonants that can be syllabic terminals: (1)
nasals:-m,-n,-ng; (2) unreleased consonants:-p,-t,-k.
Its tone system is far more complex than that of
Putonghua. The exact number of tones is not without
controversy. Some hold that only six tones are clearly
distinctive in Hong Kong Cantonese, although there
can be up to nine tones in the Yue group.
The Wu Group: Shanghainese
The Wu group is spoken mainly in Shanghai, South-
ern Jiangsu Province, and a large part of Zhejiang
Province. Historically the Suzhou Wu dialect enjoyed
more prestige and esteem than the other regional
varieties. When Shanghai established itself as an
industrial and commercial center in China, it lost its
glory and was replaced by Shanghainese, whose
speakers seem to be eager to establish their own iden-
tity. Shanghainese speakers, who may speak fluent
Putonghua, will loose no opportunity to code-switch
to Shanghainese if they can be understood by an inter-
locutor, even at the risk of rudely shutting off any non-
Shanghainese speakers from the conversation.
In comparison with Cantonese, Shanghainese is
very much under-studied. Existent literature on it
mainly consists of academic research papers. Like
Cantonese, educated Shanghainese speakers write in
written Putonghua, although there exist lexical items
that are unique to the dialect.
The term Shanghainese refers to the majority
speech of downtown Shanghai. It has 28 initials
(i.e., consonants), and 43 finals (i.e., vowels). One
of its hallmark features (and also of the Wu group)
is a three-way distinction in the initial consonants p,
p‘, and b, which become a two way distinction, p, and
p‘, in Putonghua. Although Wu dialects have seven or
eight tones, tones 4, 5, and 6 have been lost as sepa-
rate categories, which results in five tones in Shang-
hainese: (1) high level (53), (2) level high (35), (3) low
level (13), (4) high þ a glottal stop (5), and (5) low þ
a glottal stop (1).
The Min Group: Fuzhou Dialect
The Min group is mainly spoken in Fujian, Taiwan,
Hainan, as well as some areas in Guangdong,
Zhejian, Guangxi, and Jiangxi. It is by no means a
homogeneous group. On the contrary, even within
Fujian Province six subgroups can be identified, one
of which is known as the Min eastern subgroup, with
the Fuzhou dialect as its prototype. Mutual commu-
nicability within this eastern subgroup is quite low.
Chinese 349
Table 8 Sample usage in Fujian dialect
Putonghua Fujian dialect English translation
(shuidao) rice
(shuxin) letter
(leng) cold
(ku) cry
(taopao) escape
(zou) walk
Historically the Fuzhou dialect was understood
to cover an area of 11 counties. The present-day use
of the term is much restricted to the speech of
the locals in downtown Fuzhou. Phonologically it
has 15 consonants, 46 vowels including diphthongs,
and 7 tones. One of the striking features of the
Fuzhou dialect in comparison with Mandarin is that
it has preserved a great many archaic words or
usages. For instance, the word for ‘rice’ is in Fujian
dialect, which is totally obsolete in Putonghua. For
another instance, the word in Fujian dialect is used
to mean a letter, a usage found only in archaic
Chinese. Table 8 lists some more instances.
Sound Illustrations
The phonological differences between Putonghua,
Hong Kong Cantonese, Shanghainese, and Fujian
dialects can be illustrated by the ways four natural
objects – the sun, the moon, stars, and thunder – are
lexicalized and pronounced (see Table 9).
Chinese Information Processing
At the early stage of computer technology, processing
Chinese characters seemed to be such a forbidding
task that calls for the romanization of the Chinese
writing system were made again, but initial concep-
tions of the problem proved to be exaggerated.
The national standard GB 2312–80, established on
the basis of ISO 646 and officially coming into effect
in 1981, provides a standard scheme of coding 6763
characters, which are subdivided into two groups
according to the frequency of usage: the most
frequent set, and the less frequent set. The most fre-
quent set of 3755 characters is assumed to be 99.9%
adequate for general usage (based on a statistical
study of lexical frequency made in 1974). The GB
2312–80 standard met the demands of hardware
and software development and exchange of informa-
tion for general purposes, but it soon had to be
amended as new demands arose. In 1994, a standard
coding scheme for two supplementary sets consist-
ing of 7237 and 7039 characters was officially
350 Chinese

Table 9 The phonological differences between Putonghua, Hong Kong Cantonese, Shanghainese, and Fujian dialects

Note: The characters are transcribed in IPA symbols. The superscripted numbers are tone types with 1–5 values.

announced. As GB 2312–80 was designed to accom- Bibliography

modate simplified characters, the new GB 12345–90
Chao Y R (1968). A grammar of spoken chinese. Berkeley,
was introduced for nonsimplified characters that are
CA: University of California Press.
maintained in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Nowadays, Chen P (1999). Modern Chinese. Cambridge: Cambridge
character recognition for both print fonts and hand- University Press.
writing is commercially available. Text-to-speech DeFrancis J (1986). The Chinese language. Hawaii: Univer-
synthesis and production in the genre of journalistic sity of Hawaii Press.
texts has achieved a high degree of naturalness. The Matthews S & Yip V (1994). Cantonese: a comprehensive
character script and lexical tones, which were grammar. London: Routledge.
thought to be two major obstacles for Chinese infor- Ramsey S R (1987). The languages of China. Princeton
mation processing, are no longer condemned, but University Press.
appreciated as features with a flavor of real Chinese. , 1999
, 1996

See also: China: Language Situation; China: Religions; , 1998

China: Scripts, Non-Chinese; China: Writing System;
Chinese as an Isolating Language; Chinese Lexicogra- , 1999
phy; Chinese Linguistic Tradition; Chinese (Mandarin):
Phonology. , 1987 Longman
 Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology 351

Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology

S Duanmu, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, become voiced [b, d, g, BZ, dz] when they occur in an
MI, USA unstressed syllable.
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. SC also has two syllabic consonants [z] and [r] (or
[Z]). They were previously thought to be special
vowels, probably because it was believed that every
Chinese is the first language of over 1 billion speakers. syllable must have a vowel. [z] is used when a syllable
There are several dialect families of Chinese (each in starts with [ts], [tsh], or [s] and when there is no vowel
turn consisting of many dialects), which are often in the rime; it can be seen as the extension of the [s]
mutually unintelligible. However, there are systemat- element into the rime, where it becomes voiced. [t] is
ic correspondences among the dialects and it is easy used when a syllable starts with [<§], [<§h], [§], or [r]
for speakers of one dialect to pick up another dialect and when there is no vowel in the rime; it can be seen
rather quickly. The largest dialect family is the as the extension of the retroflex element into the rime.
northern family (also called the Mandarin family), SC also has a couple of syllabic nasals, which are
which consists of over 70% of all Chinese speakers. usually interjections.
Standard Chinese (also called Mandarin Chinese) is a The SC syllable can made of up to four sounds –
member of the northern family; it is based on the CGVX, where C is a consonant, G is a glide, V is a
pronunciation of the Beijing dialect. There are, there- vowel, X is a nasal or an offglide of a diphthong, and
fore, two meanings of the term Mandarin Chinese, VX is the rime. When both C and G are present, they
one referring to the northern dialect family and one are realized as one sound CG, where G is the second-
referring to the standard dialect. To avoid the ambi- ary articulation. Thus, the SC word [swei] ‘age’ is
guity, I use Standard Chinese (SC) for the latter mean- phonetically quite different from the English word
ing. SC is spoken by most of those whose first tongue [swei] sway. SC also has a suffix [r], which changes
is another dialect. In principle, over 1000 million the rime of the syllable it is attached to from VX to Vr
people speak SC, but in fact less than 1% of them and adds a retroflex quality to the nuclear vowel. In
do so without some accent. This is because even other words, the [r] suffix can lead to loss of contrast
Beijing natives do not all speak SC. in the original coda.
SC has five vowels, shown in Table 1 in IPA sym- SC has two kinds of syllables, which can be called
bols (Chao, 1968; Cheng, 1973; Duanmu, 2002; Lin, full (or regular) syllables and weak syllables. Full syl-
1989). [y] is a front rounded vowel. When high lables (mostly monosyllabic content words) have
vowels occur before another vowel, they behave as tones and are long. Weak syllables (mostly gram-
glides [j, H, w]. [i] and [u] can also follow a nonhigh matical words) are short and do not have their own
vowel to form a diphthong. The mid vowel can tones. A full syllable can sometimes change to a weak
change frontness and rounding depending on the en- syllable, in which case it loses its underlying tone and
vironment. The low vowel can change frontness but
not rounding.
The consonants of SC are listed in Table 2; sounds
with limited distribution are in parentheses. For most Table 1 Standard chinese vowels
speakers, [N] cannot occur in syllable-initial position.
High i y u
In syllable-coda position, only [n] and [N] can occur. Mid e
The palatals do not contrast with [ts, tsh, s], [<§, <§h, §], Low a
or [k, kh, x]; the palatals only occur with front vowels
or front glides, but the other three sets do not. Be-
cause some speakers pronounce the palatals as
[tsj, tsjh, sj], it is possible to analyze a palatal as a
Table 2 Standard chinese consonants
combination of a dental and a front vowel. The retro-
flex liquid (sometimes written as a fricative [Z]) is not Labial Dental Palatal Retroflex Velar
a trill but an approximant (and has no lip rounding,
p t k
unlike that in English); because SC does not have a ph th kh
trill, I transcribe it as [r] instead of [¿]. The retroflex ts (tC) <§
series [<§, <§h, §, r] is a major characteristic of SC tsh (tCh) <§h
speakers from Beijing. SC speakers from other areas f s (C) § x
often replace [<§, <§h, §, r] with the dentals [ts, tsh, s, z]. m n (N)
1 r
The unaspirated stops and affricates [p, t, k, <§, ts] can
352 Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology

undergoes rime reduction and shortening. In syllable glottal stop in the middle, and to some people it
theory, full syllables are heavy and have two moras sounds like two syllables.
each, whereas weak syllables are light and have
one mora each. In other words, in weak syllables
the vowel is short. In full syllables, the vowel is
short when the rime is VC or VG and long when the
rime is V.
Of the 1300 or so SC syllables (including tones),
In the electronic dictionary CMUDICT, English
most are full syllables, in which the four tones are
has approximately 10 000 monosyllables (excluding
fairly evenly distributed, as shown in Tables 3 and 4.
homophones). In contrast, SC has a very small sylla-
In Table 3, one sees that there are slightly fewer
ble inventory, only approximately 400 syllables ex-
second tones than other tones, but not by a lot. In
cluding tones (or approximately 1300 syllables
Table 4, one sees that most syllables have four or
including tones). It is a puzzle why SC uses so few
three tones each, and only a small number of syllables
syllables, especially when many times more seem
have two or one tone each.
to be available. For example, given about 20 Cs,
According to a text corpus of over 45 million Chi-
three Gs, five Vs, and five Xs, there are approximately
nese character tokens (Da, 2000), there are over 6000
2000 possible CGVX combinations (excluding
different Chinese characters, most of which represent
tones), yet just 400 are used. It turns out that two-
monosyllabic words. This means that each SC sylla-
thirds of the unused forms are ruled out by two
ble represents approximately 15 words excluding
requirements. The first is that C and G cannot have
tones or five words including tones. The homophone
the same place of articulation, which follows from the
load is not distributed evenly, as Figure 1 shows. The
analysis that CG is a single sound because in a single
top 15 SC syllables are shown in (3), where the num-
sound each place feature can be used just once. The
ber of words a syllable represents (ignoring tones) is
second requirement is that V and X cannot have
shown in parentheses. One might think that the most
opposite values for [round] or [back].
frequent syllables are the most natural or unmarked,
There are four distinctive tones on full SC syllables.
namely, those that children learn first or those that are
Weak syllables may get tone from certain into-
most common in the world’s languages, such as [ba],
national environments; otherwise, they remain tone-
less, which is phonetically a low pitch. The four
distinctive tones are high, rise, low, and fall. The Table 3 Frequency of tones
pitch range of the tones can vary according to stress, Tone First Second Third Fourth All
whereby a syllable with greater stress has a wider
pitch range (Shen, 1985). Using standard tonal fea- Number 337 255 316 347 1255
tures, according to which contour tones are made of
two (or more) level tones, the four tones are repre-
sented in (1), where the vowel is long because it is in a Table 4 Frequency of tones
V rime.
Tones per syllable 4 3 2 1 All

Number of 178 130 59 35 402

such syllables

In the alphabet system Pinyin, the words in (1) can be

written ma1, ma2, ma3, and ma4, where vowel
length is not represented and tones are represented
by the digits 1– 4. The first, second, and fourth tones
have normal voice quality, but the third tone has a
murmured voice quality. The third tone may also
begin with a slight dip in pitch, which does not seem
to be phonologically relevant. In final position, the
third tone can optionally end with a rise, in which
Figure 1 Homophone density in Standard Chinese (ignoring
case it is phonetically extra long. Phonologically we
tones), based on the analysis of 6000 characters listed in Da
may represent it with three moras, exemplified in (2). (2000). Most syallables represent fewer than 20 words each, but
Such a syllable often has an amplitude break or a the syllable [ji] represents over 100 words.

[ma], or [ta]. However, many of the syllables in (3) do
not seem to be unmarked syllables.
(3) pi (51), tCy (51), wei (53), wu (55), § (58),
tCan (61), Ci (64), Han (64), tChi (66), li (71), t§
(72), fu (73), Hy (90), tCi (93), ji (106)
Most English monosyllables represent just one
word each. Because Chinese has so many homo-
phones, a natural question is: How does Chinese
avoid ambiguity in speech? The answer seems to be
that most ambiguities are clarified by context. For
example, although sun and son are homophones in
English, there are few contexts in which they would
cause ambiguity.
Despite the large number of homophones, the syl-
lable inventory of Chinese continues to decrease. SC
no longer allows [p, t, k] or [m] in syllable-final
position, although some other dialects do. Shanghai
has lost all diphthongs, and its tonal inventory has
reduced to just two. In all likelihood, SC is moving in
the direction of further reduction. For example, SC
does not make use of such contrasts as [wi] vs. [wei]
or [ji] vs. [i], which English does (consider we vs. way
and yeast vs. east). In addition, about 200 of the 1300
syllables are now rarely used. From a functional point
of view, it is a mystery why the high homophone
density has not prevented syllable loss in SC or at
least slowed it down. A possible answer, paradoxical-
ly, is that high homophone density may in fact speed
up syllable loss. Studies on frequency effects show
that frequent words (Bybee, 2001) are more likely to
undergo reduction than infrequent words. Because
Chinese has fewer syllables than English, Chinese
syllables are used more frequently and so they are
more likely to undergo reduction and loss of con-
trasts.
In disyllabic English words and phrases three kinds
of stress differences can be distinguished. In words
such as Peter, Anna, and panda, the first is clearly
stressed and the other not. In such cases, the stressed
syllable is longer, has an unreduced vowel, and has a
pitch accent. In contrast, the unstressed syllable is
short, has a reduced vowel, and has no pitch accent.
In words such as blackboard and pancake, the stress
difference is also clear. Although both syllables are
heavy and have an unreduced vowel, one syllable has
a pitch accent and the other does not. In expressions
such as Red Cross, real deal, and red-hot (adjective),
the stress difference is no longer obvious; in each case,
both syllables are heavy, have an unreduced vowel,
and have a pitch accent. As a result, they are some-
times thought to have equal stress.
When a full SC syllable occurs next to a weak one,
their stress difference is like the first English case
(Peter, Anna, and panda). When two (or more) full
Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology 353
SC syllables occur together, they all have tones and so
their stress difference is not obvious; this is similar to
the third English case (Red Cross and real deal). Now,
in English the first two cases are quite common, and
so stressed syllables often stand out. In Chinese, on
the other hand, full syllables often occur together, and
so stressed syllables often do not stand out. This may
have contributed to a common view that there is no
stress in Chinese.
The difference between full and weak syllables in
SC can be explained in terms of moraic trochee – a
full syllable has two moras, so it forms a foot and has
stress. However, Chinese also uses disyllabic feet. For
example, the disyllabic foot is used in poetic tem-
plates, and it is also a domain for certain kinds of
tone sandhi. In addition, a minimal expression should
be disyllabic. If a noun is monosyllabic, a semantically
redundant syllable is often added. Thus, an SC speak-
er usually cannot say Fa ‘France’ or Wang ‘Wang’, but
must say Fa Guo ‘France country’, Lao Wang ‘old
Wang’, or Xiao Wang ‘little Wang’. In contrast,
Sudan ‘Sudan’ and Yindu ‘India’ can be said by them-
selves (and adding ‘country’ to them would be odd).
The disyllabic requirement has created a large dual
vocabulary whereby many words have two forms, a
monosyllabic form and a disyllabic form. The disyl-
labic form is a compound in structure but a single
noun in meaning, and it can be called a pseudo-
compound. Some examples are shown in Table 5.
It is commonly thought that the creation of
disyllabic words is triggered by homophone density.
However, the common view cannot explain why
monosyllabic names need another syllable, even
though there is no ambiguity, such as when you ad-
dress someone in person. A more likely reason for the
creation of pseudo-compounds is to fill a disyllabic
foot (Duanmu, 1999b).
A disyllabic noun (or compound) can be heavy-
heavy (two full syllables) or heavy-light (a full syllable
and a weak syllable), but not light-heavy. This sug-
gests that the disyllabic foot is trochaic. However,
when a heavy-heavy noun is spoken in isolation, the
second syllable is often longer and appears to have
slightly more stress. This has led to the view that
Chinese has final stress (Chao, 1968; Hoa, 1983).
Table 5 Pseudo-compounds
Pseudo-compound Literal meaning Gloss
mei-tan coal-charcoal ‘coal’
shi-jian time-interval ‘time’
shang-dian business-store ‘store’
jin-qian gold-money ‘money’
lao-hu old-tiger ‘tiger’
354 Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology
But when a heavy-heavy noun is in nonfinal position,
its second syllable no longer has extra duration (Feng,
1985; Wang and Wang, 1993). It seems, therefore,
that the extra duration of a final full syllable is due to
prepause lengthening and the trochaic analysis fares
better overall.
The discussion so far suggests that a disyllabic
word contains both moraic trochee and syllabic tro-
chee (Duanmu, 1999a). The structure is shown in (4),
which can be called a dual-trochee.
The dual-trochee distinguishes three degrees of stress:
(1) a heavy syllable that heads a syllabic foot, (2) a
heavy syllable that does not head a syllabic foot, and
(3) a light syllable. The cases are easy to distinguish in
English: (1) an unreduced vowel and a pitch accent
(first syllable in Peter, pancake, or even city, if the last
word is syllabified as cit.y), (2) an unreduced vowel
but no pitch accent (second syllable in pancake), and
(3) a reduced vowel and no pitch accent (second
syllable in Peter or Anna). In Chinese, (1) and (2)
are hard to distinguish because they both have tones
and unreduced rimes; however, (3) is easy to distin-
guish from (1) and (2) because it has a reduced rime
and no tone.
Because Chinese uses pitch contour (tones) to con-
trast word meanings, intonation is often expressed
not as pitch variation on lexical words themselves,
but as boundary tones that are added after lexical
tones. Two examples are shown in (5) and (6).
(5) Tone Intonation
LH þ L ! LHL
nan nan
‘difficult’ ‘affirmation’ ‘Surely difficult!’
(6) Tone Intonation
HL þ H ! HLH
mai mai
‘sell’ ‘question’ ‘Sell?’
The boundary tones can also occur on what might be
called intonation syllables. For example, the bound-
ary tone in (5) can occur on [a] or [ou], and that in (6)
can occur on [ma].
Many Chinese dialects have tone sandhi, whereby
syllable tones change in context. The most well-known
tone sandhi in SC is Third Tone Sandhi, by which a
third tone changes to a second tone when another
third tone follows, or T3 T3 ! T2 T3. In an expres-
sion made up of many third tones, the resulting change
can be quite complicated. To understand the change
we must first understand the formation of syllabic feet,
which in turn depends on syntax (Shih, 1986; Shen,
1994; Chen, 2000; Duanmu, 2002). Thus, Third Tone
Sandhi offers an excellent case for the study of the
interaction between phonology and syntax.
In summary, Chinese differs from languages such as
English in a number of ways (such as a lack of poly-
syllabic words, a small inventory of syllables, high
homophone density, a dual vocabulary, and the use
of distinctive tones). However, the difference is only
apparent. Under careful analysis, Chinese also
observes linguistic principles similiar to those in
other languages (such as foot structure, the behavior
of heavy vs. light syllables, and the effect of frequency
on syllable reduction).
See also: Chinese; Chinese as an Isolating Language;
Chinese Linguistic Tradition; Foot; Phrasal Stress; Word
Stress; Tone: Phonology.
Bibliography
Bybee J (2001). Cambridge studies in linguistics 94: Pho-
nology and language use. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Chao Y R (1930). ‘A system of tone letters.’ Le Maı̂tre
Phonétique 45, 24–27.
Chao Y R (1933). ‘Tone and intonation in Chinese.’ Bulle-
tin of the Institute of History and Philology (Academia
Sinica) 4, 121–134.
Chao Y R (1968). A grammar of spoken Chinese. Berkeley
and Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Chen M (2000). Cambridge studies in linguistics 92: Tone
sandhi: Patterns across Chinese dialects. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Cheng C C (1973). A synchronic phonology of Mandarin
Chinese (Monographs on linguistic analysis no. 4). The
Hague: Mouton.
Da J (2000). ‘Chinese text computing.’ Department of For-
eign Languages and Literatures, Middle Tennessee State
University, Murfreesboro, TN. Available at: http://lingua.
mtsu.edu/chinese-computing/.
Duanmu S (1999a). ‘Metrical structure and tone: Evidence
from Mandarin and Shanghai.’ Journal of East Asian
Linguistics 8, 1–38.
Duanmu S (1999b). ‘Stress and the development of disyl-
labic vocabulary in Chinese.’ Diachronica 16, 1–35.
Duanmu S (2002). The phonology of Standard Chinese.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Duanmu S (2004). ‘A corpus study of Chinese regulated
verse: Phrasal stress and the analysis of variability.’
Phonology 21, 43–89.
Feng L (1985). ‘Beijinghua yuliu zhong shengyundiao
de shichang’ [Duration of initials, finals, and tones in
Beijing dialect]. In Lin T & Wang L J (eds.) 131–195.
Hoa M (1983). L’accentuation en pékinois. Paris: Editions
Langages Croisés (Distributed by Centre de Recherches
Linguistiques sur l’Asie Orientale, Paris.).

Lin M C & Yan J Z (1988). ‘The characteristic features of
the final reduction in the neutral-tone syllable of Beijing
Mandarin.’ In Phonetic Laboratory Annual Report of
Phonetic Research. Beijing: Phonetic Laboratory, Insti-
tute of Linguistics, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.
37–51.
Lin T & Shen J (1995). ‘Beijinghua er hua yun de yuyin
fenqi’ [Variations in the [er]-suffixed rimes in the Beijing
dialect]. Zhongguo Yuwen 1995, 170–179.
Lin T & Wang L J (eds.) (1985). Beijing yuyin shiyanlu.
[Working papers in experimental phonetics]. Beijing:
Beijing University Press.
Lin Y H (1989). ‘Autosegmental treatment of segmental
processes in Chinese phonology.’ Ph.D. diss., University
of Texas, Austin.
Shen J (1985). ‘Beijinghua shengdiao de yinyu he yudiao’
[Pitch range of tone and intonation in Beijing dialect]. In
Lin T & Wang L J (eds.) 73–130.
Shen J (1994). ‘Beijinghua shangsheng liandu de diaoxing
zuhe he jiezou xingshi’ [Tonal patterns and rhythmic
structure in successive third tones in the Beijing dialect].
Zhongguo Yuwen 1994, 274–281.
Chinese as an Isolating Language
J L Packard, University of Illinois, Urbana, IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
If we use the term ‘isolating’ in what is perhaps its
simplest and most often used sense – referring to
whether the words of a language are mostly mono-
morphemic (see Classification of Languages) – then
Chinese can be considered only a moderately isolat-
ing language, because Chinese has at least as many
multimorphemic as it has monomorphemic words.
The term isolating, however, has also been used to
refer to whether the morphemes of a language are
clearly identifiable, defined by the following proper-
ties: (1) whether morpheme boundaries in the lan-
guage are sharply defined, (2) whether there is only
a single distinct morphemic identity represented with-
in a defined morpheme boundary space (i.e., the ex-
tent to which there is no overlapping exponence; (see
Classification of Languages), and (3) whether mor-
phemes in the language have a single, invariant pho-
nological form. If we define an isolating language
based on an identifiable morphemes criteria, then
Chinese scores relatively high on the ‘isolating lan-
guage’ scale. It can be profitably studied using both
definitions of the term.
Chinese as an Isolating Language 355
Shih C L (1986). ‘The prosodic domain of tone sandhi in
Chinese.’ Ph.D. diss., University of California, San Diego.
Wang J & Wang L J (1993). ‘Putonghua duo yinjie ci yinjie
shi chang fenbu moshi’ [The types of relative lengths of
syllables in polysyllabic words in Putonghua]. Zhongguo
Yuwen 1993, 112–116.
Wang L J & He N J (1985). ‘Beijinghua er-huayun de
tingbian shiyan he shengxue fenxi’ [Auditory discri-
mination experiments and acoustic analysis of
Mandarin retroflex endings]. In Lin T & Wang L J
(eds.) 27–72.
Yan J Z & Lin M C (1988). ‘Beijinghua sanzizu zhongyin de
shengxue biaoxian’ [Acoustic characteristics of the stress
in Beijing trisyllables]. Fangyan 1988, 227–237.
Yang S A (1992). ‘Beijinghua duoyinjie zuhe yunlu tezheng
de shiyan yanjiu’ [An experiment on the prosody of
polysyllables in the Beijing dialect]. Fangyan 1992,
128–137.
Yip M (1980). ‘Tonal phonology of Chinese.’ Ph.D. diss.,
MIT, Cambridge, MA.
Yip M (2002). Tone. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University
Press.
Isolating Defined as Having
Monomorphemic Words
The definition of isolating language as monomorphe-
mic relies on whether words in a language appear
without the obligatory affixation of grammatical
morphemic information. This property was intended
to contrast with languages such as Russian and Latin
in which word roots are generally bound content
forms that require affixation of grammatical morphe-
mic information (indicating such properties as case,
number, or gender) when they occur in context. For
example the Russian root for ‘book’ (knig-) must be
augmented with an inflectional ending that reflects
case or number (knig-u book-ACC.SING; knig-i
book-NOM.PL), and cannot appear as a bare stem
in isolation.
Languages like Chinese whose words occur
without such obligatory grammatical marking are
considered isolating because the words in such lan-
guages may appear in bare form without the necessity
of adding morphemic information. The absence of
obligatory affixation means that words in such lan-
guages will tend to contain fewer morphemes on
average, giving rise to the monomorphemic word
definition of isolating language.

Lin M C & Yan J Z (1988). ‘The characteristic features of
the final reduction in the neutral-tone syllable of Beijing
Mandarin.’ In Phonetic Laboratory Annual Report of
Phonetic Research. Beijing: Phonetic Laboratory, Insti-
tute of Linguistics, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.
37–51.
Lin T & Shen J (1995). ‘Beijinghua er hua yun de yuyin
fenqi’ [Variations in the [er]-suffixed rimes in the Beijing
dialect]. Zhongguo Yuwen 1995, 170–179.
Lin T & Wang L J (eds.) (1985). Beijing yuyin shiyanlu.
[Working papers in experimental phonetics]. Beijing:
Beijing University Press.
Lin Y H (1989). ‘Autosegmental treatment of segmental
processes in Chinese phonology.’ Ph.D. diss., University
of Texas, Austin.
Shen J (1985). ‘Beijinghua shengdiao de yinyu he yudiao’
[Pitch range of tone and intonation in Beijing dialect]. In
Lin T & Wang L J (eds.) 73–130.
Shen J (1994). ‘Beijinghua shangsheng liandu de diaoxing
zuhe he jiezou xingshi’ [Tonal patterns and rhythmic
structure in successive third tones in the Beijing dialect].
Zhongguo Yuwen 1994, 274–281.
Chinese as an Isolating Language
J L Packard, University of Illinois, Urbana, IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
If we use the term ‘isolating’ in what is perhaps its
simplest and most often used sense – referring to
whether the words of a language are mostly mono-
morphemic (see Classification of Languages) – then
Chinese can be considered only a moderately isolat-
ing language, because Chinese has at least as many
multimorphemic as it has monomorphemic words.
The term isolating, however, has also been used to
refer to whether the morphemes of a language are
clearly identifiable, defined by the following proper-
ties: (1) whether morpheme boundaries in the lan-
guage are sharply defined, (2) whether there is only
a single distinct morphemic identity represented with-
in a defined morpheme boundary space (i.e., the ex-
tent to which there is no overlapping exponence; (see
Classification of Languages), and (3) whether mor-
phemes in the language have a single, invariant pho-
nological form. If we define an isolating language
based on an identifiable morphemes criteria, then
Chinese scores relatively high on the ‘isolating lan-
guage’ scale. It can be profitably studied using both
definitions of the term.
Chinese as an Isolating Language 355
Shih C L (1986). ‘The prosodic domain of tone sandhi in
Chinese.’ Ph.D. diss., University of California, San Diego.
Wang J & Wang L J (1993). ‘Putonghua duo yinjie ci yinjie
shi chang fenbu moshi’ [The types of relative lengths of
syllables in polysyllabic words in Putonghua]. Zhongguo
Yuwen 1993, 112–116.
Wang L J & He N J (1985). ‘Beijinghua er-huayun de
tingbian shiyan he shengxue fenxi’ [Auditory discri-
mination experiments and acoustic analysis of
Mandarin retroflex endings]. In Lin T & Wang L J
(eds.) 27–72.
Yan J Z & Lin M C (1988). ‘Beijinghua sanzizu zhongyin de
shengxue biaoxian’ [Acoustic characteristics of the stress
in Beijing trisyllables]. Fangyan 1988, 227–237.
Yang S A (1992). ‘Beijinghua duoyinjie zuhe yunlu tezheng
de shiyan yanjiu’ [An experiment on the prosody of
polysyllables in the Beijing dialect]. Fangyan 1992,
128–137.
Yip M (1980). ‘Tonal phonology of Chinese.’ Ph.D. diss.,
MIT, Cambridge, MA.
Yip M (2002). Tone. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University
Press.
Isolating Defined as Having
Monomorphemic Words
The definition of isolating language as monomorphe-
mic relies on whether words in a language appear
without the obligatory affixation of grammatical
morphemic information. This property was intended
to contrast with languages such as Russian and Latin
in which word roots are generally bound content
forms that require affixation of grammatical morphe-
mic information (indicating such properties as case,
number, or gender) when they occur in context. For
example the Russian root for ‘book’ (knig-) must be
augmented with an inflectional ending that reflects
case or number (knig-u book-ACC.SING; knig-i
book-NOM.PL), and cannot appear as a bare stem
in isolation.
Languages like Chinese whose words occur
without such obligatory grammatical marking are
considered isolating because the words in such lan-
guages may appear in bare form without the necessity
of adding morphemic information. The absence of
obligatory affixation means that words in such lan-
guages will tend to contain fewer morphemes on
average, giving rise to the monomorphemic word
definition of isolating language.
356 Chinese as an Isolating Language
As it turns out, many (if not most) Chinese words
are in fact dimorphemic, consisting of either (1) two
free content morphemes (compound word), (2) one
free and one bound content morpheme or two bound
content morphemes (bound root word), (3) a free or
bound content morpheme plus a word-forming affix
(derived word), or (4) a free content morpheme plus
an inflectional affix (grammatical word; see Packard,
2000 for further details). However, most dimorph-
emic Chinese words are either compound words or
bound root words, and so the multimorphemic status
of Chinese words is generally not due to the presence
of affixation. Moreover, when Chinese words do con-
tain affixes, they are never obligatory in the sense that
they are required in the default case, as seen in the
Russian example above.
Chinese affixes are, nonetheless, sometimes obliga-
tory in an alternative sense: if a property in question
is selected to be expressed by the speaker, then the use
of the affix concomitant with that property is a re-
quired element. Some common examples of this
obligatory marking of an optionally selected property
in Chinese are the use of classifiers with nouns, the
marking of plural numbers on human pronouns, and
the use of aspect marking on verbs.
Classifiers are word-forming morphemes that are
required when nouns are modified by a number
and/or a determiner. For example, the noun shu
‘book’ generally occurs in context in bare form with
no grammatical marking whatsoever. But when shu is
modified by a number such as san ‘three’ or a deter-
miner such as na ‘that,’ the classifier ben ‘volume’
must occur between the modifying element and the
noun, yielding san-ben shu and na-ben shu for ‘three
books’ and ‘that book’ respectively.
In the case of human pronouns, the personal pro-
nouns wo ‘I/me,’ ni ‘you,’ and ta ‘he, she’ are obliga-
torily marked with the plural suffix -men when the
referent is plural in number, to yield women ‘we, us,’
nimen ‘you (pl),’ and tamen ‘they, them.’
Verbs in Chinese may occur with inflectional suf-
fixes that express various forms of grammatical as-
pect, that is, that refer to the activity profile of the
event represented by the verb. For example, the ver-
bal aspect marker -le (note that this is the -le that
affixes to and has scope over the verb, and not the
le that occurs in sentence-final position and has scope
over the sentence) indicates that the event asso-
ciated with the verb has been completed, the verbal
aspect marker -guo indicates that the event associated
with the verb has occurred at least once, and the
verbal aspect marker -zhe indicates that the action
represented by the verb is ongoing or continuous.
In Chinese, the obligatory marking of a selected
property as seen in classifiers, human plural
pronouns, and verbal aspect contrasts with cases in
which the marking of a selected property is optional,
as with plural marking on regular human nouns.
When a human noun is transparently plural in num-
ber, the addition of the suffix –men, which would
explicitly represent a plural number, is optional. For
example, in both of the following examples the
Chinese noun that translates into English as ‘teachers’
refers unambiguously to a set that contains multiple
members.
(1) laoshi dou you shu
teacher all have book
‘the teachers all have books’
(2) laoshimen dou you shu
teacher-PL all have book
‘the teachers all have books’
Both examples refer to ‘teachers’ as a plural concept
but only the second overtly marks the plural number
with the suffix -men. The two examples are identical
in meaning, but the second explicitly marks the plural
while the first does not.
If Chinese is examined as an isolating language
based on its use of monomorphemic words, it is
worthwhile to consider in concrete terms where Chi-
nese should be located on the monomorphemic word
scale. The contemporary Chinese novel Shui Ru Da
Di by Wen Fan (2004; Beijing: People’s Literature
Publishing House) provides a typical sampling. If we
examine the first 100 words in the third paragraph
on page 16, we find that 51 (51%) of the words are
monomorphemic (if by token; 35 words or 47.2% if
by type), 45 (45%) of the words are dimorphemic
(if by token; 35 words or 47.2% if by type), and 4
words (4% if by token, 5.4% if by type) contain more
than two morphemes. If counted by type, 47.3%
of the words are monomorphemic, and 52.7% are
multimorphemic.
In addition, the average number of morphemes
per word token for that hundred-word sample is
1.54. This figure may be compared with the 1.06
morphemes-per-word cited for Vietnamese (perhaps
the most purely isolating language using this crite-
rion), 1.68 for modern English, and 3.72 for Eskimo
(see Classification of Languages). In sum, if the con-
cept of monomorphemic words is used as the defining
criterion, Chinese must be considered only moderate-
ly isolating.
Isolating Defined as Having Clearly
Identifiable Morphemes
To determine where Chinese belongs on the isolating
language scale using the ‘identifiable morpheme’
criterion, the first property to consider is sharply
 Chinese as an Isolating Language 357

defined morpheme boundaries. In Chinese, mor- Thus, the sharply defined morpheme boundary aspect
pheme boundaries are nothing if not clearly defined. of the identifiable morpheme criterion for isolating
There is generally no question where one morpheme language makes Chinese appear quite isolating indeed.
ends and another one begins in any Chinese utter- The second criterion for identifiable morphemes is
ance. Even in cases of affixation in which the phono- the existence of overlapping exponence. ‘Overlapping
logical form of the stem is affected, it is quite clear exponence’ refers to the occurrence of more than one
which part of the affixed word belongs to the stem grammatical property within a single affix. For exam-
and which part belongs to the affix. ple, in the case of the -us ending on the Latin word
To illustrate, consider the following examples of -er lupus ‘wolf’, where the -us encodes both accusative
(phonetically [er]) diminution suffixation (data from case and singular number, there is no way to confer an
Cheng, 1973; in IPA, tones not marked). The -er independent phonological identity upon a portion of
suffix often makes only a negligible semantic contri- the -us suffix that encodes the accusative and a part
bution to the derived word, but it is the affixation that encodes the singular. In Chinese, there are no
operation that has the greatest phonological effect in affixes that do such double duty by systematically
(Mandarin) Chinese. encoding more than one grammatical meaning in a
The -er suffix attaches to words with varying single affix. Therefore, Chinese is clearly an isolating
degrees of phonological effect on the stem and on language in view of this property.
the affix itself. In examples (1)–(3) of Table 1, the The third necessary property of identifiable mor-
-er suffix is appended to the stem with the [e] vowel of phemes is invariance of phonological form. Chinese
the suffix dropped in favor of stem vocalic elements, morphemes do commonly change from their citation
and with no effect on the phonological form of the phonological forms when they appear in context.
stem. In (4), the [e] vowel of the suffix is dropped and Such phonological variation, however, is virtually
the stem final velar nasal [N] is lost, but its nasality is always completely determined by phonological envi-
retained in the form of nasalization on the stem nu- ronment. This is in contrast with languages such as
clear vowel, that is, [AD ]. In (5), the [e] vowel of the Russian and Latin, where allomorphic variation in
suffix is dropped and the stem final apical nasal [n] is general is grammatically conditioned, and generally
lost, but its nasality is not retained as in (4). In (6), we occurs independent of phonological context. In Chi-
see a stronger contribution from the suffix, since it nese, the shift from citation form usually involves
retains its [e] vowel. In (7), the suffix is appended tone sandhi, a phonologically conditioned change in
in unaltered form, and the stem final [n] is displaced. lexical tone. Two tone sandhi rules from Mandarin,
In (8)–(10), the suffix is appended in unaltered form, the L tone sandhi rule and the MH tone sandhi rule,
replacing various parts of the stem final, including its provide an illustration (from Chen, 2000: 20, 27).
complete replacement in (9) and (10). Mandarin Chinese has four lexical tones: a high
The examples in Table 1 demonstrate that even (H) tone, a mid-rising (MH) tone, a low (L) tone,
though suffixation of -er results in a good deal of and a high-falling (HL) tone. The L tone sandhi rule
phonological variability on both stem and affix, in changes an L into an MH when the L precedes (i.e.,
all cases the resulting derived words contain phono- occurs to the left of) another L. The MH tone sandhi
logical strings that can be unambiguously attributed rule changes a nonfinal MH into an H when it follows
to either the stem or the affix, and the phonological (i.e., occurs to the right of) by an H or an MH. In (3),
identities of the participating morphemes remain clear. the citation tones for ‘to bury a horse’ are MH and L,
and their surface realizations are the same as their
citation forms. In (4), the tone on the word ‘buy’ in ‘to
Table 1 Some phonological effects of -er suffixation
buy a horse’ changes from citation L to sandhi MH
Noun Noun plus -er Meaning following the L tone sandhi rule, making utterances
([ r]) suffix
e
(3) and (4) completely homophonous.
(1) niou niour ‘ox’ (3) mai ‘to bury’
(2) uA uAr ‘frog’ MH
(3) kg kgr ‘song’
mai ma bury horse ‘to bury a horse’
(4) gAN gAD r ‘jar’
MH L sandhi tones ¼ citation tones
(5) p’an p’ar ‘pan’
(6) i ier ‘clothes’ (4) mai ‘to buy’
(7) in ier ‘seal’ L
(8) kuei kuer ‘ghost’ mai ma buy horse ‘to buy a horse’
(9) ci cer ‘word’
L L citation tones
(10) pei per ‘cup’
MH L sandhi tones
358 Chinese as an Isolating Language
(5) fen shui ling divide water mountain-ridge
‘watershed’
H L L citation tones
H MH L sandhi tone forms
(intermediate,
nonrealized forms)
H H L sandhi tone forms (final
surface forms)
In (5), the citation L tone on shui changes to an
intermediate, nonrealized sandhi MH tone in accord
with L tone sandhi, and that intermediate sandhi MH
value for shui acts as input into the MH tone sandhi
rule, changing the nonrealized sandhi MH tone to a
final surface H tone. From these examples it is clear
that the phonological shape of Chinese morphemes
does undergo considerable variation, but such varia-
tion is entirely a function of phonological context.
To conclude, the reputation of Chinese as an isolat-
ing language is perhaps not so well-deserved if we rely
merely on the monomorphemic word criterion, since
Chinese Linguistic Tradition
G Casacchia, Università degli studi di Napoli
‘L’Orientale,’ Napoli, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In China, linguistic research started very early. Theo-
retical analysis, lexicography, and dialectology were
cultivated by Chinese scholars before the foundation
of the Empire (221 B.C.). On the other hand, some
fields had to wait until they received a hint from for-
eign cultures. Phonology was born under the Indian
influence in the 3rd century A.D., and grammatical
studies began following some Western examples
only in the 19th century.
The Beginnings
The idea that language is largely based on an agree-
ment among human beings was established by Xunzi
[Xunzi (Hsün-tzu) was one of the most outstanding
Confucian philosophers and author of a book of the
same name] and Moists [Moism is the doctrine
founded by Mozi (Mo-tzu)]. According to the first,
‘names are attached to things once for ever, but this
link is based on an agreement,’ and the latter added,
‘names are like painted tigers’ (i.e., just a pale image
of the real thing).
With the foundation of the Empire, things changed.
The major philosopher of the Han dynasty, Dong
the preponderance of Chinese words are multimorph-
emic. But if our criterion is how easy the morphemes
of a language are to identify and individuate, then
Chinese scores rather high on the isolating language
scale.
See also: Arabic as an Introflecting Language; Chinese;
Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology; Chinese Lexicography;
Classification of Languages; Finnish as an Agglutinating
Language; Italian as a Fusional Language; Morpholog-
ical Typology.
Bibliography
Chen M Y (2000). Tone sandhi: Patterns across Chinese
dialects. New York/London: Cambridge University Press.
Cheng C (1973). A synchronic phonology of Mandarin
Chinese. The Hague: Mouton.
Packard J L (2000). The morphology of Chinese. New
York/London: Cambridge University Press.
Zhongshu [Dong Zhongshu (Tung Chung-shu) played
a key role in establishing Confucian orthodoxy],
adopted the opposite idea of linguistic realism: A
natural bond exists between names and things. The
Han penchant toward the cosmological theory of the
‘five elements’ (everything in the world is connected
with five principles and modifies following them)
prevented them from a nominalistic theory of the
language.
It is impossible to underevaluate the imprinting
given by the ideographic writing system of Chinese on
linguistic studies. The ideograms (it is well-known
‘ideogram’ is far from ideal when talking about Chi-
nese characters, but more precise terms, such as sino-
grams or logograms, are not yet widely used), that
nearly completely hide the phonological and morpho-
logical aspects of the language, and their importance
as a tool of the state administration produced a sort of
a ‘pheticism of the ideograms’ in the minds of the
cultivated people, who seldom dared to see them
closer or to ‘open’ them to better understand their
nature. Therefore, since the very beginning, the pio-
neering linguistic works in China were not devoted to
analyzing speech and its component, the word, but to
collecting and comparing ideograms.
First, some dictionaries of difficult words appeared,
including the Ji jiu pian (‘Quick performances’) and
some others, among which the most important was
the Er Ya (‘Perfection attained’), a list of 2016 words
362 Chinese Linguistic Tradition
grammatical system threw a bright light over most of
the specific features of Chinese.
Current Situation
Currently, all branches of linguistics are fully devel-
oped in China due to the efforts of many scholars at
the international level, including Lü Shuxiang, Zhu
Dexi, and many others.
The first stage, in the 1950s, was largely dominated
by the influence of the Soviet Union.
For example, in a major debate over ‘are there or
are there not word classes in Chinese?’ the core for a
long time was actually ‘are there or are there not in
Chinese the same word classes as in Russian?’
However, it was also open to influences from the
West such as structuralism. During the second stage,
in the 1960s and 1970s, sociolinguistics (how to sim-
plify the writing system and how to teach the national
language) mainly held the ground. The third stage,
after the opening to the world and the development
of social sciences, succeeded in giving impulse to
modern linguistics.
Nevertheless, the tradition still plays a role, and
the strong points of Chinese linguistics remain
Chinese Lexicography
Li Ming, Soochow University, Suzhou, China
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A Brief Historical Survey
Lexicographical development in China can be divided
into three stages. The rudimentary period followed a
long and tortuous course from 200 B.C. to the 14th
century. The inception of Chinese lexicography was
closely related to the study of exegesis, critical inter-
pretation of ancient texts, which inevitably involved
the analyses of meaning. It is in this connection that
some scholars regard (Yi ching; The book of
changes) as the first dictionary in the Chinese lan-
guage. However, the book hardly has any features
typical of a modern dictionary.
It is generally agreed that (Erya; Near correct-
ness), which came out in the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.–
220 A.D.), consisting of 30 books about the accepted
meanings of classic texts, was the earliest quasidiction-
ary in China. The first Chinese dictionary in the mod-
ern sense of the word was (Shuowen jiezi;
The origin of Chinese characters) by Xu Shen in the
Eastern Han Dynasty (25–220 A.D.). The book
contains some 10 000 Chinese characters with
paleography, etymology, dialectology, grammar, and
lexicography – much more than general linguistics.
See also: China: Writing System; Chinese; Chinese as an
Isolating Language; Chinese Lexicography; Chinese
(Mandarin): Phonology.
Bibliography
Baxter W (1992). A handbook of old Chinese phonology.
New York.
Boltz W (1994). The origin and early development of the
Chinese writing system. New Haven, CT.
Bottéro F (1996). Sémantisme et classification dans l’écriture
chinoise. Paris.
Harbsmeyer C (1998). ‘Language and logic.’ In Needham J
(ed.) Science and civilisation in China, vol. 7, part 1.
Cambridge.
Masini F (1993). ‘The formation of modern Chinese lexicon
and its evolution toward a national language.’ Journal of
Chinese Linguistics, monograph series No. 6.
Qiu Xigui (1990). Wenzixue gaoyao. Peking. [Mattos G L
& Norman J (trans.) (2000). Chinese writing. Berkeley.]
Yip Po-ching (2000). The Chinese lexicon: a comprehensive
survey. Hong Kong.
pronunciations and definitions. A few other books
having characteristics of a dictionary or an encyclo-
pedia in this stage paved the way for the advancement
of Chinese lexicography, including books on
Buddhism in the Tang Dynasty (618–907).
The intermediate phase (from 1368 to 1700) was
marked by the compilation of the handwritten
(Yongle dadian; The yongle canon), a 60-
volume encyclopedia compiled in 1408 in the
Ming Dynasty (1368–1644). The most important
lexicographical publications in this period are ency-
clopedic in nature, focusing on particular subjects.
These include (Bencao gangmu;
A compendium of herbal medicine), 1578;
(Nongzheng quanshu; The encyclopedia of agricul-
ture), a 60-volume work published in 1639;
(Tiangong kaiwu; The exploitation of the works of
nature), a three-volume encyclopedia about agricul-
ture and handicrafts published in 1637. The last of
these was later translated into French, Japanese,
German, and English.
The modern phase (from 1700 to the present) wit-
nessed the publication in 1716 of a remarkable
dictionary, (Kangxi zidian; The kangxi lexi-
con), with 47 035 Chinese characters. Since then,

thousands of dictionaries have been produced, most
of them being published after the 1900s. Some of the
notable dictionaries are (Siku quanshu; The
complete library in four divisions), compiled between
1772 and 1782; (Zhonghua da zidian; The
great China character dictionary), with 48 000 char-
acters, compiled in 1915; (Ciyuan), an encyclo-
pedic dictionary with almost 100 thousand
references, published in 1915; (Guoyu
zhengyin zidian; A Chinese character dictionary
with revised pronunciations), published in 1926;
(Xinhua zidian; Xinhua dictionary of Chinese
characters), published in 1957; (Xiandai
hanyu cidian; A dictionary of modern Chinese), pub-
lished in 1978; (Hanyu da zidian; An un-
abridged dictionary of Chinese characters), published
in 1988–1990; (Hanyu da cidian; An un-
abridged Chinese dictionary), compiled 1986–1993;
and (Zhongguo da baike quanshu;
The encyclopedia of China), compiled 1980–1993.
Robert Morrison published the first Chinese–English
dictionary in 1815. A few other bilingual dictionaries
came into being in the first two decades of the 20th
century and this category grew in full swing from
1970 to the end of the century.
Recent Developments
Since the 1990s, a number of electronic dictionaries
have been produced. Chinese dictionaries in the elec-
tronic media are chiefly focused on the ‘personal
digital assistant’ (PDA) and other hand-held devices.
There are a few online dictionaries and encyclopedias
on CD-ROM, but they generally lack the multimedia
functions that are the principal advantage of such
dictionaries. For example, The encyclopedia of
China has a four-CD version that is even larger in
scope than Microsoft’s Encarta. It boasts over 50 000
pictures. The other media formats (sounds, video
clips, and animations), however, are yet to be
incorporated. Pocket e-dictionaries in China have
their own advantages, though. Most of them offer
two-way translation and can be updated easily. As
for online dictionaries, they invariably present a
much more extensive vocabulary than is found in
paper dictionaries, and are revised and updated at
irregular intervals.
At one time, plagiarism was rampant, but after a
celebrated lawsuit in 1993, Chinese copyright laws
and intellectual property rights began to be respected.
For several years, however, in the wake of this law-
suit, there were heated intellectual discussions in
Chinese lexicographical circles about what consti-
tutes a breach of copyright in dictionary-making
and how to eliminate the problem.
Chinese Lexicography 363
Another significant development in Chinese lexi-
cography has been a shift from prescriptivism to
descriptivism. Take (A dictionary of
modern Chinese), for example. This dictionary used
to be (and in many ways still is) considered as the
authority on the Chinese language. It is a prescriptive
model of how Chinese should be written. The new
edition published in 1996, however, contains a num-
ber of colloquialisms and new borrowings from
foreign languages.
In recent years, corpus linguistics has been given
more attention in China. Quite a few corpora, rang-
ing in size from 1 million to 70 million words, have
been established in Guangzhou, Shanghai, Beijing,
and Nanjing. For instance, the general-purpose Chi-
nese corpus at Tsinghua University contains some 50
million words and the Chinese Academy of Social
Sciences has a corpus with 10 million words. As a
result, corpus-based dictionaries have been compiled
and are available to the general public.
Retrieval Systems
In Chinese, the character is the basic semantic unit, so
that conventionally the distinction can be made be-
tween (zidian), a dictionary of Chinese charac-
ters, and (cidian), a dictionary of Chinese words
comprising one, two, or more characters. The generic
term for dictionaries and encyclopedias in Chinese is
(cishu), which also denotes any reference work.
Since Chinese is an ideographic writing system in
which symbols represent ideas rather than sounds,
the macrostructure of a Chinese dictionary is tradi-
tionally organized in brush-stroke order instead of the
alphabetical order. The retrieval of characters in
Chinese dictionaries is achieved by means of radicals.
The user checks the radical index for the page number
of the character to be consulted. Then, in the micro-
structure, the user looks for the word or words grouped
under that character. The radicals are arranged in as-
cending order of the number of strokes. The basic rules
for brush-stroke order are as follows: (1) horizontal
strokes precede vertical strokes; (2) downward–left
curved strokes go before downward–right curved
strokes; (3) from top to bottom; (4) from left to right;
(5) from outside to inside; (6) middle strokes go before
strokes on the sides. Due to the complicated nature of
Chinese characters, in 1997 the National Working
Committee on Chinese Speech and Writing issued a
set of guidelines called the Standard Brush-Stroke
Order of Modern Chinese Characters.
In modern Chinese dictionaries, however, (pin-
yin, a scheme for the Chinese phonetic alphabet in
Roman letters), is adopted in addition to the radical
index, so that the user can look up characters in the
364 Chinese Lexicography
alphabetical order of pinyin. As Chinese is a tonal
language, the flat tone is conventionally given first
for words having the same pronunciation but differ-
ent tone, followed by the rising, falling-rising, and
falling tones. In the case of homonyms, brush-stroke
order applies.
In the 1920s, Wang Yunwu (Y. W. Wong), the
editor-in-chief of the Commercial Press Ltd. in Shang-
hai, invented his (sijiao haoma jianzi fa,
the four corner system). Each Chinese character is
given a four-digit number according to the brush
strokes in the system. The user has to identify the
elements of the four corners of the character in ques-
tion by moving clockwise from the upper left-hand
corner, then the upper right, next the lower left, and,
finally, the lower right-hand corner. When the four
digits have been determined, the user checks the four-
corner index to find the page number for the charac-
ter to be consulted. The system is difficult to handle at
first, but once the rules are mastered it becomes easy.
For various reasons, the four-corner system is out of
fashion nowadays, at least in mainland China.
Standardization
The plethora of dialects in China makes it necessary
to employ (putonghua, or Mandarin) as the
official language and to standardize the spoken and
written forms. A number of academic organizations
in China are directly or indirectly involved with lan-
guage standardization, for example the National
Working Committee on Chinese Speech and Writing,
the National Committee on the Standardization of
Chinese, the National Committee on the Standard-
ization of Scientific and Technical Terminology, the
Standardization Administration of China, the China
Language Modernization Society, the China Lan-
guage Society, and the China Lexicographical Society.
Three Chinese publishing houses specialize in
dictionaries: Shanghai Lexicographical Publishing
House, Hubei Lexicographical Publishing House, and
Sichuan Lexicographical Publishing House. There used
to be authoritarian control over which Chinese presses
could publish reference works, but now such restric-
tions have been lifted. The Chinese journal
(Cishu yanjiu, Lexicographical studies) is devoted to
issues related to all reference works.
Dictionary Types
Chinese lexicography in modern days covers every
type in the field, ranging from desk dictionaries to
pocket versions in size, from paper to electronic edi-
tions in media, and from monolingual to bilingual in
language. Although written Chinese is homogeneous,
the spoken form varies geographically. There are
scores of such variations. To cope with this problem,
and partly as an effort to preserve the cultural
heritage, dictionaries have been compiled for the
major regional dialects. It should be noted that
(hanyu Chinese or Mandarin), the official language
in China, literally means ‘a language spoken by
the Han nationality.’ There are other languages used
by minority ethnic groups in the country, such as
Tibetan, Mongolian, and Weiwuer. Bilingual diction-
aries in China therefore may be foreign language
(FL)-Chinese, Chinese-FL, minority language (ML)-
Chinese, or Chinese-ML. In fact, many ML-Chinese
and Chinese-ML dictionaries have been published
since 1950.
Markets
Given the large population of China (1.29 billion in
2003), the market for dictionaries, both monolingual
and bilingual, is vast and continues to expand. Over
400 million copies of (Xinhua dictionary of
Chinese characters) have been printed between the
first edition in 1953 and the 10th edition in 2004.
Considering the fact that there are tens of millions of
English learners in the country, it is not surprising that
most bilingual dictionaries can command a ready
sale. (Xin yinghan cidian; A new English–
Chinese dictionary), for example, has sold over 10
million copies since the 1970s. International publish-
ing houses have been trying to enter the market since
China joined the World Trade Organization in 2001.
It can be reasonably expected that, with the improve-
ment of literacy among the young generation and
the expansion of college enrollments, the dictionary
market will grow even more extensively.
See also: Bilingual Lexicography; China: Writing System;
Chinese; Chinese as an Isolating Language; Chinese
Linguistic Tradition; Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology;
Corpora; Corpus Linguistics; Corpus Lexicography; Lan-
guage Education Policy in China; Lexicography: Over-
view; Lexicology; Plagiarism; Thesauruses; Tone:
Phonology.
Bibliography
(1991). ,
[Chen B (1991). An introduction to dictionary
compilation. Shanghai: Fudan University Press.]
(1982). ,
[Hu M et al. (1982). An introduction to lexi-
cography. Beijing: Renmin University of China Press.]
(1987). , [Huang J
(1987). On dictionaries. Shanghai: Shanghai Lexico-
graphical Publishing House.]

(1990). , [Li K
(1990). A course in modern lexicography. Nanjing: Nanj-
ing University Press.]
(1992). , aries: an extensive bibliography of dictionaries in Chinese
[Lin Y (1992). A brief history of Chinese
lexicography. Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou Ancient-Text Pub-
lishing House.]
(1992).
[Yang Z et al. (1992). Dictionary of lexicography. Shang-
hai: Xuelin Press.]
(2004).
[Zhang Y (2004). A bibliography of papers
on Chinese lexicography. Shanghai: Shanghai Lexico-
graphical Publishing House.]
Bolton K & Hutton C (eds.) (2002). Western linguists and
the languages of China, vols. 1–7: Chinese dictionaries,
first series. Bristol: Ganesha Publishing Ltd.
Chien D (1986). Lexicography in China: bibliography of
dictionaries and related literature. Exeter: University of
Exeter Press.
Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002)
J Tárnyiková, Palacky University, Olomouc,
Czech Republic
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Eiichi Chino, who taught in the Tokyo University of
Foreign Studies (Gaikokugo daigaku) and former
president of Wakō University, was known above all
as a Japanese Bohemicist, a specialist in Czech philol-
ogy, who studied and later taught the Czech language,
wrote textbooks (co-author of Chekogo no nyūmon
[Introduction to the Czech language], 1976, Tokyo:
Hakusuisha), lectured on Czech language and litera-
ture, and published a series of essays on various
aspects of Czech cultural and political life (Chino,
1990, 1997). Eiichi Chino translated into Japanese
a variety of text genres, ranging from books for chil-
dren (cf. František Hrubı́n, Kuřátko a obilı́–Hiyoko
to mugibatake [The little chicken in a field of grain])
to film scripts (the Oscar nominated film Kolya),
libretti (Leoš Janáček’s opera Osud – Unmei [Fate]),
and a collection of essays by the leading Czech
structuralist Jan Mukařovský (co-translator, see
Mukařovský, 1982). What brought Chino fame and
admiration, however, were above all his translations
of canonical Czech literature. He had a lifelong
affection for Karel Čapek, whose unique style not
only found in Chino a sensitive and creative interpret-
er (Karel Čapek’s play ‘R.U.R.’ – Robotto, Kareru
Chapekku. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1989) but also
a keen director, who engaged his Tokyo students of
Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002) 365
Hartmann R R K & James G (1998). Dictionary of lexicog-
raphy. London: Routledge.
Mathias J, Creamer T & Hixson S (1982). Chinese diction-
and other languages. Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.
Wilder G D (1987). Analysis of Chinese characters. New
York: Dover Publications Inc.
Yang P F (1985). Chinese lexicology and lexicography: a
selected and classified bibliography. Hong Kong: The
Chinese University Press.
Relevant Websites
http://www.omniglot.com – Provides a guide to the Chinese
writing system.
http://www.camsociety.org – For discussion of Chinese
brush strokes.
http://www.pinyin.info – For information about Chinese
phonology.
Czech (at Gaikokugu daigaku) in staging the play.
Preceding ‘R.U.R.’ were Chino’s own essays on
Karel Čapek (Chino, 1975). Chino wrote epilogues
to many of his translations familiarizing Japanese
readers with the Czech cultural setting. Among
other Czech authors translated by Chino were Franz
Kafka, Viktor Fischl, Milan Kundera (1992, 1998),
and Ota Pavel (2000). In 2000, for rendering
outstanding service to Czech culture (see also his
articles and essays in Asahi Shimbun and a series of
university lectures in the 1980s on the Prague Linguis-
tic Circle), Eiichi Chino was awarded the Medal
of Merit, First Grade by President Václav Havel. The
interest in Czech philology, though deep and emo-
tional, always remained part of Chino’s broader inter-
est in Slavic philology (including Old Church
Slavonic, Russian, Polish, Slovak, Serbo-Croatian
and Bulgarian), and comparative linguistics (‘‘Studies
of Non-Indo-European Languages’’ in Miyaoka,
O. (ed.), Languages of the North Pacific Rim: types
and history. 1992. Tokyo: Sanseidō,). Eiichi Chino
was a co-editor of a 6-volume encyclopedia known
as The Sanseidō encyclopaedia of linguistics
(Chino, 1988–1996) and an author of many enlight-
ening books on linguistics (Chino, 1980a, 1980b,
1994, 1999). These were preceded by studies on the
Japanese language (Chino, 1977). Eiichi Chino’s
multifarious activities reflect the variety of his studies,
completed at three universities: the Tokyo University
of Foreign Studies (Russian), the University of Tokyo
(general linguistics), and Charles University, Prague
358 Chinese as an Isolating Language
(5) fen shui ling divide water mountain-ridge
‘watershed’
H L L citation tones
H MH L sandhi tone forms
(intermediate,
nonrealized forms)
H H L sandhi tone forms (final
surface forms)
In (5), the citation L tone on shui changes to an
intermediate, nonrealized sandhi MH tone in accord
with L tone sandhi, and that intermediate sandhi MH
value for shui acts as input into the MH tone sandhi
rule, changing the nonrealized sandhi MH tone to a
final surface H tone. From these examples it is clear
that the phonological shape of Chinese morphemes
does undergo considerable variation, but such varia-
tion is entirely a function of phonological context.
To conclude, the reputation of Chinese as an isolat-
ing language is perhaps not so well-deserved if we rely
merely on the monomorphemic word criterion, since
Chinese Linguistic Tradition
G Casacchia, Università degli studi di Napoli
‘L’Orientale,’ Napoli, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In China, linguistic research started very early. Theo-
retical analysis, lexicography, and dialectology were
cultivated by Chinese scholars before the foundation
of the Empire (221 B.C.). On the other hand, some
fields had to wait until they received a hint from for-
eign cultures. Phonology was born under the Indian
influence in the 3rd century A.D., and grammatical
studies began following some Western examples
only in the 19th century.
The Beginnings
The idea that language is largely based on an agree-
ment among human beings was established by Xunzi
[Xunzi (Hsün-tzu) was one of the most outstanding
Confucian philosophers and author of a book of the
same name] and Moists [Moism is the doctrine
founded by Mozi (Mo-tzu)]. According to the first,
‘names are attached to things once for ever, but this
link is based on an agreement,’ and the latter added,
‘names are like painted tigers’ (i.e., just a pale image
of the real thing).
With the foundation of the Empire, things changed.
The major philosopher of the Han dynasty, Dong
the preponderance of Chinese words are multimorph-
emic. But if our criterion is how easy the morphemes
of a language are to identify and individuate, then
Chinese scores rather high on the isolating language
scale.
See also: Arabic as an Introflecting Language; Chinese;
Chinese (Mandarin): Phonology; Chinese Lexicography;
Classification of Languages; Finnish as an Agglutinating
Language; Italian as a Fusional Language; Morpholog-
ical Typology.
Bibliography
Chen M Y (2000). Tone sandhi: Patterns across Chinese
dialects. New York/London: Cambridge University Press.
Cheng C (1973). A synchronic phonology of Mandarin
Chinese. The Hague: Mouton.
Packard J L (2000). The morphology of Chinese. New
York/London: Cambridge University Press.
Zhongshu [Dong Zhongshu (Tung Chung-shu) played
a key role in establishing Confucian orthodoxy],
adopted the opposite idea of linguistic realism: A
natural bond exists between names and things. The
Han penchant toward the cosmological theory of the
‘five elements’ (everything in the world is connected
with five principles and modifies following them)
prevented them from a nominalistic theory of the
language.
It is impossible to underevaluate the imprinting
given by the ideographic writing system of Chinese on
linguistic studies. The ideograms (it is well-known
‘ideogram’ is far from ideal when talking about Chi-
nese characters, but more precise terms, such as sino-
grams or logograms, are not yet widely used), that
nearly completely hide the phonological and morpho-
logical aspects of the language, and their importance
as a tool of the state administration produced a sort of
a ‘pheticism of the ideograms’ in the minds of the
cultivated people, who seldom dared to see them
closer or to ‘open’ them to better understand their
nature. Therefore, since the very beginning, the pio-
neering linguistic works in China were not devoted to
analyzing speech and its component, the word, but to
collecting and comparing ideograms.
First, some dictionaries of difficult words appeared,
including the Ji jiu pian (‘Quick performances’) and
some others, among which the most important was
the Er Ya (‘Perfection attained’), a list of 2016 words

Figure 1 The 36 initial sounds divided into nine categories and
printed on a hand as a memory aide. From Qie yun zhi zhang tu
(‘Tables to understand the rhymes’) by Sima Guang, 10th century.
classified into 19 sections, without pronunciation, in
the following way:
xu (wait)/si (wait)/ti (stop)/li (reach)/di (attain)/zhi
(stop)/xi (wait): They mean dai (wait).
The logic of the Er Ya was to list difficult words
together with simpler ones in order to explain the first
by the latter and to provide the writer with many
synonyms. For this reason, this kind of lexicographi-
cal work had great success and approximately 150
similar books were compiled during the Empire, up to
the past century.
The first dialectological works were clearly inspired
by the Er Ya. The Fang Yan (‘Local speeches’) collect-
ed dialectal words together with more widespread
words to attain the same results as Er Ya:
dang/xiao/zhe mean zhi (know). In Chu they say
dang or xiao, and between Qi and Song they
say zhe.
In the book, the key notion of ‘common speech’ is
found for the first time, as a reflection of the unified
Empire in the minds of its inhabitants.
However, the main work of Han dynasty lin-
guistics is another dictionary, the Shuo wen jie zi
[‘Explanation of words’; wen refers to the simple ideo-
grams (e.g., ‘tree’) and zi to the complex ideograms
(e.g., ‘forest’ – made of two trees to suggest plurality);
shuo means ‘explain’ and jie ‘dissect’ or ‘analyze’],
written by Xu Shen between 100 and 121 A.D. With
nearly 10 000 monosyllabic words, it is a huge work,
but its importance is in its several lexicographic invent-
ions, so apt to the description of Chinese language,
that have lasted up to the present.
First, all of the ideograms are divided into six
categories: pictograms, symbols, associated logic
elements, associated semio- and phono-elements, and
Chinese Linguistic Tradition 359
two less important categories. The definition is highly
standardized. For instance, the first category is
explained as ‘x mean y. Pictogram,’ the third as ‘x
mean y. From a, from b,’ and the fourth as ‘x mean y.
from a, sounds as b.’
Ming niao sheng ye. Cong niao, cong kou
Ming (sing of a bird) means voice of a bird. From niao
‘bird,’ from kou ‘mouth.’
Bing ming ye. Cong huo, bing sheng
Bing (bright) means bright. From huo ‘fire,’ sounds
as bing.
Furthermore, for the first time the pronunciation of
the items is also given by an homophonus ideogram,
and the formula x du ruo y ‘x is read as y.’
Moreover, a list of 540 graphic components was
established, also for the first time (e.g., wood, water,
word, ship, worm, and roof), in order to classify
all the 10 000 graphs of the texts. These graphic com-
ponents, reduced during the last dynasty to 214 [in
Kangxi zidian, ‘Dictionary of the emperor Kangxi
(K’ang-hsi),’ by Zhang Yushu, 1716], are still used
in the dictionaries of today under the name ‘radicals.’
Besides the previously mentioned works, based on
solid scientific grounds, the realistic tradition of the
Han produced some lexicographical works also
worth mentioning. The best among them is the Shi
ming (‘Names explained’) by Liu Xi:
Jing (‘view’) means jing (‘territory’): what eyes
embrace within a certain territory.
Jin (‘brocade’) means jin (‘gold’): what is as precious
as gold.
The theoretical basis of the work was the so-called
sheng xun (‘phonological exegesis’), according to
which any definitions must be based on synonymy
and homophony.
The Flourishing Age
The contacts with Sanscrit, due to the introduction
of Buddhism in China from the 1st century A.D.,
finally gave the Chinese the suggestion to split the
ideograms into two parts in order to start a phono-
logical analysis of their own language and to establish
a better way of writing their readings.
Sun Yan (a scholar, fl. during the Wei dynasty,
220–265) was likely the first in his Er Ya yin yi
(‘Sounds and meanings in Er Ya’) to adopt a new
system called fanqie (lit. ‘rotate and cut’) to analyze
phonologically the words in Er Ya. The fanqie system
is one of the most outstanding achievements of the
old linguistics. According to it, the reading of an
ideogram is given through two other ideograms with
no connection in meaning, the first giving the reading
360 Chinese Linguistic Tradition
Figure 2 A rhyme book, Yunjing (‘A mirror of rhymes’), by Zhang Lizhi (1161). The column at the top provides the initial sounds.
The four columns below the first provide the final sounds, divided according to the ‘tones’ (the four black circles) and the ‘degrees’ (/-a-/,
/-u-/, /-i-/, and /-y-/).
of the initial sound (sheng), and the second giving
the reading of the final sound (yun):
dong ¼ d(u) þ (h)ong
dong (east) ¼ d(u) (capital) þ (h)ong (red)
This system was not only a brilliant invention for
an ideographic writing system but also very produc-
tive and gave birth to a new branch of research,
covering the whole length of the Empire and that
lasted until the last century.
First, the yun shu (‘books of rhymes’), a large
number of dictionaries arranged phonologically and
grouping together those words sharing the same final
sound, were written, mainly to help students during
the imperial exams (in which one of the most impor-
tant tests was writing poems) but also to give a new
impulse to linguistics. The first book of rhymes was
Qie Yun (‘Rhymes according the fanqie’) by Lu Fayan,
written in 601 A.D.
Second, grouping together the words sharing the
same initial sound, Chinese derived 36 words working
as the letters of the Latin alphabet: kiem (see) for /k-/,
k’i (creek) for /k’-/, and so on. From a technical stand-
point, the time was ripe to adopt a more rational
system of writing than the ideographic one. Neverthe-
less, a reform that could have given an alphabet to
Chinese was never undertaken, for the good reason
that a highly complicated system was one of the rai-
sons d’etre of the powerful officers who ruled the
Empire.
Third, not only the initial sounds but also the final
sounds were identified and classified with slightly
more than 100 ideograms distributed into four
‘degrees’ according to the openeness of the first sylla-
ble: /-a-/ (‘open mouth degree’) as in ma (horse), /-u-/
(‘close mouth degree’) as in hu (lake), /-i-/ (‘teeth at
the same level degree’) as in di (earth), and /-y-/
(‘round mouth degree’) as in lü (donkey).
As a dignified conclusion to the classical linguistics
period, in 1899 some casual discoveries gave birth to
modern paleography. A huge amount of ‘dragon
bones’ (which were at first called jiaguwen, ‘oracle
bones’) with inscriptions dating back to 1500 B.C.,
completely renewed the traditional ideas of paleogra-
phy and etymology, based for all the extent of the
Empire on more recent graphs.
For instance, for centuries the character for wang
(‘king’), was considered ‘a trait d’union between
heaven, earth and man,’ although it is simply the
picture of an axe plunged into the ground.
The study of jiaguwen is a developing science;
to date, not more than approximately 60% of the
old inscriptions have been deciphered.
The Reform
The 20th century saw the birth of one more lin-
guistic branch: grammar and syntax. The clashes and
contacts with the West persuaded the Chinese that
learning Western sciences was fundamental to saving
 Chinese Linguistic Tradition 361

Figure 3 One page of the Kang xi zi dien (‘A dictionary of the emperor Kangxi’). Out of the frame are the words in the old writing system
called xiao zhuan (‘small seal’). Within the page, the words are followed by the definitions and the sources quoted (in the circles).

and developing the country, and the idea arose to
spare much of the time devoted to traditional learning
by heart of the thousands of Chinese characters
through Western techniques (i.e., grammar and
syntax, mainly English, but also Latin and French)
and so to be able to study more natural sciences and
engineering.
In 1898, the first grammar of classical Chinese, Ma
shi wen tong (‘A grammar by dr Ma’) by Ma Jianzhong
was published, followed in 1921 by the first grammar
of modern Chinese, Xinzhu guoyu wenfa (‘A new
grammar of national language’) by Li Jinxi.
In the past, no systematic description of the lan-
guage could be found, besides some general ideas
such as the distinction between shizi (‘full’) and xuzi
(‘empty words’) or some research on particles. Later,
many comprehensive grammars were brought to life,
which despite their heavy debt to the Western
362 Chinese Linguistic Tradition
grammatical system threw a bright light over most of
the specific features of Chinese.
Current Situation
Currently, all branches of linguistics are fully devel-
oped in China due to the efforts of many scholars at
the international level, including Lü Shuxiang, Zhu
Dexi, and many others.
The first stage, in the 1950s, was largely dominated
by the influence of the Soviet Union.
For example, in a major debate over ‘are there or
are there not word classes in Chinese?’ the core for a
long time was actually ‘are there or are there not in
Chinese the same word classes as in Russian?’
However, it was also open to influences from the
West such as structuralism. During the second stage,
in the 1960s and 1970s, sociolinguistics (how to sim-
plify the writing system and how to teach the national
language) mainly held the ground. The third stage,
after the opening to the world and the development
of social sciences, succeeded in giving impulse to
modern linguistics.
Nevertheless, the tradition still plays a role, and
the strong points of Chinese linguistics remain
Chinese Lexicography
Li Ming, Soochow University, Suzhou, China
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A Brief Historical Survey
Lexicographical development in China can be divided
into three stages. The rudimentary period followed a
long and tortuous course from 200 B.C. to the 14th
century. The inception of Chinese lexicography was
closely related to the study of exegesis, critical inter-
pretation of ancient texts, which inevitably involved
the analyses of meaning. It is in this connection that
some scholars regard (Yi ching; The book of
changes) as the first dictionary in the Chinese lan-
guage. However, the book hardly has any features
typical of a modern dictionary.
It is generally agreed that (Erya; Near correct-
ness), which came out in the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.–
220 A.D.), consisting of 30 books about the accepted
meanings of classic texts, was the earliest quasidiction-
ary in China. The first Chinese dictionary in the mod-
ern sense of the word was (Shuowen jiezi;
The origin of Chinese characters) by Xu Shen in the
Eastern Han Dynasty (25–220 A.D.). The book
contains some 10 000 Chinese characters with
paleography, etymology, dialectology, grammar, and
lexicography – much more than general linguistics.
See also: China: Writing System; Chinese; Chinese as an
Isolating Language; Chinese Lexicography; Chinese
(Mandarin): Phonology.
Bibliography
Baxter W (1992). A handbook of old Chinese phonology.
New York.
Boltz W (1994). The origin and early development of the
Chinese writing system. New Haven, CT.
Bottéro F (1996). Sémantisme et classification dans l’écriture
chinoise. Paris.
Harbsmeyer C (1998). ‘Language and logic.’ In Needham J
(ed.) Science and civilisation in China, vol. 7, part 1.
Cambridge.
Masini F (1993). ‘The formation of modern Chinese lexicon
and its evolution toward a national language.’ Journal of
Chinese Linguistics, monograph series No. 6.
Qiu Xigui (1990). Wenzixue gaoyao. Peking. [Mattos G L
& Norman J (trans.) (2000). Chinese writing. Berkeley.]
Yip Po-ching (2000). The Chinese lexicon: a comprehensive
survey. Hong Kong.
pronunciations and definitions. A few other books
having characteristics of a dictionary or an encyclo-
pedia in this stage paved the way for the advancement
of Chinese lexicography, including books on
Buddhism in the Tang Dynasty (618–907).
The intermediate phase (from 1368 to 1700) was
marked by the compilation of the handwritten
(Yongle dadian; The yongle canon), a 60-
volume encyclopedia compiled in 1408 in the
Ming Dynasty (1368–1644). The most important
lexicographical publications in this period are ency-
clopedic in nature, focusing on particular subjects.
These include (Bencao gangmu;
A compendium of herbal medicine), 1578;
(Nongzheng quanshu; The encyclopedia of agricul-
ture), a 60-volume work published in 1639;
(Tiangong kaiwu; The exploitation of the works of
nature), a three-volume encyclopedia about agricul-
ture and handicrafts published in 1637. The last of
these was later translated into French, Japanese,
German, and English.
The modern phase (from 1700 to the present) wit-
nessed the publication in 1716 of a remarkable
dictionary, (Kangxi zidian; The kangxi lexi-
con), with 47 035 Chinese characters. Since then,

(1990). , [Li K
(1990). A course in modern lexicography. Nanjing: Nanj-
ing University Press.]
(1992). , aries: an extensive bibliography of dictionaries in Chinese
[Lin Y (1992). A brief history of Chinese
lexicography. Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou Ancient-Text Pub-
lishing House.]
(1992).
[Yang Z et al. (1992). Dictionary of lexicography. Shang-
hai: Xuelin Press.]
(2004).
[Zhang Y (2004). A bibliography of papers
on Chinese lexicography. Shanghai: Shanghai Lexico-
graphical Publishing House.]
Bolton K & Hutton C (eds.) (2002). Western linguists and
the languages of China, vols. 1–7: Chinese dictionaries,
first series. Bristol: Ganesha Publishing Ltd.
Chien D (1986). Lexicography in China: bibliography of
dictionaries and related literature. Exeter: University of
Exeter Press.
Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002)
J Tárnyiková, Palacky University, Olomouc,
Czech Republic
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Eiichi Chino, who taught in the Tokyo University of
Foreign Studies (Gaikokugo daigaku) and former
president of Wakō University, was known above all
as a Japanese Bohemicist, a specialist in Czech philol-
ogy, who studied and later taught the Czech language,
wrote textbooks (co-author of Chekogo no nyūmon
[Introduction to the Czech language], 1976, Tokyo:
Hakusuisha), lectured on Czech language and litera-
ture, and published a series of essays on various
aspects of Czech cultural and political life (Chino,
1990, 1997). Eiichi Chino translated into Japanese
a variety of text genres, ranging from books for chil-
dren (cf. František Hrubı́n, Kuřátko a obilı́–Hiyoko
to mugibatake [The little chicken in a field of grain])
to film scripts (the Oscar nominated film Kolya),
libretti (Leoš Janáček’s opera Osud – Unmei [Fate]),
and a collection of essays by the leading Czech
structuralist Jan Mukařovský (co-translator, see
Mukařovský, 1982). What brought Chino fame and
admiration, however, were above all his translations
of canonical Czech literature. He had a lifelong
affection for Karel Čapek, whose unique style not
only found in Chino a sensitive and creative interpret-
er (Karel Čapek’s play ‘R.U.R.’ – Robotto, Kareru
Chapekku. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1989) but also
a keen director, who engaged his Tokyo students of
Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002) 365
Hartmann R R K & James G (1998). Dictionary of lexicog-
raphy. London: Routledge.
Mathias J, Creamer T & Hixson S (1982). Chinese diction-
and other languages. Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.
Wilder G D (1987). Analysis of Chinese characters. New
York: Dover Publications Inc.
Yang P F (1985). Chinese lexicology and lexicography: a
selected and classified bibliography. Hong Kong: The
Chinese University Press.
Relevant Websites
http://www.omniglot.com – Provides a guide to the Chinese
writing system.
http://www.camsociety.org – For discussion of Chinese
brush strokes.
http://www.pinyin.info – For information about Chinese
phonology.
Czech (at Gaikokugu daigaku) in staging the play.
Preceding ‘R.U.R.’ were Chino’s own essays on
Karel Čapek (Chino, 1975). Chino wrote epilogues
to many of his translations familiarizing Japanese
readers with the Czech cultural setting. Among
other Czech authors translated by Chino were Franz
Kafka, Viktor Fischl, Milan Kundera (1992, 1998),
and Ota Pavel (2000). In 2000, for rendering
outstanding service to Czech culture (see also his
articles and essays in Asahi Shimbun and a series of
university lectures in the 1980s on the Prague Linguis-
tic Circle), Eiichi Chino was awarded the Medal
of Merit, First Grade by President Václav Havel. The
interest in Czech philology, though deep and emo-
tional, always remained part of Chino’s broader inter-
est in Slavic philology (including Old Church
Slavonic, Russian, Polish, Slovak, Serbo-Croatian
and Bulgarian), and comparative linguistics (‘‘Studies
of Non-Indo-European Languages’’ in Miyaoka,
O. (ed.), Languages of the North Pacific Rim: types
and history. 1992. Tokyo: Sanseidō,). Eiichi Chino
was a co-editor of a 6-volume encyclopedia known
as The Sanseidō encyclopaedia of linguistics
(Chino, 1988–1996) and an author of many enlight-
ening books on linguistics (Chino, 1980a, 1980b,
1994, 1999). These were preceded by studies on the
Japanese language (Chino, 1977). Eiichi Chino’s
multifarious activities reflect the variety of his studies,
completed at three universities: the Tokyo University
of Foreign Studies (Russian), the University of Tokyo
(general linguistics), and Charles University, Prague
366 Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002)
(Slavic philology, Czech and general linguistics). As a
professor of Wakō University, Chino wrote an essay
entitled ‘Japanese – a treasure trove.’ (Nihongo
Kyoiku Tsushin, 16). The title is symbolic: Eiichi Chi-
no’s legacy is a treasure trove of many and varied
contributions to linguistics, literature, foreign lan-
guage teaching (Chino, 1986), and translatology –
and a challenge for those interested in this charismatic
polyglot and his research (cf. the obituary by Vlasta
Winkelhöferová (2002) ‘Odešel japonský bohemista
Eiiči Čino.’ Dokořán 22, Obec Spisovatelů. [Bulletin
of the union of writers.] Prague).
See also: Japanese; Translation and Genre: Literary.
Bibliography
Chino E (1975). Poketto no naka no Chapekku [Čapek in
the pocket]. Tokyo: Shōbunsha.
Chino E (1980a). Gengogaku no tanoshimi [The joy of
linguistics]. Tokyo: Taishukan Shoten.
Chino E (1980b). Gengo no geijutsu [The art of words].
Tokyo: Taishukan Shoten.
Chino E (1986). Gaikokugo jōtacuhō [Methods of improve-
ment in a foreign language]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Chino E (1988–1996). Gengogaku daijiten [The Sanseido
encyclopedia of linguistics] (6 vols). Takashi K, Rokurō K
& Chino E (eds.). Tokyo: Sanseidō.
Chi-Nyanja See: Nyanja.
Chiri, Mashiho (1909–1961)
A Pérez Pereiro, Arizona State University, Tempe,
AZ, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Mashiho Chiri was the first ethnic Ainu person to
attend Tokyo Imperial University and was hailed as
the Ainu genius, countering claims of Ainu inferiority
to the Japanese. He was born in Hokkaido, Japan, in
1909 to an Ainu family and grew up in the town
of Muroran. Despite his Ainu heritage, the stigma
associated with the Ainu language and culture at the
time being what it was, he did not grow up speaking
Ainu, but Japanese instead. He remarked that he
would later have to learn Ainu as a foreign language,
as he might French or German (German, Standard),
and that this pained him greatly.
Chino E (1990). Birōdo kakumei no kokoro. Václav Havel
[The heart of the velvet revolution. Václav Havel]. Tokyo:
Iwanami Shoten.
Chino E (1994). Gengogaku e no hirakareta tobira [The
door opened to linguistics]. Janua linguisticae reserata.
Tokyo: Sanseidō.
Chino E (1997). Bı̄ru to kohon no Puraha [The Prague of
beer and old books]. Tokyo: Hakusuisha.
Chino E (1999). Kotobano jukaı̄ [Through the thickets of
words]. Tokyo: Seidosha.
Chino E et al. (1977). Kokugo kokuji mondai [Problems of
Japanese characters]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Kundera M (1992). Směšné lásky – Bisho o sasou ai no
monogatari. [Laughable loves]. Eiichi Chino, Mitsuyoshi
Numano & Yoshinari Nishinaga (trans.). Tokyo:
Shueisha.
Kundera M (1998). Nesnesitelná lehkost bytı́–Sonzai no
taerarenai karusa [The unbearable lightness of being].
Chino E (trans.). Tokyo: Shueisha.
Mukařovský J (1982). Cheko kōzō bigaku ronshū:
biteki kinō no geijutsu shakaigaku/Jan Mukajofusuki
[A collection of essays on the structure and aesthetic
function of Czech/Jan Mukařovský]. Chino E &
Hirai T (trans. and eds.). Tokyo: Shobo.
Pavel O (2000). Smrt krásných srnců. – Utsukushii shika
no shi [The death of beautiful roebucks]. Chino E (trans.).
Tokyo: Kinokuniyashoten.
Chiri’s aunt, Matsu Kannari, and his sister, Yukie
Chiri, were Ainu speakers and informants of Kyosuke
Kindaichi, the famous Ainu scholar. Kindaichi encour-
aged Mashiho to study and helped him enter a presti-
gious high school and, later, Tokyo Imperial
University. Initially, Chiri entered the English litera-
ture department, but later transferred to the depart-
ment of linguistics where Kindaichi was teaching at
the time. Together with Kindaichi, he published his
dissertation Ainu goho gaisetsu, where he provided a
description of Ainu grammar.
Chiri and Kindaichi had different interests with
regard to their studies. While Kindaichi was primarily
interested in the classical language of the epic yukar,
Chiri, although also a scholar of the yukar, chose
to focus on the colloquial varieties of the spoken
366 Chino, Eiichi (1932–2002)
(Slavic philology, Czech and general linguistics). As a
professor of Wakō University, Chino wrote an essay
entitled ‘Japanese – a treasure trove.’ (Nihongo
Kyoiku Tsushin, 16). The title is symbolic: Eiichi Chi-
no’s legacy is a treasure trove of many and varied
contributions to linguistics, literature, foreign lan-
guage teaching (Chino, 1986), and translatology –
and a challenge for those interested in this charismatic
polyglot and his research (cf. the obituary by Vlasta
Winkelhöferová (2002) ‘Odešel japonský bohemista
Eiiči Čino.’ Dokořán 22, Obec Spisovatelů. [Bulletin
of the union of writers.] Prague).
See also: Japanese; Translation and Genre: Literary.
Bibliography
Chino E (1975). Poketto no naka no Chapekku [Čapek in
the pocket]. Tokyo: Shōbunsha.
Chino E (1980a). Gengogaku no tanoshimi [The joy of
linguistics]. Tokyo: Taishukan Shoten.
Chino E (1980b). Gengo no geijutsu [The art of words].
Tokyo: Taishukan Shoten.
Chino E (1986). Gaikokugo jōtacuhō [Methods of improve-
ment in a foreign language]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Chino E (1988–1996). Gengogaku daijiten [The Sanseido
encyclopedia of linguistics] (6 vols). Takashi K, Rokurō K
& Chino E (eds.). Tokyo: Sanseidō.
Chi-Nyanja See: Nyanja.
Chiri, Mashiho (1909–1961)
A Pérez Pereiro, Arizona State University, Tempe,
AZ, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Mashiho Chiri was the first ethnic Ainu person to
attend Tokyo Imperial University and was hailed as
the Ainu genius, countering claims of Ainu inferiority
to the Japanese. He was born in Hokkaido, Japan, in
1909 to an Ainu family and grew up in the town
of Muroran. Despite his Ainu heritage, the stigma
associated with the Ainu language and culture at the
time being what it was, he did not grow up speaking
Ainu, but Japanese instead. He remarked that he
would later have to learn Ainu as a foreign language,
as he might French or German (German, Standard),
and that this pained him greatly.
Chino E (1990). Birōdo kakumei no kokoro. Václav Havel
[The heart of the velvet revolution. Václav Havel]. Tokyo:
Iwanami Shoten.
Chino E (1994). Gengogaku e no hirakareta tobira [The
door opened to linguistics]. Janua linguisticae reserata.
Tokyo: Sanseidō.
Chino E (1997). Bı̄ru to kohon no Puraha [The Prague of
beer and old books]. Tokyo: Hakusuisha.
Chino E (1999). Kotobano jukaı̄ [Through the thickets of
words]. Tokyo: Seidosha.
Chino E et al. (1977). Kokugo kokuji mondai [Problems of
Japanese characters]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Kundera M (1992). Směšné lásky – Bisho o sasou ai no
monogatari. [Laughable loves]. Eiichi Chino, Mitsuyoshi
Numano & Yoshinari Nishinaga (trans.). Tokyo:
Shueisha.
Kundera M (1998). Nesnesitelná lehkost bytı́–Sonzai no
taerarenai karusa [The unbearable lightness of being].
Chino E (trans.). Tokyo: Shueisha.
Mukařovský J (1982). Cheko kōzō bigaku ronshū:
biteki kinō no geijutsu shakaigaku/Jan Mukajofusuki
[A collection of essays on the structure and aesthetic
function of Czech/Jan Mukařovský]. Chino E &
Hirai T (trans. and eds.). Tokyo: Shobo.
Pavel O (2000). Smrt krásných srnců. – Utsukushii shika
no shi [The death of beautiful roebucks]. Chino E (trans.).
Tokyo: Kinokuniyashoten.
Chiri’s aunt, Matsu Kannari, and his sister, Yukie
Chiri, were Ainu speakers and informants of Kyosuke
Kindaichi, the famous Ainu scholar. Kindaichi encour-
aged Mashiho to study and helped him enter a presti-
gious high school and, later, Tokyo Imperial
University. Initially, Chiri entered the English litera-
ture department, but later transferred to the depart-
ment of linguistics where Kindaichi was teaching at
the time. Together with Kindaichi, he published his
dissertation Ainu goho gaisetsu, where he provided a
description of Ainu grammar.
Chiri and Kindaichi had different interests with
regard to their studies. While Kindaichi was primarily
interested in the classical language of the epic yukar,
Chiri, although also a scholar of the yukar, chose
to focus on the colloquial varieties of the spoken

language. After graduation, Chiri started teaching
in Sakhalin, then a Japanese territory, and began
studying the Sakhalin dialect of Ainu. The result
was Ainu goho kenkyu, a grammar of this dialect.
He was convinced of the importance of distinguishing
between the different dialects and using them to
understand the local culture where each dialect was
spoken. He also made significant contributions to
the study of geographical names, sometimes in
collaboration with Hidezo Yamada, a renowned
scholar of Ainu place names. In the course of his
studies, Chiri also proposed that Ainu, still believed
to be a language isolate, exhibits vowel harmony, a
property associated with the Altaic languages.
Chiri resented the subordination of the Ainu in
Japan and the discrimination which they endured.
He himself was also teased at school, being called
‘inu’ or dog, a common slur against the Ainu. He
was also critical, perhaps excessively so, of what
he considered to be ‘bad scholarship’ on the Ainu
people. Although he was raised in a Japanized
home, he sometimes claimed that non-Ainu scholars,
especially those with whom he disagreed, did not
understand the language and culture the way he
did. In particular, he attacked John Batchelor and
his famous dictionary, referring to it as a collection
of errors. Chiri began what would be his own
Choco Languages
D Aguirre Licht, Universidad de los Andes,
Bogotá, Colombia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Present Indians of Western Colombia
Colombia, a basically Spanish-speaking nation in the
northwestern corner of South America, conserves a
considerable number of Indian languages. The speak-
ers of the various languages survived the colonization
of the subcontinent, isolating themselves in rather
desolate places far from the urban centers, where
there were no mestizos and only the black population
dared to enter. Of the immense mosaic of aborigi-
nal languages thought to have existed when the
Europeans arrived in what is today Colombian terri-
tory – for its privileged situation as a crossroads for
peoples from north to south and from south to north
of the continent – about 90 peoples still survive. They
are characterized as different from the majority of the
Spanish-speaking population, because they maintain
particular sociocultural characteristics, among them
Choco Languages 367
magnum opus, the Classified Ainu dictionary, a com-
plete dictionary of the Ainu language accounting for
dialectical variations. In June of 1961, at the age of
52, Mashiho Chiri died after having written only
three of the planned ten volumes.
See also: Ainu; Batchelor, John (1853–1944); Japan: Lan-
guage Situation; Japanese; Kindaichi, Kyosuke (1882–
1971); Naert, Pierre (1916–1971).
Bibliography
Chiri M & Kindaichi K (1936). Ainu goho gaisetsu (Outline
of Ainu grammar). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Chiri M (1942). Ainu goho kenkyu: Karafuto hogen o
chushin to shite (A study of Ainu grammar with an
emphasis on the Sakhalin dialect). In Reports from the
museum of Sakhalin No. 4: Toyohara.
Chiri M (1952). ‘Ainugo ni okeru boin chowa. (Vowel
harmony in Ainu).’ Annual Reports on Culture and Sci-
ence 1, 101–118.
Chiri M (1953, 1954, 1962). Bunrui Ainugo jiten (Classi-
fied Ainu dictionary) (vols 1, 2, 3). Tokyo: Nihon jomin
bunka kenkyujo.
Chiri M (1956a). Ainugo nyumon (Introduction to the Ainu
language). Sapporo, Japan: Nire Shobo.
Chiri M (1956b). Chimei Ainugo shojiten (Small dictionary
of Ainu placenames). Tokyo: Nire Shobo.
a language of their own, as is the case for 65 of these 90
peoples. These languages have been characterized
by the most diverse range of linguistic varieties, i.e.,
isolating, agglutinating, and flexive languages, as cor-
respond to such highly varied regions in which their
speakers are found: desert zones, grasslands, jungles,
coastal littorals, river littorals, foothills, and moun-
tainous zones of both temperate and cold climates.
Four of these Indian languages still survive in west-
ern Colombia, which correspond to four ethnic
groups that continue to preserve their own cultural
characteristics, such as their language and, therefore,
their particular way of thinking, or worldview. The
first of these four languages is Tule, of the Chibchan
linguistic family, the speakers of which are known as
‘Cunas.’ They occupy the extreme northwestern part
of the country, in the Golfo de Uraba (where there are
no more than 1000 individuals) and the majority
are found in the neighboring country of Panama, in
the San Blas Islands (around 40 000 individuals),
where they have immigrated for more than half a cen-
tury. The second language is Awa or Awa-Cuaiquer,

language. After graduation, Chiri started teaching
in Sakhalin, then a Japanese territory, and began
studying the Sakhalin dialect of Ainu. The result
was Ainu goho kenkyu, a grammar of this dialect.
He was convinced of the importance of distinguishing
between the different dialects and using them to
understand the local culture where each dialect was
spoken. He also made significant contributions to
the study of geographical names, sometimes in
collaboration with Hidezo Yamada, a renowned
scholar of Ainu place names. In the course of his
studies, Chiri also proposed that Ainu, still believed
to be a language isolate, exhibits vowel harmony, a
property associated with the Altaic languages.
Chiri resented the subordination of the Ainu in
Japan and the discrimination which they endured.
He himself was also teased at school, being called
‘inu’ or dog, a common slur against the Ainu. He
was also critical, perhaps excessively so, of what
he considered to be ‘bad scholarship’ on the Ainu
people. Although he was raised in a Japanized
home, he sometimes claimed that non-Ainu scholars,
especially those with whom he disagreed, did not
understand the language and culture the way he
did. In particular, he attacked John Batchelor and
his famous dictionary, referring to it as a collection
of errors. Chiri began what would be his own
Choco Languages
D Aguirre Licht, Universidad de los Andes,
Bogotá, Colombia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Present Indians of Western Colombia
Colombia, a basically Spanish-speaking nation in the
northwestern corner of South America, conserves a
considerable number of Indian languages. The speak-
ers of the various languages survived the colonization
of the subcontinent, isolating themselves in rather
desolate places far from the urban centers, where
there were no mestizos and only the black population
dared to enter. Of the immense mosaic of aborigi-
nal languages thought to have existed when the
Europeans arrived in what is today Colombian terri-
tory – for its privileged situation as a crossroads for
peoples from north to south and from south to north
of the continent – about 90 peoples still survive. They
are characterized as different from the majority of the
Spanish-speaking population, because they maintain
particular sociocultural characteristics, among them
Choco Languages 367
magnum opus, the Classified Ainu dictionary, a com-
plete dictionary of the Ainu language accounting for
dialectical variations. In June of 1961, at the age of
52, Mashiho Chiri died after having written only
three of the planned ten volumes.
See also: Ainu; Batchelor, John (1853–1944); Japan: Lan-
guage Situation; Japanese; Kindaichi, Kyosuke (1882–
1971); Naert, Pierre (1916–1971).
Bibliography
Chiri M & Kindaichi K (1936). Ainu goho gaisetsu (Outline
of Ainu grammar). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.
Chiri M (1942). Ainu goho kenkyu: Karafuto hogen o
chushin to shite (A study of Ainu grammar with an
emphasis on the Sakhalin dialect). In Reports from the
museum of Sakhalin No. 4: Toyohara.
Chiri M (1952). ‘Ainugo ni okeru boin chowa. (Vowel
harmony in Ainu).’ Annual Reports on Culture and Sci-
ence 1, 101–118.
Chiri M (1953, 1954, 1962). Bunrui Ainugo jiten (Classi-
fied Ainu dictionary) (vols 1, 2, 3). Tokyo: Nihon jomin
bunka kenkyujo.
Chiri M (1956a). Ainugo nyumon (Introduction to the Ainu
language). Sapporo, Japan: Nire Shobo.
Chiri M (1956b). Chimei Ainugo shojiten (Small dictionary
of Ainu placenames). Tokyo: Nire Shobo.
a language of their own, as is the case for 65 of these 90
peoples. These languages have been characterized
by the most diverse range of linguistic varieties, i.e.,
isolating, agglutinating, and flexive languages, as cor-
respond to such highly varied regions in which their
speakers are found: desert zones, grasslands, jungles,
coastal littorals, river littorals, foothills, and moun-
tainous zones of both temperate and cold climates.
Four of these Indian languages still survive in west-
ern Colombia, which correspond to four ethnic
groups that continue to preserve their own cultural
characteristics, such as their language and, therefore,
their particular way of thinking, or worldview. The
first of these four languages is Tule, of the Chibchan
linguistic family, the speakers of which are known as
‘Cunas.’ They occupy the extreme northwestern part
of the country, in the Golfo de Uraba (where there are
no more than 1000 individuals) and the majority
are found in the neighboring country of Panama, in
the San Blas Islands (around 40 000 individuals),
where they have immigrated for more than half a cen-
tury. The second language is Awa or Awa-Cuaiquer,
368 Choco Languages
classified as an independent language, whose speak-
ers are thought to number about 4000 and are located
in the extreme southwestern part of the country (in
the department of Nariño) and in smaller numbers
in the neighboring country of Ecuador. The third and
fourth languages are Waunméu (Woun Meu) and
Embera, which belong to the so-called Choco lan-
guage group, which has only recently been classified
as an independent linguistic family.
Waunméu is spoken by the Waunanas, who num-
ber around 4000 individuals in Colombia, along the
lower San Juan River, in the south of the department
of Choco, and no more than 2000 individuals
who have immigrated to the Province of Darien, in
Panama. Embera is spoken by the Indians who call
themselves Emberas but who are known by different
names in the literature because they constitute a
much larger number of speakers – around 60 000 –
divided in various dialects. The Emberas are dis-
persed throughout the western part of Colombia
and even in the frontier zones of Panama and Ecua-
dor, and some of these dialects have grown so far
apart that they are now mutually unintelligible.
Of course, this is a timid sample of the much great-
er number of ethnic groups that inhabited the western
part of Colombia when the Europeans arrived,
among which we can recall the names of the Idabáez,
Ingarás, Birus, Surrucos, Poromeas, and the present-
day Kunas, Waunanas, Katı́os, or Emberas. Some
of the denominations applied to the Indians then gen-
erally known as ‘Choco’ or ‘Chocoes’ were the Andá-
guedas, Baudó, Chamı́s, Dabeibas, Dariens, Katı́os,
Noanamás, and Saijas. Nowadays it is known that
these names are derived from the names of the regions
inhabited by these groups, which generally took the
name of the main river that crossed through their
territory and, in the case of the name ‘Katı́o,’ to the
fact that the Embera Indians eventually occupied the
region of the Katı́o Indians, a brave warrior tribe that
succumbed to the Spanish.
The Embera Indians occupy a much greater territo-
ry today than they did at the time of the arrival of the
Europeans, but with a very atomized coverage, i.e.,
only in different and specific points of little extension.
Mestizo settlers displaced them to these Indian reser-
vations, called ‘Resguardos’ or ‘Cabildos,’ which were
very effective in the colonial period in preventing
the extinction of these peoples, by impeding their oc-
cupation by outsiders but obliging the Emberas to give
up the extensive territories in which they had once
freely roamed.
In this article we see the different dialects into
which the Embera language is presently divided.
These dialects are a product of the different regions
in which the Embera Indians have settled since the
arrival of the Spanish, in different latitudes of the con-
tinent but always limited to a fringe that extends from
the western littoral: the Pacific coast of Colombia,
from north to south, to the Cauca River, which sepa-
rates the western and central cordilleras stretching
from north to south along the country, together with
the eastern cordillera, the final branches of which
disappear as they enter the Caribbean region of
Colombia. Thus, the scenario that the Choco Indians
occupy consists of the Pacific coast of Colombia, with
its jungle plains; the Province of Darién, in Panama;
and the spurs of the western cordillera and its
terminal branches to the west of the Cauca River.
Retrospective of Linguistic Studies and
Attempts to Classify the Emberas
The inclusion within a single linguistic family of the
speech of the different Choco groups (the Waunana
language and the different Embera dialects) that sur-
vived the Conquest and the colonial period is a recent
fact. Their classification within any one of the great
variety of American linguistic families is still open to
discussion.
In the literature on the country’s Indians, there is
abundant documentation on population and migra-
tions of the Choco, from chroniclers like Fray Pedro
Simón, Bartolomé de Las Casas, Jorge Robledo, Juan
de Castellanos, Pedro Cieza de León, to recent re-
searchers like Henry Wassen, Katleen Romoli, Reina
Torres de Arauz, Sven Isacsson, Mauricio Pardo, and
Patricia Vargas. The last two, who are Colombian
authors, have advanced in research about the Emberas,
having reviewed all previous studies. In his article
‘Bibliografı́a sobre indı́genas Choco’ (1981), for exam-
ple, Pardo did an excellent review of the ethnohistoric
literature available to date, and in ‘Regionalización de
indı́genas Choco’ (1987), he updated the discussion of
the ethnohistoric panorama. Vargas (1986), on the
other hand, found that the incursion of the Emberas
into the territories of the Katı́o Indians did not mean
the total extinction of the latter, because the two
peoples intermingled, which is why the present
Emberas of the region present particular characteristics
that could be assigned to the Katı́os.
The term Choco was already used in the 17th centu-
ry to designate the Emberas of the upper San Juan and
Atrato rivers and the Waunanas of the lower San Juan
River. The earliest report known about the Emberas is
found in the diary of the missionary Father Joseph
Palacios de la Vega, around 1787, in San Cipriano,
on the San Jorge River. This linguistic material, con-
sisting of 37 phrases and 107 morphemes, fundamen-
tally corresponds to the speech of the present Emberas
of the northeast (Reichel-Dolmatoff, 1955).

A series of vocabularies was later collected by tra-
velers, mostly foreigners, in different Choco Indian
localities (Mollien, 1824; Cullen, 1851; Seeman,
1851; Bastian, 1876; Greiffenstein, 1878; Collins,
1879; White, 1884; Peláez, 1885; Etiene, 1887;
Simons, 1887; Pinart, 1887; Velásquez, 1916;
Robledo, 1922). These materials fundamentally
served as the basis for analysis and classification
until the middle of the 20th century.
But there have also been comparative studies since
the 19th century: Bollaert (1860) proposed affinities
between the Choco and Mesoamerican groups; Adam
(1888) compared vocabularies obtained by Cullen,
Seeman, and Uribe; Brinton (1891) observed the
territorial extension of the speech of the Choco;
Chamberlain (1907) determined that the geographi-
cal limits of the Choco were between 8 and 4 degrees
northern latitude, between the Golfo de Urabá and
the Golfo de San Miguel, and proposes Choco as an
independent linguistic group; Lehmann (1910, 1920)
suggested kinship with the Chibcha dialects of the
Barbacoas and Talamanca groups; Loukotka (1968
[1942]) reaffirmed the separation of these languages
as an independent linguistic family and recognized
nine extant languages and five extinct languages;
Rivet (1912, 1924, 1943) compared elements of
the Choco vocabulary with 56 Caribe dialects, 34
Chibcha dialects, and 29 Arawak dialects and con-
cluded that there was a strong Caribe influence and, to
a much lesser degree, Chibcha and Arawak influence;
Ortiz (1937, 1940, 1954, 1965), Mason (1950),
Meillet and Cohen (1952), and Tovar (1961) followed
Loukotka’s regionalization and Rivet’s affiliation.
The first attempts to classify the native languages of
America were made in the second half of the 20th
century. At the beginning of the 20th century, 19
independent language families were mentioned for
the Pacific coast, including the Choco family (see,
for example, the classifications of Alexander
Chamberlain [1913] for the linguistic families of
South America). Later researchers, such as Paul
Rivet (1944), reduced this number and proposed the
inclusion of the Choco family within other macro-
families, like the Chibcha or the Caribe. At present, in
light of recent linguistic explorations, the thesis of the
independence of this family seems to be the most
reliable, vindicating its defenders, among whom, in
addition to Chamberlain, we can name Nordenskiold
(1928), Loukotka (1968 [1942]), Tovar and Larrucea
(1984), and Pardo and Aguirre (1993).
The cultural unity and the common origin of
the Choco Indians were the subject of controversy
for a long time. Mason’s classification (1950) (broad-
ened with that of Greenberg, 1960), for example,
divided the Choco languages into Empera, with 3
Choco Languages 369
variants; Catı́o (Embera-Catı́o), with 14 variants;
and Noanamá (with 1 variant). Loukotka (1968
[1942]) had already spoken of 9 extant and 5 extinct
Choco languages, and later Loukotka and Rivet pro-
posed 10 extant variants for the Choco group (which
they call the Emperá division) and 2 extinct ones
(see Ortiz, 1965: 197–200).
Jacob Loewen (1960) confirmed Erland Nordens-
kiold’s statement, testifying that linguistically only two
languages (Waunana and Embera) – mutually unintelligi-
ble but nonetheless related – belonged within the Choco
family, and proposed, with a phonological criterion, four
large dialectal areas, one Waunana and three Embera,
with lexical variations within the Embera areas.
Among the main bibliographical compilations on
the Choco languages were those of Adam (1888),
with 7 references; Lehmann (1920), with 30 refer-
ences; Reichel-Dolmatoff (1945), with 38 references;
Ortiz (1954), with 60 references; Loewen (1963),
with 191 references, which were not only linguistic
but historical as well; Ortega (1978), with 67 refer-
ences; and Pardo (1981), with 72 references, and
(1986), a survey of everything written on the subject
to date, with 135 references, including everything
from academic studies to simple lists of words.
There have been grammatical studies of the Embera
language since 1881, when José Vicente Uribe pub-
lished a brief article in which he presented the differ-
ent types of Embera words in a general way. In 1936,
Fray Pablo del Santı́simo Sacramento published a
grammatical essay on the speech of the Embera-Catı́os
of the Apostolic Prefecture of Urabá, as well as a
classification of Embera, in which he dedicated a
small portion to the syntax of the language. In 1918,
an anonymous Catı́o-Spanish catechism appeared for
missionaries of Antioquia. There is also an undated
Catı́a grammar by Marı́a Betania (quoted in Pinto,
1974), and the Claretian priest Constancio Pinto pub-
lished a Catı́o-Español dictionary (1950), as well as
another extensive dictionary with grammar (1974).
Scientific studies based on fieldwork began with
the research of Jacob Loewen, an American Menno-
nite missionary who did a study for a master’s degree
(1954) among the Waunana Indians of the lower San
Juan River, and a doctoral thesis (1958) on the speech
of the Emberas of the Sambú River, in the province of
Darién in Panama. Loewen also wrote numerous
articles on Embera phonology and dialectology,
on comments on traditional stories, on loans from
Spanish, on problems of bilingual literacy programs,
and on basic readers in Indian languages.
Jean Caudmont (1955) elaborated notes on phono-
logical and grammatical generalities through the use
of field notes of Reichel-Dolmatoff (1945), taken
10 years earlier among the Embera group in Riofrı́o
370 Choco Languages
in the department of Valle, who had emigrated from
the region of the Chamı́. The Claretian missionary
Constancio Pinto, who lived with the Emberas of the
region of the Chamı́ (headwaters of the San Juan
River) for more than 40 years, published a dictionary
(1950) of the Embera language, as well as a book
with a much more extensive vocabulary and with a
section on grammar (1974). Despite their having been
based on methodical fieldwork, these studies suffered
from the fact that they had been transcribed using
Spanish-language phonetics and indistinctly pre-
sented, especially in the work of Pinto, words from
zones like the Chamı́, the Andágueda, the Sinú, and
the Atrato, without taking the dialectal variations
into account. With more linguistic precision, the
Swedish researcher Nils Holmer (1963), in one of
the publications of the Gutemburg Ethnographic
Museum, occupied himself extensively with phono-
logical and morphological aspects of Waunana.
The Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL), which
arrived in the country in 1962, carried out ling-
uistic studies in distinct zones inhabited by Embera
Indians. Francés Gralow (1976) elaborated a phono-
logical description for the Chamı́ zone. In the 1970s,
Eileen Rex and Mareike Schotlenndreyer traveled
throughout the municipalities of Dabeiba, Frontino,
and Chigorodó, in the department of Antioquia, and
the upper Sinú, in the department of Córdoba, and
published a phonology (1973) of the speech of
the Emberas of the upper Sinú and northwestern
Antioquia. Schotlenndreyer developed a literacy
primer for the zone of Chigorodó (1973) and a struc-
tural analysis of her and Rex’s stories (1977). Eileen
Rex wrote her master’s thesis on the Catı́a grammar
(1975). Phillip Harms developed basic readers on the
Embera language and tales and stories in the compa-
ny of the natives from 1981 to 1985, for the Emberas
of the Saija River on the coast of the department of
Cauca, to the south of the department of Choco, and
carried out a phonological description with Judy
Powell (1984) and a grammatical study of the speech
of these Emberas (Harms, 1987). Powell also mimeo-
graphed some Embera stories and biblical passages.
David Stansell, who lived for more than 10 years
among the Emberas of the Bojayá River in the depart-
ment of Choco, wrote about them in Aspectos de la
cultura material de grupos étnicos de Colombia
(1973). Michael and Nellis (1984) produced primers
in Chamı́ for the Emberas of the Valle de Garrapatas
in the department of Valle del Cauca.
Gordon Horton worked with the Emberas of the
upper Sinú in the 1960s and 1970s, mainly on
the morphology of the language, and developed a
series of primers and other didactic materials. Miguel
Loboguerrero carried out a linguistic study (1976) on
the dialect of the Chamı́ region; his resulting work
included a phonological description, a grammatical
description, and a corresponding lexicon. Nelly
Mercedes Prado did an analysis of the ‘Epera’ variant
(‘Embera,’ according to the phonology of this dialect)
of the Saija River (1982) as her master’s thesis,
the presentation of which included phonology, mor-
phology, and an appendix titled ‘Un estudio inicial,’
along with a lexicon of 845 items, each with its respec-
tive phonetic transcription. She continued her work
with the publication of didactic materials (1985), fur-
ther explored aspects of the language, such as nasality
(1991), and later worked in ethnolinguistic conflicts
between blacks and Indians (1992) within the broad-
est project, known as ‘Cada rı́o tiene su decir.’
Many missionaries working in Embera territories
have concerned themselves with the language. One
primer on the language of the Emberas of the upper
San Juan, with an alphabet, was developed by
G. Manzini (1973); another primer, on the Katı́a vari-
ety, was designed by Martı́nez and Guisao (1980).
There are a catechism in the Baudó dialect (1981)
and a primer by Livia Correa (1982), as well as one,
by Marı́a L. Picón (1985), on the Itsmina region.
For the Waunanas, in addition to Holmer’s studies,
there was a phonological and grammatical study
done by the Sacred Heart missionaries Sánchez and
Castro (1977), with the advice of Reinaldo Binder of
the SIL, and a monograph by Luz Lotero (1972).
The Embera Waunana Regional Organization
(OREWA) of Choco wrote a manual for indigenous
teachers (1987), within the framework of its newly
initiated ethnoeducation program.
Mauricio Pardo has done phonological and gram-
matical descriptions of the Embera language in north-
western Antioquia and the zone of the upper Baudó
River in the department of Choco. With his participa-
tion in workshops with teachers from Baudó and in
1983 in northeastern Antioquia, an era of studies
began that committed both Indians and researchers to
a common cause in the application of the results of
linguistic studies. In 1986, Pardo proposed, together
with the author of this article, a revision of the Choco
dialectology established by Loewen, 1963 (see next
section of this article), and has done an extensive com-
pilation of the publication of linguistic data on this
language up to 1986. This author has also concerned
himself with the elaboration of language primers and
sociolinguistic aspects of the ethnic group.
Present Regionalization of the
Embera Indians
The first Indians denominated ‘Chocos’ by the Span-
ish were the Emberas of the upper San Juan River,
 Choco Languages 371

who were then known as the Simas or the Tatamás.

These Indians today call themselves Chamı́. This de-
nomination would later be applied to all indigenous
groups of the upper Atrato River, in the department
of Choco, then known as ‘Citará’ or ‘Citarambirá,’
and to the Indians of the middle and lower San Juan,
respectively called ‘Poya’ and ‘Noanama’ in the the
17th century. Based on these points, registered in
colonial papers, and respecting the linguistic data
obtained from present settlements, one can attempt to
reconstruct the dispersion of the Chocos (see Figures
1 and 2).
Most of the Chamı́ are located along the upper
San Juan River, in the Risaralda municipalities of
Mistrató and Pueblorico, on the border with Choco.
They have moved northward and southward along
the cordillera to places like the upper Andágueda
River, in southeastern Choco, to the southwestern
part of the department of Antioquia in the municipa-
lities of Jardı́n, Valparaı́so, and Bolı́var, and to the
northern part of the department of the Valle del
Cauca along the Garrapatas and Sanguininı́ rivers.
Small groups are also located in other parts of Anti-
oquia and Valle and have even moved down into the
departments of Caquetá and Putumayo.
Those who were called Citarás or Citarambirás
during colonial times – then located along the upper
Atrato River, on the Capá River, in Lloró, and along
the lower Andágueda River – have moved northward
along the river to the upper Baudó River, toward the
coastal tributaries to the north of Cabo Corrientes
and the Panamanian portion of Darién. These river-
dwelling Indians are known as ‘Cholos’ on the Pacific
coast of Colombia.
Because these people form a distinct dialectal zone
and because they are generally considered a mountain
group, researchers believe the Indians who presently
occupy territories in northeastern Antioquia – in
Dabeiba, Frontino, Ituango, Murrı́, among other
places, and in the department of Córdoba, in the
upper Sinú, San Jorge River, Rioverde, etc. – must
descend from Emberas who, after the Conquest, settled
along the eastern tributaries of the middle course of the
Atrato River, a group different from the Citarás. These
Figure 1 Current Choco Dialectology. Reproduced from Pardo M
Indians are erroneously known as ‘Katı́os,’ but colo- (1987). ‘Regionalización de indı́genas choco.’ In Revista del Museo
nial documents imply that the real Katı́os succumbed del Oro, Boletı́n 18, January–April. Bogota: Musco del Oro. 46–63.
toward the end of the 17th century, after a terrible
struggle with the Spanish. Vargas (1990) postulated, difference with the ones from the upper Baudó River.
based on archival documents, that many Katı́os united These people called themselves Emberas to differenti-
both in alliance and in war with the Emberas. ate themselves from the mountain people, who were
The Indians encountered by the Spanish in the mid- called Katı́os.
dle San Juan River, whom the Spanish called ‘Poyá,’ The Indians presently located to the south of Bue-
are believed to be the ancestors of the present dwellers naventura also descended from the Poyás, whose
of middle Baudó River, in the affluents Catrú, Dubasa, main settlements are along the Saija River (depart-
and surroundings. The Poyá presented a dialectal ment of Cauca), and the Satinga and Saquianga rivers
372 Choco Languages
Figure 2 Choco Dispersion. Reproduced from Pardo M (1987).
‘Regionalización de indı́genas choco.’ In Revista del Museo del Oro,
Boletı́n 18, January–April. Bogota: Musco del Oro. 46–63.
(department of Nariño) (Pardo, 1987). They call
themselves ‘Eperas,’ in accordance with the phonol-
ogy of their dialect.
In the department of Caldas, there are settlements
of Embera Indians, known to the rest of the popula-
tion as ‘Memes.’ They live in municipalities such as
Belalcázar, Vitervo, and Riosucio, in places like La
Betulia, La Tesalia, and the Indian reservations of San
Lorenzo and Nuestra Señora de la Montaña. Some
are Indian reservations with reserved territory, while
others such as Cañamomo and Lomaprieta are in the
process of becoming reservations (these are called
‘partialities’). In addition to the problem of vindicat-
ing their own identity as a separate ethnic group, they
have encountered major difficulties for having lost
their native tongue, but nonetheless they are at pres-
ent actively committed to carrying out programs to
recover their language with the help of native speak-
ers from other regions.
The Emberas who settled along the lower San
Juan River and its tributaries, along the Juradó,
Jampavadó, Docampadó, and Siguirisúa in southern
Choco, and along the San Juan de Micay River in
Cauca were called ‘Nonamá’ or ‘Noanamá’ ever
since the invasion, but they call themselves ‘Waunana’
or ‘Waunán.’ Over the course of a century they have
migrated to the province of Darién in Panama, where
2000 now reside, and to the Chintadó River along the
lower Atrato, where there are several hundred who
migrated some 20 years ago. There are estimated to be
about 4000 native speakers of Waunana in Colombia.
Like the Emberas, they are known as ‘Cholos.’ The
Waunanas and the Emberas are the only two ethnic
groups that can clearly be identified as presently form-
ing part of the Choco family.
In 1988, the author of this article, together with the
anthropologist/researcher Mauricio Pardo, presented
a proposal for the regional classification of the Choco
Indians – a revision of that proposed by J. Loewen –
based on the different dialects encountered during
fieldwork in the different zones with Choco Indians
in Colombia. Some samples to support this proposal
are presented below. These are taken from personal
fieldwork notes and first appeared in an article enti-
tled ‘Dialectologı́a Choco’ in the memoirs of the sem-
inar-workshop ‘Estado actual de la clasificación de la
lenguas indı́genas de Colombia,’ held in February
1988 at the Instituto Caro y Cuervo in Bogota
(Pardo and Aguirre, 1993) (see Figure 3).
To begin, a diagram showing the present linguistic
variations and the local denominations is presented
(Figure 3). The proposal of Jacob Loewen is then pre-
sented (Table 1), followed by the Pardo-Aguirre pro-
posal (Table 2). After that, the zones and specific places
identified by Pardo and Aguirre are presented in detail
(Table 3), along with a global diagram of said zones
(Figure 4). Finally, phonological and grammatical com-
parisons of the Waunana language and the different
dialects proposed for the Embera language (as well as
among the latter) are shown (Tables 4–6).
 Choco Languages 373

Figure 3 Phylogenetic tree of the Choco linguistic varieties (local denominations).

Table 1 Choco phonological systems (according to Jacob Loewen)

Waunana Saija Riosucio Catı́o-S. Jorge

Baudó Tadó Rı́o Verde
Chamı́ Sambú

PLOSIVE
Voiceless aspirated ph th kh ph th kh
Voiceless non-aspirated ptk ptk ptk ptk
Voiceless tense p’ t’ k’ p’ t’ k’
Voiced bdg bdg bdg bdg
FRICATIVE
Voiceless strong s š s č s č s č
Voiced mild z !"
LATERAL l l l l
TRILL r̃ r. r r̃ r r̃ r r̃
Voiced rr rr rr rr
NASAL
Voiced mn mn mn mn
APPROXIMANT wyh wyh wyh wyh
VOWELS (for all dialects)
Oral and nasal i ı̈ u e o a

Note: As can be seen, Loewen proposed 4 phonological systems and dialect subdivisions at the lexical level within them. Nonetheless,
the recent data show that at least 6 different systems can be identified: 1 for Waunana and 5 for the different Embera dialects.

Present State of Studies on the Embera
Language
Colombia, together with the other Latin-American
countries, with all the richness that multiculturalism
and plurilinguism represent, only in recent times has
given attention to its aboriginal languages. There is
not still an official position on the defense of these
languages and their speakers, who are not extinct,
thanks to their proper fight and the support of a
sector of the civil population. Just during the last
20 years of the 20th century were the Indian and
Afro-Colombian languages, still alive in the national
panorama, taken seriously by academia.
In 1984, the Anthropology Department of Andes
University instituted a Masters in ethnolinguistics,
with the sponsorship of the Centre Nationale de la
Recherche Scientifique (CNRS) of France. In the
program, researchers are prepared for the study of
374 Choco Languages

Table 2 Choco phonological systems (based on recent data)

Waunanaa South Lower Upper Antioquia Upper Baudó

Coast b Baudóc San Juand Córdobac Atrato Panamac

PLOSIVE
Voiceless strongly aspirated ph th kh ph th kh p h t h kh
Voiceless mildly aspirated ph th kh ph th kh p h t h kh
Voiceless non-aspirated ptk ptk ptk
Voiced tense bd bdg bdg
Voiced relaxed bdg bdg bd
IMPLOSIVE KF KF K KF
AFFRICATE č č č č č !" č !"
FRICATIVE sh sh vsh vsh vszðh vszh
LATERAL l l l l l l
TRILL r rr r rr r rr r rr r rr r rr
NASAL mn mn mn mn mn
APPROXIMANT wj wj wj wj wj wj
VOWELS (for all dialects)
Oral and nasal aeiouu
For the South Coast, there is a sixth vowel, which is the e (oral only)
a
Data from Mejı́a (2000b)
b
Data from Prado (1991)
c
Data from Pardo (1985a)
d
Data from Aguirre (1995a)

Table 3 Details regarding the zones and specific places of the Choco proposed by Pardo and Aguirre

Waunana Lower Baudó Upper San Juan Choco

West Atrato.
Antioquia
East Atrato

PLOSIVE ph th kh ph th kh p h t h kh p h t h kh
p t k p t k bd bdg
bdg bd
KF KF K F/ð
AFFRICATE z !"
v
FRICATIVE č s h
TRILL r rr
SOUNDING lmn
APPROXIMANT wj

Note: According to this scheme, at the strictly phonological level, Saija and Waunana have identical systems, even though they are very
different at the lexical level.

the native and Afro-Colombian languages, their even-
tual goals being publication, conservation, and
strengthening of these languages. The program’s stu-
dents and professors constitute the Centro Colom-
biano de Estudios de Lenguas Aborı́genes (CCELA),
through which they do the scientific work of the
rescue and fortification of these languages. With
these linguist students, a new era in the research and
promotion of the aboriginal and creole languages of
the country has begun, with them covering the entire
national territory, doing fieldwork and linguistic data
analysis in situ. This has yielded an awakening of
these communities for the rest of Colombian popula-
tion and even for themselves.
Several students from the program have done re-
search on the Embera language:
Rito Llerena Villalobos. He was a student from the
first promotion, having finished the program in 1987.
He is now a professor at Universidad de Antioquia, in
the Department of Linguistics. From 1989 to 1992, he
worked on compared phonology of the Amerindian
languages of Antioquia, including the Tule language
(of the Cuna Indians), subject of his degree thesis
(1987). This researcher has worked lately on the
Embera language, creating didactic materials for the
Indian teachers of Alto Andágueda, phonological and
morphological research in the Embera Reservation of

Figure 4 Choco dialectology.
Jaidukamá, department of Antioquia, and collaborat-
ing in ethnoeducation among the Emberas of Tierralta,
upper Sinú River, in the department of Córdoba, where
he is working at present. In the year 2000 he wrote a
report on the grammar and phonology of the Tule
language for the Instituto Caro y Cuervo.
Mario Hoyos Benites. He, too, was a student from
the program’s first promotion and finished in 1987.
At present he is a professor at the Universidad de la
Choco Languages 375
Guajira. He worked in 1984 in the Napipı́ and middle
Atrato rivers and other places in the region. His
research has addressed everything from the design of
didactic material for Indian teachers around all the
country (1991) to interdialectal phonology. He pre-
sented a report on the Embera language for the Atlas
Etnolingüı́stico de Colombia of the Instituto Caro y
Cuervo in 1997, and wrote a report (2000) on the
Embera language of the Napipı́ River for the institute.
376 Choco Languages

Table 4 Phonological variation according to Lexicon. Representative sample

Waunana South Coast Lower Baudó Upper San Juan Antioquia Atrato
Córdoba

I mu m m m m m
You puh pu pu bu bu bu
He ič iči iči iči i!"i i!"i
We mač tai tači dači dai dai
You paan pará mãrã mači/mãrã mãrã mãrã/pãrã
They hak n ãči ãči ãči ã!"i ã!"i
Who khai khai khai kai kai kai
Person waunán ẽpẽrã´ ẽpẽrã´ ẽbẽrã ẽbẽrã´ ẽbẽrã´
Man emkhoi m k rã m khı̃rã mũkı̃rã mãkı̃rã mã´kı̃rã
Woman ui ) awera ũẽrã/vẽrã ũẽrã ũẽrã ũẽrã´
Father ai ãkõrẽ tata čača/dadá zeze zeze
Mother at/tata nãvẽ nana dana/nãvẽ papa papa
Son ieuá oarra uarra varr/oarra vuarra oarra
Daughter kha khau khau kau kau kau
Spouse huu!"a khima khimá kima kima kima
Head puru poro boro boro buru boró
Eye dau tau tau dau dabú dau
Tooth khier khida khiFá kiFa kiðá/čiðá kiFa
Mouth i/ihure ithai ithae i/itae itae itae
Stomach bi bi Ki Ki Ki Ki
Hand húa húa húa húa huwá huwá
Foot bui buru/hı̃r hı̃rũ h r /hẽrũ hı̃rũ´ hẽrũ´
Blood bak wáa/iwá va oa va oá
Meat nemekmót čier čikho kiuru !"iko !"iko
Water du panı́a panı́a/paitó banı́a banı́a baidó
Ground hẽp joró joró éoro egoró egoró
Stone mok mãũ mõkará mokara mõgará mõgará
River du to to do do do
Mountain duursi ee e!"a ea katumá e!"á
Sun edau ãkõrẽhı̃rù umãdau umãda ı̃mãdau umãdau
Tree pab pakhuru pakurú bakuru bakuru bakuru
Leaf khiri khiru khitúa kidúa kitúa keduá
Root pak̂hare kharrá kharra karr karrá karrá
Dog saak usa usa usa usá usá
Bird nemčai ipana ı̃paná ibana ı̃baná ı̃baná
Fish ãwárr cikho Ketá Keda Kedá Kedá
One a pai aba aKa aKa aKa aKa
Two daunumı́ ome õmẽ ome ume umé
Three tharhũp õpé õpea õbea ũbea ubea

Notes: Details regarding the zones and specific places of the Choco proposed by Pardo and Aguirre. Waunana: lower San Juan River,
Docampadó, coastal rivers, Juradó, Panama, Chintadó. South Coast: Saija, Satinga, Saquianga, Naya, Cajambre, south of
Buenaventura. Lower Baudo: Catrú, Dubasa, coastal rivers, Purricha, Pavaja. Upper San Juan: Chamı́, Tadó, upper Andágueda
River, southwest of Antioquia Department, Garrapatas River (north of Valle Department). Antioquia/Córdoba: Dabeiba, Murrı́,
Riosucio, upper Sinú and San Jorge Rivers. Atrato: upper Atrato River, Capá, Bojayá, upper Baudó River, Panamá. Actually, the
difference among the diverse phonological inventories is in the plosive systems and the voicing of the sibilant /s/ and the palatal
affricate. Hence, the global scheme outlined in Table 3 can be suggested.

Table 5 Grammatical similarities and differences

Waunana South Coast Upper San Juan Antioquia Atrato

Córdoba Panamá

Ergative/Instrumental/Attributive a/au/iu a/pa a/ba a/ba ! ra a/ba

Intransitive/Accusative ø/ta ø/ta ø/ra ø/ra/a ø/ra/da
Previous Reference ø ø ra ra ra
Dative ik ma/!"a/a a a a
Benefactive ithee ithe ita ita ita
Sociative dui ome ome umé ume
Situative e de Fe ðe Fe
Alative g ma m/Fa eða Fa
Ablative mu depa Feba ðeba Feba

Table 6 Basic sentence order
S O
1. Waunana saak-iu ber č
perro- erg tatabro
2. South Coast usa-pa ethérre
perro-erg gallina
4. Upper San Juan ũẽrã-ba mũ-buda
mujer-erg mi pelo
5. Antioquia/Córdoba ũẽrã-ba ũãũã-ra
mujer-erg niño-ac
6. Atrato/Panamá hãı̃bana-ba kauzake-da
chamán-erg niñita-ac
Common characteristics: 1. Predominant suffixing. 2. Occasional
prefixing: integration in nominals, some verbal aspectualizing.
3. Varients of: number, gender, affection, position, permanence in
the auxiliary. 4. Tactical order variation for focalization.
5. Verbalized lexical determination (adjectival verbs). 6. Actancy,
opposition: agent, attributive, instrumental versus intransitive
subject, accusative. 7. Great variation in prenominal suffixing.
8. Basic S O V order.
Ernesto Llerena Garcı́a. He completed the pro-
gram in 2001, with a dissertation titled ‘La predica-
ción de la oración simple en la lengua embera del
Alto Sinú’ (simple sentence predication of the Embera
of Atto Sinú). He has been profesor of linguistics at
the Antioquia and Córdoba universities, where is
working at the moment. With his father, Rito Llerena,
and the Emberas of upper Sinú River, he wrote
Diccionario etnolingüı́stico de la lengua Embera
(2003) for the Normal Superior de Monterı́a (capital
of the department of Córdoba).
Daniel Aguirre Licht. A student from the second
promotion, he finished up in 1989. In 1985, he began
phonological studies of Chamı́, southeast of the
department of Antioquia. He continued with mor-
phological studies in 1987, and then morphophono-
logical and grammarians in 1998. In 1988, he
collaborated with the anthropologist Mauricio
Pardo in research on Choco dialectology; included in
the resulting article (Pardo and Aguirre, 1993) was an
answer to Paul Rivet’s hypothesis about the origin
Karib of the Choco languages. Aguirre Licht also
worked in the department of Risaralda, the location
of the Indian reservation Embera-Chamı́ of Purembará
(from puru ¼ ‘town’ and embera), a possible place of
the dispersion of the different Embera groups at the
Spanish arrival, and he has also worked with the
Emberas of Garrapatas Valley, in the department of
Valle del Cauca.
About the Waunana there are also the works of
Gustavo Mejı́a (1987), another student from the
first promotion of the master’s in ethnolinguistics of
the Universidad de los Andes. He did a grammarian
investigation in 1987 as his thesis. He also did, for the
Instituto Caro y Cuervo, a phonological and morpho-
Choco Languages 377
syntactic description of Waunana (2000b) and a pre-
V
sentation of the aboriginal languages of the Pacific
coast of Colombia (2000a).
khaahı́m Edel Rasmussen, who worked at the Universidad
mordió Nacional de Panamá, studied the Embera language of
peehı́
mató
the Panama area and published research on phonolo-
kõsı́ gy (1986) and on grammar (1985).
cortó The Technological University of Pereira (UTP), lo-
ubeası́a cated in the capital of the department of Risaralda,
pegó has paid attention the great number of the Embera-
uratusı́a
frotó
Chamı́ Indians who live in the department, both in
studies of their language and in projects on other
matters. Fernando Romero L. of the Psycho-Pedago-
gy Department in the School of Education does re-
search on linguistic and pedagogical problems of the
teaching of Spanish as a second language with bilin-
gual Chamı́ and Nasa (Páez) teachers, as well as on
discourse analysis of this variety of the Embera lan-
guage, including studies in which the author of this
article has participated. Linguist Olga L. Bedoya
works with him, and as Director of the Ethnoeduca-
tion and Community Development Program in the
same school she does research on the interference of
Spanish in different Embera dialects, problems of
orality versus writing, and other aspects of Embera
language and culture.
See also: Applied Linguistics in South America; Bilingual-
ism and Second Language Learning; Colombia: Lan-
guage Situation; Educational Linguistics; History of
Linguistics in Central and South America; Identity: Sec-
ond Language; Language Policy in Multilingual Educa-
tional Contexts; Pedagogical Grammars: Second
Language; Teaching of Minority Languages.
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382 Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928)
Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928)
J B Walmsley, Universität Bielefeld, Bielefeld,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Noam Avram Chomsky (Figure 1) was born in 1928 in
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and studied at the Univer-
sity of Pennsylvania. From 1951 to 1955 he was a
junior fellow of the Harvard University Society of Fel-
lows, completing his Ph.D. in linguistics in 1955. In
that year he took up a post in the Department of
Modern Languages and Linguistics at Massachusetts
Institute of Technology. From 1958 to 1959 he worked
at the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton. From
1966 to 1975 he held the Ferrari P. Ward Professorship
of Modern Languages and Linguistics, and was
appointed Institute Professor in 1976.
Chomsky’s thinking has had a radical influence on
grammar theory and the philosophy of grammar, syn-
tax, morphology, language acquisition, phonology,
and the historiography of linguistics. His linguistic
work (the other half of his life is devoted to political
writing) can be divided into four main phases: an
early phase (the 1950s); a classical phase (1960s and
1970s); a transitional phase, in the 1980s; and a new
phase in the 1990s, in which the ‘minimalist program’
was introduced.
The first work of Chomsky’s to make a wider im-
pact was Syntactic structures (1957), which intro-
duced a new way of looking at grammar and
language that opened up exciting avenues of enquiry.
In this book Chomsky circumvented the debate as to
Figure 1 Noam Chomsky.
what constituted a sentence by postulating it as a
primitive in his system. According to Syntactic struc-
tures, a language was ‘‘a set . . . of sentences, each
finite in length and constructed out of a finite set of
elements’’ (Chomsky, 1957: 13), and ‘‘the fundamen-
tal aim in the linguistic analysis of a language L is to
separate the grammatical sequences which are the
sentences of L from the ungrammatical sequences
which are not sentences of L . . . The grammar of
L will thus be a device that generates all the grammat-
ical sequences of L and none of the ungrammatical
ones.’’ ‘Grammatical’ did not mean ‘meaningful,’ as
the sentence ‘Colorless green ideas sleep furiously’
showed, which, while not being uncontroversially
meaningful, is syntactically well-formed. In Syntactic
structures Chomsky also introduced the concept ‘gen-
erative’ to mean not only productive, but also formal-
ly explicit. Chomsky argued that neither finite-state
nor phrase-structure (PS) grammars were adequate
as a means of generating the sentences of a natural
language, and introduced a transformational compo-
nent by means of which further operations could be
performed on the output of a PS-component to gener-
ate the strings that underlie sentences. Finally, this
study emphasized the evaluative function of grammar
theory (in selecting the best grammar) as opposed to
the discovery procedures favored by the preceding
generation.
Aspects of the theory of syntax (Chomsky, 1965)
marked an increasing interest in grammar as reflecting
the structure of the human mind. This work intro-
duced the notions of competence (a speaker’s ability
to produce and understand correct sentences) and per-
formance (the externally verifiable product of such
competence), and also deep- and surface-structure.
This study is the source of his classic statement, ‘‘Lin-
guistic theory is concerned primarily with an ideal
speaker-listener, in a completely homogenous
speech-community, who knows its language perfectly
and is unaffected by such grammatically irrelevant
conditions as memory limitations, distractions, shifts
of attention and interest, and errors . . . in applying his
knowledge of the language in actual performance’’
(Chomsky, 1965: 3). This approach to grammar
became known as ‘standard theory’ (ST). Keen to
distance himself from his immediate predecessors,
Chomsky stressed the affinities between transforma-
tional grammar and so-called traditional grammar:
‘‘It would not be inaccurate to regard the transforma-
tional model as a formalization of features implicit
in traditional grammars, and to regard these gram-
mars as inexplicit transformational generative
grammars’’ (Chomsky, 1964: 918).

Standard theory raised questions about the nature
of a deep structure that postulated identical represen-
tations for synonymous sentences, about the nature
of global and cross-derivational constraints, and
about how illocutionary force could or should be
incorporated into the syntax. Differences on these
issues led to a split in the movement, with ‘generative
semantics’ being rejected by Chomsky and some of
his associates in favor of an ‘interpretive semantics’
(Huck and Goldsmith, 1995).
After Aspects Chomsky published successive revi-
sions in what came to be known as ‘the generative
enterprise,’ each of which is characterized by a key
work. ‘Standard theory’ was followed by ‘extended
standard theory’ (Chomsky, 1973) and ‘revised
extended standard theory’ (Bach, 1977), which
introduced the concept of ‘core grammar’ and peri-
phery, and devoted much attention to conditions
and filters. It then became ‘government-(and)-
binding theory’ (Chomsky, 1980, 1981), which intro-
duced y-roles (‘semantic’ or ‘thematic relations’),
and replaced deep- and surface-structure by
‘D-structure’ and ‘S-structure,’ though not with
identical meanings.
Up to this point the goal of Chomskyan theory had
been the writing of grammars of natural languages.
The next – transitional – phase saw a move toward a
different goal – exploring the principles of universal
grammar. This – Chomsky’s ‘second conceptual shift’
(Chomsky, 1986: 6, 145) – was pursued within the
theory of ‘principles and parameters.’ Competence
and performance were replaced by the (partly over-
lapping) ‘I-language’ (internalized language as a
property of the human mind) and ‘E-(externalized)-
language’ (speech written or oral). Principles and
parameters are properties of all human languages
(part of innate UG), but the principles are invariable
whereas the parameters can have different settings.
Thus the ‘projection principle’ (‘‘lexical structure
must be represented categorially at every syntactic
level’’ – Chomsky, 1986: 84) is assumed to apply to
all human languages. But the ‘head parameter’ will
specify by its setting for a given language whether the
head typically comes first in a construction (followed
by its complements, as in bought the book) or last
(as in Japanese).
Principles and parameters theory was succeeded in
the 1990s by the ‘minimalist program’ (Chomsky,
1995). The change in terminology from ‘theory’ to
‘program’ is significant. The question had now be-
come, ‘How perfect is human language?’ The mini-
malist program is driven by the view that human
language is maximally simple, and by a striving for
economy – economy of representation, economy of
principles, and economy of derivation.
Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928) 383
Although Syntactic structures contained little evi-
dence of the degree to which grammar theory and
language acquisition theory were to merge, there
was evidence as early as the 1950s of the challenge
that Chomsky’s ideas were to pose in psycholinguis-
tics. In his review of Skinner’s Verbal behavior
(Chomsky, 1959), Chomsky both attacked behavior-
ist theories of language acquisition and opened up
new avenues for research: ‘‘The fact that all normal
children acquire essentially comparable grammars
with remarkable rapidity suggests that human beings
are somehow specially designed to do this, with data-
handling or ‘hypothesis-formulating’ ability of un-
known character and complexity’’ (Chomsky, 1959:
57). The question was how, on the basis of the avail-
able data, the child manages to construct a grammar
of its mother tongue: ‘‘A consideration of the charac-
ter of the grammar that is acquired, the degenerate
quality and narrowly limited extent of the avai-
lable data, the striking uniformity of the resulting
grammars, and their independence of intelligence,
motivation, and emotional state, over wide ranges
of variation, leave little hope that much of the struc-
ture of the language can be learned by an organism
originally uninformed as to its general character’’
(Chomsky, 1965: 58).
The information that ‘the organism’ possessed to
deal with this task was characterized as a ‘language
acquisition device,’ a ‘black box’ that, while one had
no direct access to its contents, nevertheless permitted
hypotheses to be made about its workings on the basis
of its output. A search for universals of language
acquisition was thus under way that ultimately
turned into the task of describing the properties of
I-language.
In the mid-1960s Chomsky concentrated on gram-
mar theory, phonology, and the history of ideas. The
position adopted in The sound pattern of English
(Chomsky and Halle, 1968) illustrates a general
move away from structuralist taxonomic description
toward the generative paradigm. The sound pattern
of English made use of a set of primitive terms togeth-
er with a set of rules for combining them and for
linking the morphophonemic, phonological, and pho-
netic levels by means of transformations. The system
was symbol-based and formally defined, with rules of
the form A ! B/X Y (to be read as: ‘interpret – or
re-write – A as B when it appears in a context preced-
ed by X and followed by Y’). In the early stages,
interest focused on the nature of phonological
rules, rule ordering, and the cyclic nature of rules.
Though – or perhaps because – The sound pattern
of English presented a theory that was essentially
one-dimensional, not fully fleshed out, and language
specific, it too stimulated further research.
384 Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928)
In that volume and elsewhere Chomsky preferred
to look back to the work of earlier grammarians as
opposed to his structuralist predecessors. In 1966 he
published Cartesian linguistics, in which he argued
that his innateness theory was not simply the product
of a backlash against behaviorist views, but had a
much longer pedigree. This work was sharply
reviewed, notably by Salmon, who showed that even
in Descartes’ time proponents of innateness theories
were locked in combat with empirical-sensualist the-
orists. Despite Chomsky’s disclaimers in the book,
the consensus view seemed to be that Cartesian
linguistics was not a model of how to write the histo-
ry of linguistics. It says something for Chomsky’s
stature, though, that his excursion into the history
of linguistics acted as a powerful stimulus to younger
scholars (Walmsley, 2000).
Chomsky’s work dominated the second half of
20th-century linguistics like that of no other linguist.
The switch from a taxonomic, inductive, descriptive
approach to a generative, hypothetico-deductive,
‘explanatory’ approach left an indelible mark on
how we do syntax, morphology, and phonology
today. It increased precision by committing itself
to symbolic representation and formalization. The
increase in precision, though, came at a price: the
scope of ‘linguistics’ narrowed. Since a language
was said to be ‘‘a set of structural descriptions of
sentences, where a full structural description deter-
mines (in particular) the sound and meaning of
a linguistic expression’’ (Chomsky, 1977: 81), the
focus of attention moved in effect from ‘language’ to
‘grammar.’
Chomsky, of course, was not the only source of
linguistic ideas in the 20th century, but it would be
difficult to grasp much of modern linguistics without
some understanding of his ideas and techniques. His
ideas have proved fruitful not only in themselves, but
also in the reactions they provoked within morphol-
ogy, syntax, and elsewhere. Underlying almost all
these theories however are frequently untested
assumptions about the fundamental categories of lan-
guage – word classes, attributes, and their values. The
energy invested in the Chomskyan paradigm has in
part deflected attention from these issues. As Lyons
put it: ‘‘in Aspects . . ., as generally, Chomsky was . . .
content to operate, uncritically, with the categories
and subcategories of traditional grammar’’ (Lyons,
1989: 167). These categories have hardly been
questioned by the big commercial grammars, either.
Chomsky’s influence has left its mark on math-
ematical linguistics, historical linguistics, theories
of language acquisition, anthropology, the study of
human cognition, biology, philosophy and the
philosophy of science, artificial intelligence, logic,
music theory, literary theory, law and theology,
among other fields (Otero, 1994).
See also: Constituent Structure; Generative Semantics;
Grammar; Language Acquisition Research Methods;
Principles and Parameters Framework of Generative
Grammar; Phonology: Overview; Syntax of Words; Tradi-
tional Grammar; Transformational Grammar: Evolution;
X-Bar Theory.
Bibliography
Bach E (1977). ‘Comments on the paper by Chomsky.’ In
Culicover P W, Wasow T & Akmajian A (eds.) Formal
syntax. New York: Academic Press. 133–155.
Chomsky N (1957). Syntactic structures. The Hague:
Mouton.
Chomsky N (1959). ‘Review of Verbal behavior by B. F.
Skinner.’ Language 35, 26–58.
Chomsky N (1964). ‘The logical basis of linguistic theory.’
In Lunt H G (ed.) Proceedings of the ninth international
congress of linguists. Cambridge, Mass, August 27–31,
1962. The Hague: Mouton. 914–978.
Chomsky N (1965). Aspects of the theory of syntax.
Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.
Chomsky N (1966). Cartesian linguistics: a chapter in the
history of rationalist thought. New York: Harper & Row.
Chomsky N (1973). ‘Conditions on transformations.’ In
Anderson S R & Kiparsky P (eds.) A Festschrift for Mor-
ris Halle. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston.
232–286. [Reprinted in Chomsky N Essays on form
and interpretation. New York, Amsterdam/Oxford:
North-Holland, 1977, 80–160.]
Chomsky N (1977). Essays on form and interpretation.
New York, Amsterdam/Oxford: North-Holland.
Chomsky N (1980). Rules and representations. New York:
Columbia University Press.
Chomsky N (1981). Lectures on government and binding.
Dordrecht: Foris.
Chomsky N (1986). Knowledge of language: its nature,
origin and use. New York: Praeger.
Chomsky N (1995). The minimalist program. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Chomsky N & Halle M (1968). The sound pattern of
English. New York: Harper & Row.
Huck G J & Goldsmith J A (1995). Ideology and linguistic
theory: Noam Chomsky and the deep structure debates.
London & New York: Routledge.
Lyons J (1989). ‘Semantic ascent: a neglected aspect of
syntactic typology.’ In Arnold D et al. (ed.) Essays on
grammatical theory and universal grammar. Oxford:
Clarendon Press. 153–186.
Otero C P (ed.) (1994). Noam Chomsky. Critical assess-
ments (4 vols). London & New York: Routledge.
Salmon V (1969). ‘Review of N. Chomsky Cartesian
linguistics.’ Journal of Linguistics 5, 165–187.
Walmsley J (2000). ‘Review of A science in the making. The
Regensburg symposia on European linguistic historiogra-
phy.’ Henry Sweet Society for the History of Linguistic
Ideas Bulletin 35, 60–70.

Chorasmian
P O Skjærvø, Harvard University, Cambridge,
MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chorasmian was an Iranian language spoken in me-
dieval Chorasmia, a state on the Oxus/Amu Darja
south of the Aral Sea. The name is first mentioned
in the Avesta and the Achaemenid inscriptions (see
Avestan; Persian, Old) but the language is known
only from much later times. Several words pertaining
to the calendar and astronomy were cited by Abu
Rayhan Biruni in his Athar al-baqiya (comp. 1000).
Since then archeological excavations have uncovered
inscriptions and documents on parchment and wood
from ca. 200–700 A.D.; also, a number of manuscripts
of Arabic works containing interlinear glosses in
Chorasmian have been found in libraries in Turkey,
notably Abu’l-Qasim Zamakhshari’s Muqaddimat
al-adab (ms. from ca. 1200) and several 13th-century
Arabic law books. The Chorasmian glosses are written
in Arabic script, with several modified letters. Those in
the Muqaddima are often underpointed or not pointed
at all, which makes them hard to interpret.
Some Arabo-Persian letters were modified to ex-
press special Chorasmian sounds. Triple superscript
dots over c ¼ ts and dz, over f ¼ b. Triple subscript
dots were used under s to indicate s, not š, and single
subscript dot under d to indicate d, not d.
Chorasmian historical phonology is characterized
by extensive affrication of dentals, palatalization,
and a variety of, often unpredictable, simplifica-
tions of consonant groups. For instance, t and d > c
[ts] and j [dz] before and after i, y: pc < pati- (preverb)
and *pitā ‘father’; pzy ‘sinew’, cf. Av. paidiiā-. In-
tevocalic š developed variously: >mh ‘ewe’, cf. Av.
maēšı̄-; mwf ‘mouse’, cf. Av. mūš; gwx ‘ear’, cf.
MPers. gōš; etc.
The Chorasmian vowel system is characterized by the
reappearance (in the script) of final vowels before suf-
fixes, pc ¼ pica ‘father’, but pc>m ¼ picā-mi ‘my father’.
Contraction of final vowels with vowels of suffixes is
common, e.g., hābir-ı̄na ‘give.IMPERF-1ST.SING’ ¼ ‘I gave’,
but hābir-ina-hi-di ‘give.IMPERF-1ST.SING-he/she/it.
ENCL.OBL-you.ENCL.OBL’ ¼ ‘I gave her to you’ > hābir-
nā-hı̄-di > hābir-n-ı̄-di. Such final vowels are sometimes
indicated by the Arabic vowel marks.
Masculine and feminine gender are distinguished in
the definite article (ı̄ˇ, ya; -ı̄ˇ, -āˇ after prepositions) and
in declension (nom. sing. masc. no ending, but fem.
-a). Five cases are distinguished in masculine nouns:
nominative-accusative, vocative (-a), possessive (-ān),
dative (-i), and ablative-locative (-a), but feminine
Chorasmian 385
nouns have only two forms: nominative and locative
(-a) contrasting with the other cases (-iya). The plural
endings are -i or -ina, possessive -in-ān. A final -k
becomes -c before -i. The direct object can be marked
by -dār attached to the dative (presumably < *rād, cf.
Pers. -rā). Examples: ı̄ kām-hi ‘DEF mouth.MASC-he.
i
ENCL.OBL ‘his mouth’; f-ı̄ kāmā-h ‘in DEF mouth’; yā
camā-h ‘DEF eye.FEM-he.ENCL.OBL’; yā cam-yā-hi dār
i
‘DEF eye.FEM-DAT-he.ENCL.OBL’ ¼ ‘his eye’ (DO); ı̄ bandik
‘the servant’, ı̄ bandic-i ‘the servants’, f-ı̄ bandic-ı̄-hi
‘with-DEF servant-PL-he.ENCL.OBL’ ¼ ‘with his ser-
vants’; ı̄ bfin-ēnik ı̄ būm-in-ān ‘DEF create.AGT DEF
earth-PL-POSS’ ¼ ‘the creator of the earths’.
When several enclitic personal and local pronouns are
added to a verb, the order is strict, e.g., gēr-ı̄dā-hı̄-
nā-bir ‘turn-IMPERF.3RD.SING-he.ENCL.OBL-they.ENCL.OBL-
upon’ ¼ ‘he made them go around him’, where -bir
goes not with the preceding -nā-, but with -hı̄-. When
personal and local complements follow the verb, they
must be anticipated as enclitics, e.g., m-uxwās-idā-
nā-wa f-ı̄ razik-a ı̄ cūb ‘IMPERF-let-PAST.3RD.SING-they.
ENCL.OBL-there in-DEF-vinyeard-LOC DEF-water.PL’ ¼ ‘he
let the water into the vinyeard’; hı̄d-idā-hı̄-nā-dā-bir
ı̄ salām ‘read.IMPERF.3RD.SING-it.ENCL.OBL-they.ENCL.OBL-
there-on DEF-greeting.PL’ ¼ ‘he recited the greetings upon
him’.
The verbal system is of the Eastern Middle Iranian
type. There are three stems: present, past, and perfect
(perfect participle ¼ past stem þ suffix -ik, FEM -ica).
There are numerous modal forms (indicative, impera-
tive, subjunctive, optative, injunctive); an imperfect
formed with prefixes (m-ikk- ‘did’) or lengthening of
the vowel of the first syllable (h-ā-bir- ‘gave’), both
reflexes of the Old Iranian augment; a form ending
in -ı̄(n) added to personal endings, the function of
which is not completely clear but which is referred
to as ‘permansive’; a (present) perfect formed with
the perfect participle and the verb dār- (transitive
verbs) or ‘be’ (intransitive verbs), e.g., akt-ik dāriy-ā-
yı̄ ‘do.PERF.PART.MASC have.PRES-1ST.SING-PERMAN SIVE’ ¼ ‘I
may have done’; purāca-ihi [<purād-c-]> purācı̄hi
‘divorce.PERF.PART.FEM-be.PRES.2ND.SING’ ¼ ‘you are
divorced’.
See also: Iranian Languages.
Bibliography
Benzing J (1968). Das Chwaresmische Sprachmaterial einer
Handschrift der »Muqaddimat al-adab« von Zamaxšarı̄
I: Text. Wiesbaden: Steiner.
Benzing J (1983). Chwaresmischer Wortindex. Taraf Z
(ed.). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
386 Chorasmian
Henning W B (1971). A fragment of a Khwarezmian dictio-
nary. In MacKenzie D N (ed.). London: Lund Humphries.
Humbach H (1989). ‘Choresmian.’ In Schmitt R (ed.) Com-
pendium Linguarum Iranicarum. Wiesbaden: Reichert.
193–203.
Christianity and Language in the Middle Ages
N Adkin, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, NE, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Christianity was founded by a carpenter’s son and
spread by fishermen. Since the first Latin versions of
the Bible were produced for very humble folk, their
language was correspondingly humble; it was also
marked by lexical and syntactic Hebraisms and Hel-
lenisms. For educated pagans of late antiquity, the
problem with Christianity was not theological, but
linguistic: the language of its scriptures was simply
considered too crude. While, moreover, the case made
by the ‘Nijmegen School’ for a specifically Christian
sociolect would seem to be untenable, the works of
Christian writers were sufficiently unclassical to
make educated pagans turn up their noses. When
the highly educated Cyprian embraced Christianity,
a pagan dubbed him instead Coprian (‘Mr. Shit’).
The educational system that produced such people
consisted of two parts. Broadly speaking, the role of
the ‘grammaticus’ was to teach correct Latin and to
expound the classics. The ‘rhetor’ then coached the
student in the five parts of rhetoric: invention, dispo-
sition, style, memory, and delivery. Style (elocutio)
comprised figures of language (e.g., adiunctio, anaph-
ora, anastrophe, annominatio, asyndeton) and figures
of thought (e.g., aetiologia, allegoria, aposiopesis,
apostrophe, aversio). The problems posed by such
an educational system for Christians are conveniently
illustrated by the two greatest of the doctors of the
Church: Jerome and Augustine. Jerome had been the
star student of Donatus, the doyen of grammatici.
When as a hermit Jerome preferred the stylistic fi-
nesse of Cicero to the rebarbative language of the
Old Latin Bible, he had a famous dream, in which
he was hauled before God’s throne and told: ‘You are
a Ciceronian, not a Christian’. Augustine had been a
professional rhetor himself. When as a bishop he then
wrote the De doctrina christiana, the only use he
could find for the old educational system was as an
ancillary to the better understanding of the Bible.
MacKenzie D N (1990). The Khwarezmian element in
the Qunyat al-Munya. Amarat H & MacKenzie D N
(trans.). London: School of Oriental and African Studies.
Samadi M (1986). Das Chwarezmische Verbum. Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz.
Both Jerome and Augustine lived to see the fall of
Rome. The barbarization and ruralization resulting
from the influx of hordes of illiterate Germans led
ultimately to the collapse of the old educational sys-
tem. With the end of Roman rule, private and public
libraries began to disappear. The books that survived
usually found refuge in the monasteries, which had
developed in the fifth century, when the appeal of a
life of ascetic withdrawal grew. Such monasteries
were also in a position to provide education.
A similar function could be performed by the schools
that came to be attached to cathedrals. Education
accordingly became the preserve of the Church: a
clerk is now a ‘cleric’.
If Christians like Jerome and Augustine had been
ambivalent in their attitude toward classical educa-
tion, 6th-century monks like Benedict and Gregory
the Great rejected it decisively. Benedict’s Rule makes
his monks copy books, but Benedict himself had run
away from school and composed his Rule in Vulgar
Latin; the books he had in mind were naturally Chris-
tian. The prefatory letter to Gregory’s Moralia in Iob
proclaims its author’s resolute refusal to trammel the
Word of God with the ‘‘rules of Donatus.’’ His friend
Gregory of Tours wrote a particularly solecistic Latin
that showed how far the language had advanced to-
ward Proto-Romance and how close to each other its
written and spoken forms had become.
Throughout the Dark Ages the light of learning still
shone in Ireland, which had received Christianity in
the 5th century. At the same time the Irish also
received Latin, which as the language of the Bible,
the Liturgy, and the Church Fathers was the indis-
pensable concomitant of the new religion. The Irish
also did not share the unease of their continental
coreligionists with the pagan classics, since Ireland
had never known Roman paganism. In addition, be-
cause in Ireland Latin was the preserve of an educated
elite, the language was not exposed to the evolution-
ary tendencies that affected it on the increasingly
Romance-speaking continent. Irish monks were
therefore able to bring Christianity and a fairly clas-
sical form of Latin to their neighbors, the English.
386 Chorasmian
Henning W B (1971). A fragment of a Khwarezmian dictio-
nary. In MacKenzie D N (ed.). London: Lund Humphries.
Humbach H (1989). ‘Choresmian.’ In Schmitt R (ed.) Com-
pendium Linguarum Iranicarum. Wiesbaden: Reichert.
193–203.
Christianity and Language in the Middle Ages
N Adkin, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, NE, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Christianity was founded by a carpenter’s son and
spread by fishermen. Since the first Latin versions of
the Bible were produced for very humble folk, their
language was correspondingly humble; it was also
marked by lexical and syntactic Hebraisms and Hel-
lenisms. For educated pagans of late antiquity, the
problem with Christianity was not theological, but
linguistic: the language of its scriptures was simply
considered too crude. While, moreover, the case made
by the ‘Nijmegen School’ for a specifically Christian
sociolect would seem to be untenable, the works of
Christian writers were sufficiently unclassical to
make educated pagans turn up their noses. When
the highly educated Cyprian embraced Christianity,
a pagan dubbed him instead Coprian (‘Mr. Shit’).
The educational system that produced such people
consisted of two parts. Broadly speaking, the role of
the ‘grammaticus’ was to teach correct Latin and to
expound the classics. The ‘rhetor’ then coached the
student in the five parts of rhetoric: invention, dispo-
sition, style, memory, and delivery. Style (elocutio)
comprised figures of language (e.g., adiunctio, anaph-
ora, anastrophe, annominatio, asyndeton) and figures
of thought (e.g., aetiologia, allegoria, aposiopesis,
apostrophe, aversio). The problems posed by such
an educational system for Christians are conveniently
illustrated by the two greatest of the doctors of the
Church: Jerome and Augustine. Jerome had been the
star student of Donatus, the doyen of grammatici.
When as a hermit Jerome preferred the stylistic fi-
nesse of Cicero to the rebarbative language of the
Old Latin Bible, he had a famous dream, in which
he was hauled before God’s throne and told: ‘You are
a Ciceronian, not a Christian’. Augustine had been a
professional rhetor himself. When as a bishop he then
wrote the De doctrina christiana, the only use he
could find for the old educational system was as an
ancillary to the better understanding of the Bible.
MacKenzie D N (1990). The Khwarezmian element in
the Qunyat al-Munya. Amarat H & MacKenzie D N
(trans.). London: School of Oriental and African Studies.
Samadi M (1986). Das Chwarezmische Verbum. Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz.
Both Jerome and Augustine lived to see the fall of
Rome. The barbarization and ruralization resulting
from the influx of hordes of illiterate Germans led
ultimately to the collapse of the old educational sys-
tem. With the end of Roman rule, private and public
libraries began to disappear. The books that survived
usually found refuge in the monasteries, which had
developed in the fifth century, when the appeal of a
life of ascetic withdrawal grew. Such monasteries
were also in a position to provide education.
A similar function could be performed by the schools
that came to be attached to cathedrals. Education
accordingly became the preserve of the Church: a
clerk is now a ‘cleric’.
If Christians like Jerome and Augustine had been
ambivalent in their attitude toward classical educa-
tion, 6th-century monks like Benedict and Gregory
the Great rejected it decisively. Benedict’s Rule makes
his monks copy books, but Benedict himself had run
away from school and composed his Rule in Vulgar
Latin; the books he had in mind were naturally Chris-
tian. The prefatory letter to Gregory’s Moralia in Iob
proclaims its author’s resolute refusal to trammel the
Word of God with the ‘‘rules of Donatus.’’ His friend
Gregory of Tours wrote a particularly solecistic Latin
that showed how far the language had advanced to-
ward Proto-Romance and how close to each other its
written and spoken forms had become.
Throughout the Dark Ages the light of learning still
shone in Ireland, which had received Christianity in
the 5th century. At the same time the Irish also
received Latin, which as the language of the Bible,
the Liturgy, and the Church Fathers was the indis-
pensable concomitant of the new religion. The Irish
also did not share the unease of their continental
coreligionists with the pagan classics, since Ireland
had never known Roman paganism. In addition, be-
cause in Ireland Latin was the preserve of an educated
elite, the language was not exposed to the evolution-
ary tendencies that affected it on the increasingly
Romance-speaking continent. Irish monks were
therefore able to bring Christianity and a fairly clas-
sical form of Latin to their neighbors, the English.

Accordingly, Alcuin was in turn summoned by Char-
lemagne from the cathedral school in York to his
capital Aachen, where this well-educated Englishman
masterminded the Carolingian renaissance.
This renaissance entailed a revival of classical edu-
cation. As a species of Carolingian ‘minister of cul-
ture’, Alcuin established the trivium of ‘grammar’,
‘rhetoric’, and ‘dialectic’. He thereby bequeathed to
the Middle Ages a tradition of writing correct and
cultivated Latin, which were the objectives of gram-
mar and rhetoric, respectively, while dialectic taught
correct thinking. Texts of the pagan authors became
once again the subject of diligent study instead of
being ignored or destroyed; their dissemination was
also facilitated by the new Carolingian minuscule
(writing style). Donatus was reinstated as the arbiter
of acceptable usage. Zealous attention was now paid
to his two Artes, both of which set out the eight parts
of speech. While the longer treatment dealt with the
vitia et virtutes orationis, the shorter one, with its
congenial question-and-answer layout, became the
favorite grammar for beginners throughout the rest
of the Middle Ages. Henceforth, Latin was treated as
a learned language separate from Romance.
However, some qualifications must be noted to this
rosy picture of linguistic and literary renaissance. The
unclassical features that had marked the style of the
Church Fathers persisted; here particular mention
may be made of the use of quod, quia, and quoniam
rather than the accusative and infinitive, of the use of
the infinitive to express purpose, of a tendency to
employ prepositions indiscriminately, and of a greater
license in the handling of tense and mood. Similar
divergencies from the classical language characterized
Jerome’s massively influential Vulgate version of the
Bible, which by the Carolingian period had generally
replaced the stylistically hair-raising Old Latin trans-
lations that had so repelled him in his youth. The
Bible and writings of the Church Fathers alone
seemed an appropriate object of study to some reli-
gious leaders, who disapproved of the use of pagan
texts; Alcuin himself had felt qualms, although Chris-
tian allegories were always an option. Even when
such reservations were absent, the goal was always a
proper understanding of Holy Writ. Charlemagne’s
own motivation had been largely pragmatic, since
he wished to improve the quality of officials for
Church and State. Moreover, there is evidence that
in the decades following Charlemagne’s death, his
educational reforms were not being systematically
implemented.
Such as it was, this Carolingian renaissance was
effected through the schools that were attached
either to monasteries (e.g., Fulda, St. Gall, Tours) or
to cathedrals (e.g., Metz, Orléans, Reims); such
Christianity and Language in the Middle Ages 387
establishments were the forerunners of the great
monastic and cathedral schools of the High Middle
Ages. Charlemagne’s own biographer Einhard was
himself an alumnus of Fulda; his masterpiece, the
Vita Caroli, illustrates the new enthusiasm for the
classics by its studious imitation of Suetonius’s Vita
Augusti. If in matters of grammar the Carolingian age
preferred to rely on the handily succinct Donatus, he
was eclipsed in the 11th century by Priscian’s much
ampler Institutiones grammaticae, which likewise
deals with the eight parts of speech. For rhetorical
instruction the main textbooks continued to be the
pseudo-Ciceronian Rhetorica ad Herennium and
Cicero’s juvenile De inventione; the latter had
inspired Alcuin’s own De rhetorica et de virtutibus.
Medieval authors produced numerous commentar-
ies on these four key manuals of grammar and rheto-
ric as well as textbooks of their own that derive from
them; here, passages from Christian works could be
used for exemplification in place of pagan ones. Of
the rhetorical handbooks, the Rhetorica ad Heren-
nium in particular sets out its subject with admirable
clarity and comprehensiveness. Its fourth book,
which often circulated separately, is devoted to a
very full treatment of the 64 figures of language and
thought. Lavish use of these figures in Walter of
Châtillon’s 12th-century Alexandreis enabled this
epic to outrank even Virgil’s supposedly incomparable
Aeneid in the favor of the schools.
This same 12th century saw a weakening of the
Church’s role in the teaching of Latin. Here a number
of factors were involved. First, the new orders of
Cistercians and Carthusians admitted only adults, so
they did not maintain schools. Second, this period
was marked by the emergence of so-called private
schools, some of which developed in the following
century into the universities. Last, a large number of
‘grammar schools’ appeared. While the old monastic
schools continued to exist, their importance accord-
ingly declined in the face of this competition from
urban centers. The final point to be made in this
connection is that the role of these monastic schools
in education had for the first time made education
available at a higher level to women, who learned
Latin as nuns.
If the 12th century had managed to equal the auc-
tores, in the 13th the study of them succumbed to
dialectic. Rhetoric itself now tended to be reduced to
the ‘ars dictaminis’, which was principally concerned
with imparting a good prose style for the composition
of letters. Here the Ciceronian arrangement of a
speech into ‘exordium’, ‘divisio’, ‘narratio’, ‘confir-
matio’, ‘refutatio’, and ‘peroratio’ was condensed to
‘salutatio’, ‘narratio’, ‘petitio’, and ‘conclusio’. Care-
ful attention was also given to ‘cursus’, whereby three
388 Christianity and Language in the Middle Ages
principal types of accentual cadence were employed
at the ends of sentences: ‘planus’ (-́ - --́ -), ‘tardus’ (-́ -
--́ --) and ‘velox’ (-́- - ---́-). In connection with such
‘artes dictaminis,’ reference may also be made to the
‘artes poetriae’ and to the specifically Christian ‘artes
praedicandi’. These two kinds of manual-issued
precepts for the writing of poetry and sermons, re-
spectively: while the ‘ars praedicandi’ dealt chiefly
with the division and amplification of a theme, the
‘ars poetriae’ laid particular stress on the figures of
language and thought expounded in the fourth book
of the Rhetorica ad Herennium.
In the sphere of grammar this period saw the rise
of the Modistae, whose ‘grammatica speculativa’ set
about applying to Priscian the new methods of scho-
lastic logic; it now went beyond his morphology to
embrace syntactic analysis. Grammar accordingly
came to be perceived as possessing a universal char-
acter that transcended individual languages: the
grammatical ‘modi significandi’ reflected the mind’s
‘modi intellegendi’, which in turn reflected the ‘modi
essendi’ of reality itself. While moreover Priscian’s
examples had been taken from the soigné language
of the classics, the scholastically minded Modistae
devised their own, which in comparison were often
bizarrely utilitarian.
A word should also be said about the effect of
scholasticism on the Latin language itself. While Me-
dieval Latin as a whole had always been prone to
admit neologisms, this tendency was particularly
characteristic of scholastic Latin. Here, particular
importance was attached to the use of suffixes (e.g.,
certitudinaliter) and to the substantivization of adjec-
tives (e.g., haecceitas), participles (e.g., ens rationis)
and infinitives (e.g., pro posse). The result was a Latin
that was precise but unclassically inelegant. Classical
elegance returned with the Renaissance humanists,
whose obsession with it killed Latin as a general
means of communication; even the grammars of
Donatus and Priscian were rejected in favor of ob-
serving the usage of classical authors themselves.
Such aspirations to linguistic classicism could more-
over entail an intermittent neo-paganism that tended
to disown Christianity itself.
A brief mention must also be made of languages
other than Latin. Educated Romans of the classical
period had been bilingual, since they were equally
proficient in Latin and Greek. By late antiquity, how-
ever, knowledge of Greek in the West was on the
wane. During the Middle Ages, Greek was largely
unknown, even though it was the language of both
the New Testament and of Aristotle, who exercised a
vast influence on scholasticism. Likewise, Hebrew,
the language of the Hebrew Bible, was hardly
known. In both cases the Middle Ages relied instead
on Latin translations. The vernaculars also were
largely unimportant until the late Middle Ages, since
they lacked the prestige of Latin, which was felt to
be the language of theology, the most important of the
sciences.
See also: Latin.
Bibliography
Bardy G (1953). ‘Les origines des écoles monastiques en
Occident.’ Sacris Erudiri 5, 86–104.
Browning R (2000). ‘Education in the Roman Empire’ In
Cameron A, Ward-Perkins B & Whitby M (eds.) Cam-
bridge ancient history 14: Late antiquity: empire and
successors, A.D. 425–600. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press. 855–883.
Butzer P L, Kerner M & Oberschelp W (eds.) (1997).
Charlemagne and his heritage: 1200 years of civilization
and science in Europe (Karl der Große und sein Nach-
wirken: 1200 Jahre Kultur und Wissenschaft in Europa)
1: Wissen und Weltbild. Turnhout: Brepols.
Camargo M (1991). Ars dictaminis, ars dictandi. Turnhout:
Brepols.
Dell’Omo M (ed.) (1996). Virgilio e il chiostro: manoscritti
di autori classici e civiltà monastica. Rome: Fratelli
Palombi.
Diem A (1998). ‘The emergence of monastic schools: the
role of Alcuin.’ In Houwen L A J R & MacDonald A A
(eds.) Alcuin of York: scholar at the Carolingian court.
Groningen: E. Forsten. 27–44.
Fried J (ed.) (1986). Schulen und Studium im sozialen Wan-
del des hohen und späten Mittelalters. Sigmaringen:
J. Thorbecke.
Hagendahl H (1958). Latin Fathers and the classics: a study
on the Apologists, Jerome and other Christian writers.
Göteborg: Almqvist & Wiksell.
Holtz L (1981). Donat et la tradition de l’enseignement
grammatical: étude sur l’Ars Donati et sa diffusion (IVe-
IXe siècle) et édition critique. Paris: Centre national de la
recherche scientifique.
Hunt R W (1980). The history of grammar in the Middle
Ages: collected papers. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
Iglesia Duarte J I de la (ed.) (2000). La enseñanza en la
Edad Media. Logroño: Instituto de Estudios Riojanos.
Kaster R (1988). Guardians of language: the grammarian
and society in late antiquity. Berkeley: University of Cali-
fornia Press.
Kelly D (1991). The arts of poetry and prose. Turnhout:
Brepols.
Law V (1997). Grammar and grammarians in the early
Middle Ages. London: Longman.
Le Duc G (1994). ‘The contribution to the making of Euro-
pean culture of Irish monks and scholars in medieval
times.’ In Mackey J P (ed.) The cultures of Europe: the
Irish contribution. Belfast: Institute of Irish Studies,
Queen’s University of Belfast. 21–37.
Lindgren U (1992). Die Artes liberales in Antike und
Mittelalter: bildungs- und wissenschaftsgeschichtliche

Entwicklungslinien. Munich: Institut für Geschichte der
Naturwissenschaften.
Mantello F A C & Rigg A G (eds.) (1996). Medieval Latin:
an introduction and bibliographical guide. Washington,
D. C.: Catholic University of America Press.
Mohrmann C (1961–1977). Etudes sur le latin des chré-
tiens. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura.
Murphy J J (1974). Rhetoric in the Middle Ages: a history of
rhetorical theory from Saint Augustine to the Renais-
sance. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Murphy J J (1989). Medieval rhetoric: a select bibliography.
(2nd edn.). Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Paetow L J (1910). The arts course at medieval universities
with special reference to grammar and rhetoric. Urbana-
Champaign: University Press.
Paré G M, Brunet A M & Tremblay P (1933). La Renais-
sance du XIIe siècle: les écoles et l’enseignement. Paris:
Vrin.
Pérez Rodrı́guez E (2001). ‘La cristianización de la gramá-
tica latina (ss. V–IX).’ In Alberte González A & Macı́as
Villalobos C (eds.) Actas del congreso internacional
Christianity in Africa
A Hastings
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 542–544, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
The involvement of the Christian churches in issues of
language has been central both to the modern linguis-
tic history of sub-Saharan Africa and to the life of the
churches themselves. Apart from Swahili in the east
and Fulfulde and two or three others in the more
Islamized west, none of the languages of sub-Saharan
Africa had been given a written form prior to the
coming of missionaries.
Early Missionary Translation Work
The earliest extant Bantu text is a lengthy catechism in
Portuguese and Kongo produced by the Jesuit Mattheus
Cardoso and printed in Lisbon in 1624. This, a subse-
quent Kongo dictionary by a Capuchin, Georges de
Geel, and a grammar produced by another Capuchin,
Giacinto Brugiotti da Vetralla in 1659, are immensely
valuable for Bantu linguistic history. The last includes
the Bantu noun-class and concord system. Unfortunate-
ly, the Catholic missionaries of that era produced little
work in any other language. It was the 19th-century
Protestant missionaries, with their far higher conviction
of the necessity of Bible translation, who produced a
Christianity in Africa 389
‘‘Cristianismo y tradición latina’’. Madrid: Laberinto.
49–74.
Reynolds S (1996). Medieval reading: grammar, rhetoric
and the classical text. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Riché P (1979). Les écoles et l’enseignement dans l’Occi-
dent chrétien de la fin du Ve siècle au milieu du XIe siècle.
Paris: Aubier Montaigne.
Riché P (1995). Education et culture dans l’Occident
barbare, VIe-VIIIe siècles (4th edn.). Paris: Editions du
Seuil.
Rosier-Catach I (1983). La grammaire spéculative des mod-
istes. Lille: Presses universitaires de Lille.
Scaglione A (1990). ‘The classics in medieval education.’ In
Bernardo A S & Levin S (eds.) The classics in the Middle
Ages. Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early
Renaissance Studies. 343–362.
Verger J (1996). La renaissance du XIIe siècle. Paris: Edi-
tions du Cerf.
Verger J (1999). Les universités au moyen âge. Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France.
mass of linguistic work – dictionaries, grammars, and
biblical texts for scores of languages in every part of
Africa. The pioneering work of Krapf in the east, van
der Kemp, Moffat, Appleyard, and Colenso in the south,
and Raban, Schön, and Crowther in the west – to name
but a few from the early and middle years of the 19th
century – stands for a vastly larger undertaking that has
as yet received no adequate historical survey. In almost
every African language with a written literature, mis-
sionaries have been responsible for the basic work and
indeed for most subsequent published literature as well,
except in a handful of the larger languages. The vast
multiplicity of African languages and the policy of most
colonial and postcolonial governments to use English,
French, or Portuguese for educational purposes mean
that (apart from some score of languages, such as Yoru-
ba, Swahili, Shona, and Ganda) there is still little, if
anything, of any extent published in most languages
except for church purposes.
Missionary Imposition of a Dialect as a
Language
Missionaries could not, of course, have done this work
without African collaborators who had themselves
first learned English. Inevitably the precise language
canonized by missionaries, in the first dictionaries and
New Testaments, was the dialect used by their assis-
tants. As all languages inevitably varied geographically,
so that it is indeed open to argument how far any

Entwicklungslinien. Munich: Institut für Geschichte der
Naturwissenschaften.
Mantello F A C & Rigg A G (eds.) (1996). Medieval Latin:
an introduction and bibliographical guide. Washington,
D. C.: Catholic University of America Press.
Mohrmann C (1961–1977). Etudes sur le latin des chré-
tiens. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura.
Murphy J J (1974). Rhetoric in the Middle Ages: a history of
rhetorical theory from Saint Augustine to the Renais-
sance. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Murphy J J (1989). Medieval rhetoric: a select bibliography.
(2nd edn.). Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Paetow L J (1910). The arts course at medieval universities
with special reference to grammar and rhetoric. Urbana-
Champaign: University Press.
Paré G M, Brunet A M & Tremblay P (1933). La Renais-
sance du XIIe siècle: les écoles et l’enseignement. Paris:
Vrin.
Pérez Rodrı́guez E (2001). ‘La cristianización de la gramá-
tica latina (ss. V–IX).’ In Alberte González A & Macı́as
Villalobos C (eds.) Actas del congreso internacional
Christianity in Africa
A Hastings
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 542–544, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
The involvement of the Christian churches in issues of
language has been central both to the modern linguis-
tic history of sub-Saharan Africa and to the life of the
churches themselves. Apart from Swahili in the east
and Fulfulde and two or three others in the more
Islamized west, none of the languages of sub-Saharan
Africa had been given a written form prior to the
coming of missionaries.
Early Missionary Translation Work
The earliest extant Bantu text is a lengthy catechism in
Portuguese and Kongo produced by the Jesuit Mattheus
Cardoso and printed in Lisbon in 1624. This, a subse-
quent Kongo dictionary by a Capuchin, Georges de
Geel, and a grammar produced by another Capuchin,
Giacinto Brugiotti da Vetralla in 1659, are immensely
valuable for Bantu linguistic history. The last includes
the Bantu noun-class and concord system. Unfortunate-
ly, the Catholic missionaries of that era produced little
work in any other language. It was the 19th-century
Protestant missionaries, with their far higher conviction
of the necessity of Bible translation, who produced a
Christianity in Africa 389
‘‘Cristianismo y tradición latina’’. Madrid: Laberinto.
49–74.
Reynolds S (1996). Medieval reading: grammar, rhetoric
and the classical text. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Riché P (1979). Les écoles et l’enseignement dans l’Occi-
dent chrétien de la fin du Ve siècle au milieu du XIe siècle.
Paris: Aubier Montaigne.
Riché P (1995). Education et culture dans l’Occident
barbare, VIe-VIIIe siècles (4th edn.). Paris: Editions du
Seuil.
Rosier-Catach I (1983). La grammaire spéculative des mod-
istes. Lille: Presses universitaires de Lille.
Scaglione A (1990). ‘The classics in medieval education.’ In
Bernardo A S & Levin S (eds.) The classics in the Middle
Ages. Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early
Renaissance Studies. 343–362.
Verger J (1996). La renaissance du XIIe siècle. Paris: Edi-
tions du Cerf.
Verger J (1999). Les universités au moyen âge. Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France.
mass of linguistic work – dictionaries, grammars, and
biblical texts for scores of languages in every part of
Africa. The pioneering work of Krapf in the east, van
der Kemp, Moffat, Appleyard, and Colenso in the south,
and Raban, Schön, and Crowther in the west – to name
but a few from the early and middle years of the 19th
century – stands for a vastly larger undertaking that has
as yet received no adequate historical survey. In almost
every African language with a written literature, mis-
sionaries have been responsible for the basic work and
indeed for most subsequent published literature as well,
except in a handful of the larger languages. The vast
multiplicity of African languages and the policy of most
colonial and postcolonial governments to use English,
French, or Portuguese for educational purposes mean
that (apart from some score of languages, such as Yoru-
ba, Swahili, Shona, and Ganda) there is still little, if
anything, of any extent published in most languages
except for church purposes.
Missionary Imposition of a Dialect as a
Language
Missionaries could not, of course, have done this work
without African collaborators who had themselves
first learned English. Inevitably the precise language
canonized by missionaries, in the first dictionaries and
New Testaments, was the dialect used by their assis-
tants. As all languages inevitably varied geographically,
so that it is indeed open to argument how far any
390 Christianity in Africa
specific language actually existed prior to its precise,
missionary-constructed form, the language of mission-
ary literature represents in every case the particular
local form in which the missionary’s assistants were at
home. Once a language was printed, it was, however,
essential that it be used across a wider area in which
people were much less at home with it. The missionary
approach had mistakenly assumed a degree of linguis-
tic uniformity that in fact it had rather to impose. This
produced inevitable tensions and at times rebellions.
Moreover, other missionaries working in the same
general language area but some distance away inevita-
bly absorbed different dialectical forms. Missionaries
certainly revised their translations as their language
knowledge improved, but Africans had also to some
extent to relearn their languages when they studied the
Scriptures or other works in mission schools. Moreover,
tensions between different forms of a language as fixed
by a range of different missionary translations (so that,
for instance, Protestant and Catholic Baganda could
divide linguistically as well as theologically) continued
for decades, at least until the 1930s, or later, when
colonial governments insisted on standardized forms
for state-assisted schools. Even then, imposed unifor-
mity, such as ‘Union Igbo,’ was not easily accepted.
The missionary preoccupation with the verna-
cular written word was quickly taken over by leading
African Christians. The Reverend John Raban’s initial
work on Yoruba was continued by the Yoruba school
teacher, and later bishop, Samuel Ajayi Crowther,
who made a major linguistic contribution in his rec-
ognition of the essential role of tone in Yoruba, Nupe,
and other Nigerian languages. In southern Africa,
the Presbyterian minister Tiyo Soga, the translator
of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s progress into Xhosa, died
in 1871 while at work on the Acts of the Apostles.
While some missionaries and African Christians, such
as Schön and Crowther, were undoubtedly outstand-
ing precisely as students of language, their primary
preoccupation – to translate as quickly as possible as
much biblical and Christian literature as they could –
often, it must be said, weakened their achievement
precisely as linguists.
The Name of God
For missionaries, the great question was a practical
and pedagogical one: how far could they find suitable
words already in existence for the special things they
wished to teach about, how far had they instead to
invent words in which to do so? In the latter case,
how were they to arrive at the words they needed? It
is striking that in the large majority of African lan-
guages, missionaries were content to use an existing
vernacular name for the all-important name of God.
In some places, at least at first, they felt unable to do
this and imported foreign names like Dio or Godi. But
these were exceptional and mostly short-lived. For
the greater part, the missionaries became convinced
that Africans had already sufficient belief in a single
almighty spirit for it to be possible to adopt an Afri-
can name for such a spirit to use for the biblical and
Christian Yahweh, the Father of Jesus. Thus, in East
Africa, Mungu, Mulungu, or Ruhanga; in central
Africa Lesa or Nzambi; in southern Africa Molimo
all came – among many other names – to be used. In
Zimbabwe, there were long hesitations among some
over the use of Mwari – in this case because of its
localized cult. It is noticeable that in many cases these
names had already obtained a considerable degree of
intertribal currency, in some cases overshadowing more
local names. It seems clear that missionaries preferred
words with the wider usage.
Other Key Christian Terms
This seems true for a wide range of religious terms. As
missionaries advanced from one people to another,
they inevitably carried words, especially key words,
across intertribal boundaries. They did this particu-
larly in eastern Africa in the early years with regard to
Swahili. While Swahili is basically a Bantu language,
it has incorporated a very large number of Arabic
words, including especially religious words. Despite
their Muslim origin, these seemed, with their theistic
character and biblical links, ideal for missionary use.
Hence words like eddini, essala, injili, kanisa (‘reli-
gion,’ ‘prayer,’ ‘gospel,’ ‘church’) were imported into
many other inland Bantu languages from Swahili.
They seemed to fill a gap while avoiding the importa-
tion of purely European words to which many mis-
sionaries were driven in other circumstances, when
no suitable vernacular word was discovered for some
major Christian concept. However, a later generation
of missionaries found this dependence upon Swahili
regrettable, perhaps because of its apparent Muslim
connotations, and in several languages such words
were systematically eliminated if alternatives could
be found.
‘Gospel’ and ‘baptize’ are typical cases. The root
meaning of the one is ‘good news,’ of the other ‘wash’
or ‘sprinkle,’ but each has turned in Christian usage
almost into a proper name. Many early missionaries
(Catholics especially) were unwilling simply to find a
vernacular phrase meaning ‘good news’ or ‘wash’ and
render the words in this way. Hence, vernacular
Christian doctrinal texts could be peppered with
strange-sounding terms, transliterations of Greek,
Latin, or English. The tendency now is to eliminate
these in favor of genuinely local words.

Muzimu and Nganga
In other cases, traditional words with a religious
connotation were available but were avoided just
because it seemed the wrong connotation. Words for
‘spirit’ are probably the clearest case. Missionaries
were most anxious not to let the ‘Holy Spirit’ become
identified with, or understood in terms of, the ‘spirits’
of traditional religion, especially spirits of the dead,
which frequently possessed the living. Hence, nearly
everywhere the typical Bantu spirit word muzimu was
rejected. Again, the almost universally used term
throughout Bantu Africa for a priest, diviner, or me-
dium, nganga, was regarded as unusable for a
Christian minister in the 19th century and since. The
nganga became, instead, the stereotype of the pagan
‘witch doctor’ against whose influence Christianity
was battling. This is interesting because missionaries
in the 16th and 17th centuries willingly described
themselves as ‘nganga.’ These are two cases in which
the linguistic challenge of assimilation still remains to
be met.
The Fluidity of Word Meanings
What seems clear is that language usage in nonliterate
societies is far more fluid than might be imagined. It is
less a matter of finding the right word than of making
it right by regular usage. Existing words had the
flexibility of all language, and anyway missionaries
could not know how reliable were their informants.
Words (and not only the name of God) moved easily
across language groups in precolonial Africa. Mis-
sionary importations and adaptations were nothing
new. Once a word was adopted, used in a certain way
in scriptures, hymns, and sermons, it easily acquired
the meaning now given it, whether it had it before or
not. Within a generation or so, non-Christians, too,
could be using it the missionary way. Thus, for in-
stance, even where missionaries mistakenly adopted
for ‘God’ a local name that had really belonged to a
culture hero of quite limited importance (e.g., the
Nyakyusa Kyali), the new missionary content for
the word quickly became a normative one, recognized
by all but the antiquarian.
The Lasting Language Impact of
Missionary Translations
In the scores of African languages that have possessed
a Bible, a hymn book, a catechism, for 50 to 100
years, but still very little more in the way of written
literature, these books, with their specific vocabulary
and the meanings of the words that the content of the
Christianity in Africa 391
Bible and Christian tradition impose upon them, may
now be near the heart of living language usage. Rath-
er little in that vocabulary was formally imported, but
the conversion of traditional words to new meanings
has effectively taken place. Nevertheless, the new
meanings have not simply obliterated old meanings.
African religion in most places is now an integrated
mix of the traditional with the Christian (or the Is-
lamic). That mix is one of concept, of ritual, and also,
inevitably, of linguistic meaning. Moreover, the pro-
cess described in this article has not proceeded every-
where at the same rate or gone so far. In some
languages it began considerably later than in others.
In many smaller languages, little of scripture has even
now been printed. Much has depended, too, on
how linguistically skilled early missionaries were. In
some places they did indeed master the language,
translate intelligibly, preach eloquently, and in a
way impose their meanings upon it. In others, mis-
sionaries were unable to do this. Their linguistic abil-
ity was simply inadequate. They preached through
poorly trained interpreters and remained so marginal
to the vernacular culture that what translations they
produced had little impact upon its world of meaning.
The very fact that schooling was in English or French
might have actually protected vernacular meanings
from the impact of Western Christian verbal imperi-
alism. Nevertheless, in most rural areas where Chris-
tian churches have been actively at work and (as in
the case of most countries of Africa south of the
Equator) now have a majority of the population
considering itself Christian, biblical literature and a
Christian interpretation of religious words may be
almost as central to vernacular culture as was the
King James version and its vocabulary specific to the
culture of preindustrial Britain.
Bibliography
Bontinck F & Ndembe Nsasi D (1978). Le catéchisme
Kikongo de 1624. Réédition critique. Brussels.
Doke C M (1967). The southern Bantu languages. London:
International African Institute.
Fabian J (1986). Language and colonial power: the appro-
priation of Swahili in the former Belgian Congo,
1880–1938. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hair P E H (1967). The early study of Nigerian languages.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hastings A (1989). ‘The choice of words for Christian
meanings in eastern Africa.’ In African Catholicism.
London: SCM Press.
Samarin W (1986). ‘Protestant missions and the history of
Lingala.’ Journal of Religion in Africa 16(2), 138–163.
392 Christianity in Central Asia and the Near East
Christianity in Central Asia and the Near East
E Hunter, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
During the 2nd century A.D., the kingdom of
Osrohoene, with its capital city Edessa (Urfa in
Turkey), emerged as a major center of Syriac
Christianity, which quickly spread throughout the
Syrian territories of the east Roman Empire and pene-
trated Mesopotamia. When the Sassanians conquered
the Parthians in 225 A.D., the incoming Zoroastrian
king Ardashir found substantial Christian commu-
nities in his territories, stretching from the northern
regions of Mesopotamia to Mesene (Basra) in south-
ern Iraq. Syriac Christianity also expanded along the
coastline of the Arabian Gulf and was transmitted to
India, as well as establishing itself in Iran and Central
Asia.
The Christian population of the Sassanid Empire
were supplemented by deportees from Byzantium
following the incursions of Shapur I into Syria in
256 A.D. and 260 A.D. This pattern was repeated
throughout the centuries of Sassanid rule. It culmi-
nated with the influx of thousands of Monophysite
captives following the defeat of Antioch by Chosroes
II, whose campaigns ventured deep within the
Byzantine empire, taking Jerusalem in 612 A.D.
Some of the deportees were settled in Herat in north-
ern Afghanistan, where Syrian Orthodox bishops still
resided as late as the 9th century. In Mesopotamia,
where the Sassanian royal house and the nobility were
Zoroastrian, the burgeoning Christian communities
lived alongside Jews, Manichaeans, and Mandaeans.
The Council of Nicaea was convened in 325 A.D. by
Emperor Constantine (324–337 A.D.) to discuss the
Arian interpretation of the Trinity, resulting in the
Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381 A.D. that
was adopted universally by Christian communities in
both the Byzantine and Sassanid territories. This unity
was shattered at the Council of Ephesus in 431 A.D.
when Nestorius, bishop of Constantinople, was
excommunicated because of his Diophysite theology.
The Church of the East, which followed the teachings
of Nestorius, separated from Christianity in the Byzan-
tine territories. In reality, in 424 A.D. the Synod of
Dādı̄šō, held at the religious centre of Hira in southwest
Iraq, had declared the Christian communities east of
the Euphrates autocephalous of the five pentarchies of
Alexandria, Antioch, Constantinople, Jerusalem, and
Rome, effectively severing relations with the West.
By the 5th century, the Church of the East had
consolidated itself in eastern Iran and Turkestan,
although Syrian Orthodox, Armenian, and Byzantine
(principally Melkite) missionaries were also active.
The Synodicon Orientale, a listing of the synods
held by the Church of the East between 410 A.D. and
790 A.D., recorded that bishops of Nišapur, Marv, and
Herat were represented at the Synod of Dādı̄šō in 424
A.D. The Syriac History of Mar Aba recounts the
consecration of a Hephthalite bishop in 549 A.D.,
when a delegation traveled to Seleucia- Ctesiphon to
present their candidate and rendered obeisance both
to the Sassanid monarch and the Patriarch. The
Hephthalite see may have been the bishopric of Bad-
ghis-Qadistan, near Herat. Herat was elevated to a
metropolitanate of the Church of the East at the 585
A.D. Synod of Išo’yāb, but, as mentioned, there was
also a Syrian Orthodox presence.
Marv, the administrative seat of the Sassanid
province of Margiana, was strategically located on
the Silk Route to be the starting point for missions
in Central Asia among the Turkic nomadic tribes that
were progressively moving westward and had infil-
trated the regions around the Syr and Amu Darya
rivers. Reflecting this role, the Synod of Mar Aba in
544 A.D. ranked Marv as the seventh metropolitanate,
after Beth Lapat, Nisibis, Perath dhe Maysan (Basra),
Arbel (Erbil), Karkha de Beth Selokh (Kirkuk), and
Rew Ardashir, all of which were located in Mesopo-
tamia or the nearby Iranian territories. The mission-
ary activities of the metropolitans of Marv are
recorded in several Syriac sources. The anonymous
6th-century Chronica Minora narrates that the met-
ropolitan converted a Turkic kinglet by a quasi-sha-
manic ceremony, making the sign of the cross to still a
storm that had been conjured by pagan priests.
Samarkand was also a base for proselytism among
both the Sogdian-speaking Iranian communities
settled in east Turkestan and the westward-moving
nomadic groups whose Turkic languages became the
lingua franca. Syriac sources do not comment directly
on Samarkand’s role in missionary enterprises, but
there are three Nestorian crosses and inscriptions
engraved on a rock on the main route from Bactria
to Lhasa. A single Sogdian word may be interpreted
as ‘Jesus’, while a longer inscription, also written in
Sogdian, reads ‘‘in the year 210 . . . came Nôš-farn
from Samarkand as emissary to the Khan of Tibet’’
(Gillman and Klimkeit, 1999: 108). The metropolitan
of Samarkand may have helped consolidate the
Church of the East in Tibet where, in the late 8th
century, Patriarch Timothy I made reference to the
consecration of a metropolitan of the bēt tûptāyê’,
possibly the Tibetans.

The metropolitanate of Kashgar probably emerged
during the dynamic incumbency of Patriarch Timothy
I (787/8–823 A.D.). An important trade station,
Kashgar was located where the Silk Route to China
bifurcated. Its jurisdiction extended over the bishop-
rics of Yarkand, Urumtsi, and various sites on the rim
of the inhospitable Tarim basin, including Khotan.
On the northern side, the Turfan oasis was dotted
with Christian sites. The most renowned was Buläyiq,
where a monastery of the Church of the East and its
library of Syriac, Sogdian, and Christian Turkic
manuscripts was discovered by the 1905 expedition
of Albert von le Coq. Kashgar was still a metropoli-
tanate in the 12th century A.D., while a century later
Marco Polo noted that near the city were ‘‘some
Turks who are Nestorian Christians.’’ The metropo-
litanate was well located for ministering conversions
among the eastern Turco-Mongol Naiman, Merkit,
Ongut, and Kerait tribes.
The precise details of the conversions of these tribes
are not known, but the influence of Christianity prob-
ably was felt during the 9th century when the dioceses
of the Church of the East stretched to Chang’an in
western China. Gregory Bar Hebræus, writing during
the Mongol Il-Khanate, narrated the conversion of the
Kerait in 1007 A.D. in his two Syriac historiographies,
Chronicon ecclesiasticum and Chronicon Syriacum,
but the term ‘Kerait’ may have been inserted. Thomas
of Marga’s Historia monastica (Book of the gover-
nors), written c. 840 A.D., narrates the preparation
undertaken by missionaries, which included instruc-
tion in Syriac, the liturgical language of the Church of
the East, as well as vernacular languages. Mission-
aries built churches, baptized, and organized dio-
ceses, selecting the lower ranks of the clergy, priests
and deacons, from the indigenous population.
Bishops and metropolitans were drawn from Meso-
potamian clergy, thus maintaining a direct link with
Seleucia-Ctesiphon and later Baghdad.
During the Abbassid period (850–1256 A.D.),
Christians assumed a prominent profile as physicians
to the caliphs and the transmitters of Greek scientific
and medical works. One of the principals of the
House of Knowledge, an institution of higher
learning in Baghdad founded by Caliph Mamun
(d. 833), was the ‘Nestorian’ Hunain ibn Ishaq
(d. 873), who translated over 100 books from Greek
into Syriac and Arabic, including Aristotle’s Orga-
num, Analyticon, and Hermaneutics. Despite the in-
creasingly Islamic tenor of the law and bureaucracy,
financial exactions, and forced conversion of some
Christian Arab tribes, Patriarch Timothy I was able
to win the respect of Caliph al-Mahdi (775–785 A.D.)
by emphasizing the traditional enmity between the
Church of the East and the Orthodox church of
Christianity in Central Asia and the Near East 393
Byzantium. A staunch defender of the faith, Timothy
also debated with the caliph on the respective claims
of Christianity and Islam but sought to stress the
common monotheism of Muslims and Christians.
The Church of the East reached its zenith during
the incumbency of Timothy I. Its dioceses encom-
passed Arabia, where a bishop was ordained for
the communities in Sanaa (Yemen); India, where the
church was elevated to a metropolitanate; Tibet; Cen-
tral Asia; and China. Details are found in Timothy’s
extant correspondence. Writing to the monks of Mar
Maron, he revealed the conversion of ‘‘the King of the
Turks with all his people.’’ In a letter sent to the
Metropolitan of Elam, Timothy announced: ‘‘in
these days the Spirit anointed a metropolitan for the
bēt .tûrkāyê.’’ This event was also chronicled in Arabic
during the 12th century by the Christian historian
Mari ibn Suleiman in Kitab’ul mijdal: ‘‘Henceforth,
Timothy led into faith the Khaqan, the king of the
Turks and other nations.’’ The metropolitanate was
probably located near the Syr Darya river in western
Turkestan, where the Oghuz settled around 600 A.D.
During the incumbency of Timothy I, the T’ang
dynasty in China accepted the Church of the East as
a ‘Persian religion,’ together with Manichaeism and
Buddhism.
The legacy of the Church of the East’s missions
in Central Asia came to fruition in 1258 A.D. when
Hulagu Khan sacked Baghdad. Several Christian
Kerait princesses, including Sorghotani, the mother
and wife of Hulugu Khan, were in the royal Mongol
household. Gregory Bar Hebræus’s Chronography
notes that in 1279 A.D. the mother of the third
Il-Khan, Tegudar Ahmad (1282–1284 A.D.), revived
the Christian procession of the Epiphany, which had
ceased due to conflicts between the Christians and
Muslims. The Il-Khans were disposed to Christianity
and considered an alliance with Western Europe
against the Muslims, sending the Uighur monk
Rabban Sauma to Europe as an ambassador. There
he met Philip, king of France, and Edward I of Eng-
land, as well as Pope Nicholas IV. In 1281 A.D. an
Ongut monk, enthroned as Mar Yabhallaha III,
became Patriarch of the Church of the East. Ten
years later, the Il-Khans embraced Islam and the tide
turned against the Christian communities in their
domains. The Mongolian script, a derivative of
Syriac, is a lasting legacy of the Christian influence.
The Fransciscan friars John de Plan Carpin and
William of Rubruck, who visited in the 13th century,
provide information about the ‘Nestorians’ at the
Mongol court in Karakorum. These medieval Latin
commentaries are the last eyewitness accounts of the
Mongol Christians of Central Asia. At Tokmek
and Pishpek, in the region of Semireche’e, between
394 Christianity in Central Asia and the Near East
Lake Balkash and Issy-kol (Kirghizia), cemeteries
with hundreds of Old Turkic headstones written in
the Syriac script indicate the presence of sizeable
Christian Turkic communities between the 9th and
14th centuries. Faced with the ravages of Timur Lang,
the Christian communities of Central Asia disap-
peared, and Mesopotamian Christians were forced
northward into the Hakkari region of Kurdistan.
The Church of the East existed there as an enclave
until the end of the Ottoman Empire. The Syrian
Orthodox community also survived in pockets
around Tekrit in Iraq, in northeast Syria, and in the
Tur ‘Abdin region of southeast Turkey.
Under Ottoman jurisdiction, the Syriac commu-
nities were governed under the ‘Millet i-Rum’ being
granted a degree of semi-independence in return for
allegiance to the sultan and payment of taxes. The
activities of Roman Catholic missionaries during the
17th and 18th centuries led to the creation of Uniate
churches, which seceded from the Church of the East
and the Syrian Orthodox. At first the links between
the ancient Syriac churches and Rome were tenuous,
with many schisms and counterclaims, but the Chal-
daeans and the Syrian Catholics were permitted to
retain their liturgy and the use of Syriac. An influx of
Protestant missionaries arrived in the early 19th
century, following the discovery of the ancient Chris-
tian communities. The American Presbyterian Mis-
sion established its base of Urmia (in Azerbaijan,
Iran) in 1830, building schools, hospitals, and welfare
Christianity In Latin America
J L Klaiber, Pontifical Catholic University of Peru,
Lima, Peru
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
With the Spanish conquest and the Portuguese settle-
ment of Brazil, Spanish and Portuguese became
the principal languages of those two New World
empires: Portuguese in Brazil, and Spanish in the
rest of South America, Mexico, and large areas of
southwestern United States. But European mission-
aries who followed the conquest used the Native
American languages as their main instrument for
evangelization. Thanks largely to their efforts, the
myriad Indian languages of Latin America were pre-
served throughout colonial times, and some of them,
such as Quechua, Aymara, and Guaranı́, continue to
be spoken today by millions of Latin Americans. The
religious also transformed the oral traditions of the
centers and establishing the first printing press. The
Anglican mission to the Church of the East was led by
the Rev. George Percy Badger, who was the represen-
tative of the Archbishop of Canterbury. On his two
journeys in 1842–1844 and 1850 to the homeland of
the Church of the East in Kurdistan, Badger also met
Syrian Orthodox communities at Aleppo, Urfa,
Diyarbekir, Mardin, and Mosul.
The Uniate churches are now dominant in the Near
East, with congregations in Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan,
and Istanbul. The Chaldaeans are the largest denomi-
nation in Iraq, but the ancient churches also survive.
Both the Church of the East, otherwise known as
Assyrian, and Syrian Orthodox communities are still
found in Syria, Iran, and Iraq, with sizeable diaspora
communities in Europe, the United States, and
Australia.
See also: Arabic; Aramaic and Syriac; Armenian; Greek,
Ancient; Islam and Arabic; Mongolic Languages; Syriac;
Turkic Languages; Turkish; Uyghur.
Bibliography
Gillman I & Klimkeit H-J (1999). Christians in Asia before
1500. London: Curzon.
Moffett S (1998). A history of Christianity in Asia. Vol I:
beginnings to 1500 (2nd rev. edn.). Maryknoll, NY:
Orbis.
pre-Columbian peoples into written literature in
Spanish and Portuguese, as well as the native languages.
Spain and Portugal established Catholic Chris-
tianity as the official religion of all Latin America.
Under the concept of royal patronage, a special
concession made by different popes, the Spanish
and Portuguese monarchs enjoyed the right to estab-
lish the church, name bishops, collect tithes, and
authorize missionaries to go to the New World.
The initial evangelization of Spanish and Portuguese
America was carried out by missionaries belong-
ing to religious orders: Franciscans, Dominicans,
Augustinians, and later on, the Jesuits. The secular
or diocesan clergy followed later in order to serve the
pastoral needs of the white settlers, although many of
them also did mission work among the Indians and
black slaves.
The first phase of evangelization, which corre-
sponded to the conquest of the Caribbean and the
394 Christianity in Central Asia and the Near East
Lake Balkash and Issy-kol (Kirghizia), cemeteries
with hundreds of Old Turkic headstones written in
the Syriac script indicate the presence of sizeable
Christian Turkic communities between the 9th and
14th centuries. Faced with the ravages of Timur Lang,
the Christian communities of Central Asia disap-
peared, and Mesopotamian Christians were forced
northward into the Hakkari region of Kurdistan.
The Church of the East existed there as an enclave
until the end of the Ottoman Empire. The Syrian
Orthodox community also survived in pockets
around Tekrit in Iraq, in northeast Syria, and in the
Tur ‘Abdin region of southeast Turkey.
Under Ottoman jurisdiction, the Syriac commu-
nities were governed under the ‘Millet i-Rum’ being
granted a degree of semi-independence in return for
allegiance to the sultan and payment of taxes. The
activities of Roman Catholic missionaries during the
17th and 18th centuries led to the creation of Uniate
churches, which seceded from the Church of the East
and the Syrian Orthodox. At first the links between
the ancient Syriac churches and Rome were tenuous,
with many schisms and counterclaims, but the Chal-
daeans and the Syrian Catholics were permitted to
retain their liturgy and the use of Syriac. An influx of
Protestant missionaries arrived in the early 19th
century, following the discovery of the ancient Chris-
tian communities. The American Presbyterian Mis-
sion established its base of Urmia (in Azerbaijan,
Iran) in 1830, building schools, hospitals, and welfare
Christianity In Latin America
J L Klaiber, Pontifical Catholic University of Peru,
Lima, Peru
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
With the Spanish conquest and the Portuguese settle-
ment of Brazil, Spanish and Portuguese became
the principal languages of those two New World
empires: Portuguese in Brazil, and Spanish in the
rest of South America, Mexico, and large areas of
southwestern United States. But European mission-
aries who followed the conquest used the Native
American languages as their main instrument for
evangelization. Thanks largely to their efforts, the
myriad Indian languages of Latin America were pre-
served throughout colonial times, and some of them,
such as Quechua, Aymara, and Guaranı́, continue to
be spoken today by millions of Latin Americans. The
religious also transformed the oral traditions of the
centers and establishing the first printing press. The
Anglican mission to the Church of the East was led by
the Rev. George Percy Badger, who was the represen-
tative of the Archbishop of Canterbury. On his two
journeys in 1842–1844 and 1850 to the homeland of
the Church of the East in Kurdistan, Badger also met
Syrian Orthodox communities at Aleppo, Urfa,
Diyarbekir, Mardin, and Mosul.
The Uniate churches are now dominant in the Near
East, with congregations in Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan,
and Istanbul. The Chaldaeans are the largest denomi-
nation in Iraq, but the ancient churches also survive.
Both the Church of the East, otherwise known as
Assyrian, and Syrian Orthodox communities are still
found in Syria, Iran, and Iraq, with sizeable diaspora
communities in Europe, the United States, and
Australia.
See also: Arabic; Aramaic and Syriac; Armenian; Greek,
Ancient; Islam and Arabic; Mongolic Languages; Syriac;
Turkic Languages; Turkish; Uyghur.
Bibliography
Gillman I & Klimkeit H-J (1999). Christians in Asia before
1500. London: Curzon.
Moffett S (1998). A history of Christianity in Asia. Vol I:
beginnings to 1500 (2nd rev. edn.). Maryknoll, NY:
Orbis.
pre-Columbian peoples into written literature in
Spanish and Portuguese, as well as the native languages.
Spain and Portugal established Catholic Chris-
tianity as the official religion of all Latin America.
Under the concept of royal patronage, a special
concession made by different popes, the Spanish
and Portuguese monarchs enjoyed the right to estab-
lish the church, name bishops, collect tithes, and
authorize missionaries to go to the New World.
The initial evangelization of Spanish and Portuguese
America was carried out by missionaries belong-
ing to religious orders: Franciscans, Dominicans,
Augustinians, and later on, the Jesuits. The secular
or diocesan clergy followed later in order to serve the
pastoral needs of the white settlers, although many of
them also did mission work among the Indians and
black slaves.
The first phase of evangelization, which corre-
sponded to the conquest of the Caribbean and the

first years of Spanish rule in Mexico, was somewhat
disorganized: The missionaries did not know the na-
tive languages and practiced mass baptisms without
knowing whether the Indians understood them. At
the same time, in reaction to the atrocities com-
mitted by the European settlers, many churchmen
raised their voice in defense of the Indians. Antonio
de Montesinos, a Domincan, denounced his fellow
Spaniards in a sermon in Santo Domingo in 1511,
and soon afterward Bartolomé de las Casas, who
originally had gone to the New World to exploit the
Indians, experienced a major conversion, became a
Dominican, and emerged as champion of the rights of
the Indians. He influenced Emperor Charles V, who
was simultaneously King of Spain (1516–1556), to
make laws to protect the Indians.
Mexico: The Utopian Phase
This first phase was characterized by utopian and
even apocalyptic concepts. Many religious dreamed
of forging a church in which they and the Indians
would live together in peaceable harmony, free from
the contamination of European civilization. Vasco de
Quiroga, a lay humanist who was a member of the
ruling board of Mexico, founded two colonies for
the Indians, both based on Thomas More’s Utopia.
The Franciscan bishop of Mexico City, Juan de
Zumárraga, founded several schools for Indians
boys and girls, the most famous of which was Santa
Cruz of Tlatelolco (1536). In time, the missionaries
finally began mastering the native languages, usually
by having recourse to newly baptized Indians, espe-
cially children, many of whom studied in the mission
schools. The Franciscan friar Toribio de Benavente
(known by his Nahuatl name of Motolinı́a) wrote a
history of the Indians of New Spain (Mexico), and
later another Franciscan, Bernardino de Sahagún,
with the aid of his own Indian students at Santa
Cruz of Tlatelolco, wrote the multivolume History
of the things of New Spain (finished around 1580)
in Nahuatl and Spanish. These early histories were
based upon oral testimony and codices that contained
pictures and symbolic expressions of Aztec history
and culture. The missionaries also wrote grammars,
catechisms, and books of sermons in Nahuatl and
other native languages. In 1544 Pedro de Córdoba,
a Franciscan, published the first catechism printed in
Mexico, ‘in the Mexican and Castilian Languages.’
Between 1524 and 1572, 109 works were written in
native languages in Mexico by missionaries, 80 of
which were done by Franciscans.
Christianity In Latin America 395
Peru
These same religious orders set about evangelizing
Peru following Pizarro’s conquest of the Incas in
1532. They founded Indian parishes and wrote gram-
mars and sermons in Quechua, the language that the
Incas had used as the lingua franca throughout their
empire. In southern Peru and Bolivia the principal
language used was Aymara. Viceroy Francisco Toledo
(1569–1581) created a system of reducciones (terri-
tories reserved only for Indians) in order to protect
the Indian population from unbridled exploitation
by the Spanish. At the same time, the reducciones
served to control the Indian population and facilitate
the process of evangelization. For each reducción a
parish, known as a doctrina, was established.
Methods of Evangelization
Following the Council of Trent (1545–1563), similar
church councils were held in Spanish and Portuguese
America with the aim of reorganizing the evangeliza-
tion process and standardizing methods. The Third
Lima Council (1582–1583), presided over by Arch-
bishop Toribio de Mogrovejo, produced a catechism.
It was the first book printed in Peru, written in three
languages: Spanish, Quechua (or Quichua), and
Aymara. This catechism was used in Indian parishes
until the 18th century throughout the Andes, in Peru,
Bolivia, Chile, and Ecuador. Priests who worked in
these parishes were expected to preach in the native
languages. If they could not, they had recourse to
Indian interpreters and catechists. But evangelization
was not limited to catechism classes; Christianity was
also communicated through the liturgy and sermons,
through Biblical plays, and through art and music. In
Bolivia and Peru a school of native artists painted
images of the Trinity, Christ, Mary, the angels, and
many Biblical themes. Popular religiosity in Latin
America, which centered on certain devotions, was
in large part a creation of the newly Christianized
Indians, mestizos, and blacks.
The Jesuits
Arriving early in Brazil (1549), the Jesuits soon became
the dominant missionary order there until the 18th
century. They arrived later in Spanish America (Peru
in 1568; Mexico in 1572), where the other orders had
already carried out the initial evangelization. But the
Jesuits came for another purpose: to found schools for
the Creoles, the sons of the Spanish born in the New
World. They also worked with the Indians, but in a
396 Christianity In Latin America
more specialized way than the first religious. For exam-
ple, in Peru they were entrusted with running two
schools in Lima and in Cuzco for the sons of Indian
chiefs. José de Acosta, a Spanish Jesuit, wrote two
important works: De procuranda Indorum salute
(‘On bringing about the salvation of the Indians,’
1588), which became a standard manual for mission-
aries on how to treat the Indians; and A moral and
natural history of the Indies (1590), a wide-ranging
description of the religion and cultural achievements
of the Peruvian and Mexican Indians. Other Jesuits
became notable linguists, especially Alonso de Barzana
and Blas Valera. Blas Valera was a mestizo (born of
Spanish and Indian blood) who knew Quechua as a
child and later as a Jesuit wrote extensively on Inca
history and culture. Though most of his writings were
lost, they did reach the hands of Garcilaso de la Vega,
the Cuzco-born mestizo who wrote the Royal commen-
taries of the Incas, in which he cites Valera extensively.
Garcilaso and Blas Valera may be considered among
the creators of a distinct American and Peruvian litera-
ture because they represented a non-Spanish mentality
that esteemed (and at times romanticized) the positive
values of Indian culture and history.
For the Jesuits especially, language was the key
to evangelization. Particularly important was their
mission in Juli, by Lake Titicaca, where they ran four
parishes for Indians. Many Jesuits learned Quechua or
Aymara in Juli before going to their permanent assign-
ments in Lima, Bolivia, or Chile. Juli also became a
connecting link between Lima and the Jesuit missions
in Paraguay. Finally, after Charles V, who allowed
Flemish friars to work in the New World, the door to
foreign (non-Iberian) missionaries was closed. The
Jesuits alone had the privilege of having a percentage
of foreign missionaries: Germans, Bohemians, Swiss,
Italians, Tyroleans (like Eusebius Kino in Arizona),
and Flemish.
The Missions
In colonial Latin America, the ‘missions’ referred
to the nomadic and warlike Indians living near the
frontiers of the two empires: the deserts of northern
Mexico and the Amazon jungle in South America.
These Indians had not been touched by the initial
conquest and resisted efforts to subdue them until
the 17th, 18th, and even the 19th century. But the
missionaries were able to do what the soldiers could
not: approach the Indians and persuade them to build
mission towns. The soldiers followed later in order
to protect the missions from non-Christian Indians
and the encroachment of other Europeans. The two
principal missionary orders were the Franciscans and
the Jesuits. Both established missions in California
(the Franciscans in present-day California and the
Jesuits in Lower California), northern Mexico, re-
mote regions of the Andes (in Peru and Bolivia), the
Amazon jungle (in Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Colombia,
Venezuela, and Brazil), Paraguay, and the Chaco
region of Paraguay and Argentina.
Missionaries of both orders learned the new lan-
guages and wrote grammars, dictionaries, and cate-
chisms. Gonzalo de Tapia, an exceptionally gifted
Jesuit in northern Mexico, was able to give a sermon
in Tarascan 15 days after he began studying the
language. In Brazil, José de Anchieta, a Portuguese
Jesuit, wrote a grammar in Tupı́ (1556) that became a
standard for other missionaries. In the 17th century,
another Jesuit, Antonio de Vieira, founded numerous
villages to protect the Indians in the Maranhão region
of northern Brazil. Vieira exhorted fellow Jesuits to
learn the native tongues of the Indians because
the Holy Spirit would speak through those new ton-
gues. In Chile, Luis de Valdivia wrote a grammar for
the Mapuche language. This intense linguistic activi-
ty made it possible for Lorenzo Hervas, the 18th-
century Spanish Jesuit philologist, to include a great
number of native American languages in his survey of
world languages (1784).
Paraguay
Paraguay is the only truly bilingual country of Latin
America. This is due in large measure to the Jesuit
missionaries, who separated the Guaranı́ Indians
from the white settlers and gathered them into 30
reducciones (mission towns), and for over 150 years
(1609–1768) spoke to them in their native Guaranı́.
Before the Jesuits, two Franciscans had prepared
the way: Luis de Bolaños, who mastered Guaranı́
and wrote the first grammar that later mission-
aries would use, and Francisco Solano, who worked
among the tribes in the Argentinian Chaco. The
Jesuits themselves created a unified ‘mission Guaranı́’
that became the lingua franca for all the missions.
Although the Indians learned a rudimentary Spanish,
Guaranı́ was the principal language used in the mis-
sions, which covered present-day southern Paraguay,
Uruguay, and the northern department of Argentina,
Misiones. Printing presses in the missions pro-
duced grammars, dictionaries, and catechisms. The
standard grammar used was Arte de la lengua guaranı́
(Grammar of the Guaranı́ language, 1640) by Antonio
Ruiz de Montoya, a Peruvian Jesuit who was superior
of the missions. Two Jesuits who worked among the
Chaco tribes wrote lengthy descriptions of their cus-
toms and beliefs: Martin Dobrizhoffer, a Bohemian,
and Florian Paucke, a Swiss.

After the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1768, the mis-
sions fell into decline. The mission Indians drifted
into neighboring Spanish and Portuguese cities,
where many used the crafts they had learned in the
missions to obtain work. The music played in the
mission towns of Chiquitos in eastern Bolivia lives
on today, where Baroque music festivals are held
yearly.
Creole Authors
In later colonial times, native-born religious made
significant contributions to Latin American litera-
ture. In Mexico, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz became
the leading poet of America and the only female
literary figure of note. The exiled Jesuits, especially
Francisco Clavijero of Mexico and Juan Ignacio
Molina of Chile, wrote histories of their respective
countries that impressed Europeans with the material
and cultural wealth of the Indian civilizations of
preconquest America.
Contemporary Christianity
Protestantism appeared in the 19th century but only
experienced significant growth in the 20th century,
especially in Chile, Brazil, and Guatemala. In 1936,
William Cameron Townsend founded the Summer
Institute of Linguistics with sections in many Latin
American countries. Using the Bible as its principal
instrument, the Institute aims to convert the lan-
guages of the native peoples of the Amazon and
other remote areas into written languages. Affiliated
to the Wycliffe Bible Translators, based in the United
States, the Institute has translated the Bible into nu-
merous native languages. In general, Protestants of
the historical confessions and progressive Catholics
have achieved a close ecumenical relationship.
See also: Aymara; Hervás y Panduro, Lorenzo (1735–
1809); Mapudungan; Missionary Linguistics; Nahuatl; Por-
tuguese; Quechua; Society and Language: Overview;
Spanish.
Christianity In Latin America 397
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Albó X (1966a). ‘Jesuitas y culturas indı́genas.’ América
Indı́gena 26(July), 249–308; (October), 395–445.
Albó X (1996b). ‘Notas sobre jesuitas y lengua aymara.’
Anuario de la Academia Boliviana de Historia Eclesiástica
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Burgaleta C M (1999). José de Acosta, S. J. (1540–1600):
his life and thought. Chicago: Loyola University.
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Cohen T M (1998). The fire of tongues: Antonio Vieira and
the missionary church in Brazil and Portugal. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
Cushner N P (2002). Soldiers of God: the Jesuits in colonial
America, 1565–1767. Buffalo, NY: Language Communi-
cations/Digital@batesjackson.
Dussel E (ed.) (1992). The church in Latin America, 1492–
1992. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books/Tunbridge Wells,
UK: Burns & Oates.
Ganson B A (2003). The Guaranı́ under Spanish rule in the
Rı́o de la Plata. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Martin D (1990). Tongues of fire: the explosion of protes-
tantism in Latin America. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Martı́n L (1968). The intellectual conquest of Peru: the
Jesuit college of San Pablo. New York: Fordham Univer-
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Métraux A (1944). ‘The contributions of the Jesuits to
the exploration and anthropology of South America.’
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Ricard R (1966). The spiritual conquest of Mexico. Simpson
L B (trans.). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
Ronan C E (1977). Francisco Clavijero, s. j. (1731–1787),
figure of the Mexican enlightenment: his life and works.
Chicago: Loyola University Press.
Ronan C E (2002). Juan Ignacio Molina: the world’s
window on Chile. New York: Peter Lang Publishing.
Santos A (1992). Los jesuitas en América. Madrid: Editorial
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398 Christianity in South Asia
Christianity in South Asia
S Kim, York St John, College of the University of
Leeds, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Christianity in South Asia has developed in the midst
of South Asia’s rich historical traditions, diversities of
cultural expressions, and multitudes of languages –
1650 or more. It also has faced major religious tradi-
tions of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam as well
as other local religious practices. Interaction with
churches and missionaries from the West has been a
prime factor in shaping Christianity in this region, but
the indigenization of Christian faith in local sociocul-
tural forms by South Asian Christians has played an
equally important role in this process.
The Historical Formation of Christianity in
South Asia
Three different influxes form the background to
Christianity in South Asia: St. Thomas Christianity,
Roman Catholic, and Protestant Christianity, and
they each form distinctive aspects of South Asian
Christianity.
Mar Thoma Christianity
The arrival of the Apostle Thomas in the first century
is regarded as the beginning of Christianity in South
Asia. Thomas is believed to have arrived on the south-
west coast of Malabar by sea, or perhaps came over
land from the north, and was later martyred on the
southeast coast at Mylapore. Though this tradition
lacks material support, nevertheless the existence of
Christian and Jewish communities in Malabar can be
traced back to the second century. The oldest litera-
ture describing the work of St. Thomas is the Acts of
Thomas, which originated in the second century, as is
evidenced by the existence of a Syriac version. Other
Christian traders and settlers moved into the western
coast of India. Later, as a result of persecutions of
Christians in the Persian Empire, there were increas-
ing influxes of Christians to India, and eventually the
patriarch of Babylon claimed ecclesiastical authority
over these Christians. Syriac became the literary and
liturgical language for all Thomas Christians and the
doctrine was Nestorian, that is, of the belief that there
are two separate natures, divine and human, in Christ
(contrary to the Creed of Chalcedon). Though their
allegiance was to the Syrian patriarch of Babylon, due
to Muslim expansion in the 7th century this close
relationship became more difficult to maintain.
In spite of enjoying higher status than other
local people, Mar Thoma Christians faced a major
challenge when the Portuguese authority established
the Padroado (royal patronage) in Goa in 1533, and
during their subsequent missionary work toward the
south. The Syrian Church of the East suffered its
major schism in the 19th century, when the Mar
Thoma Church of Malabar broke away. Further-
more, as a result of the intervention of outside
ecclesiastical authorities, missionary work by other
groups, and various internal divisions, there are cur-
rently at least six different groups in Kerala who
claim their origin in the Thomas tradition.
Catholic Christianity
Catholic Christianity was introduced with the arrival
of the Portuguese and the ecclesiastical hierarchy was
established in Goa. Through the integration of mar-
riage with the local community and the efforts of
monastic priests and friars, the Christian population
of Goa increased. The encounters between Roman
Catholic and Thomas Christians were long and com-
plicated. They began when the fishermen of Cochin
asked help from the authorities in Goa in 1502 to
protect them from Muslim threats, which resulted in
the acceptance of Roman ecclesiastical authority over
the Thomas Christians. However, the relationship
between Roman Catholics and Thomas Christians
was soured by differences over doctrine and ritual
issues and over ecclesiastical hegemony in Kerala.
When the Propaganda Fide encouraged mission to
areas beyond Portuguese control, Catholic mission-
ary activity concentrated on new territories, for ex-
ample St. Francis Xavier on the Parava coast. Jesuits
worked in northwestern Sri Lanka, where they
formed the Tamil and Singhala-speaking Christian
communities, and in other parts of India, including
the areas controlled by the Mughal empire; although
some were invited to the court of the Grand Mughal,
their work was generally limited in the cultural and
diplomatic realm. Most Catholics are of the Latin rite
but, following Vatican II, there have been various
changes, including the indigenization of liturgy in
the local language and the employment of Hindu
symbols and philosophy.
Protestant Christianity
Protestant missions began their work with the arrival
in 1706 of Lutheran missionaries in Tranquebar,
which was a Danish trading port. As a result, the
Tamil Evangelical Christian community was estab-
lished. From 1792 onward, William Carey and other
missionaries from England arrived in Serampore,
from where the various modes of Protestant mission
steadily developed. Some of the East India Company’s

chaplains, such as Henry Martyn, were also involved
in mission work beyond their role of ministering to
the British officials and soldiers and, in fact, many of
the company’s officers were sympathetic toward mis-
sionary work among Indians. One of the distinctive
aspects of Protestant missions was their emphasis
on the translation of the Bible into local languages.
The missionaries in both Tranquebar and Serampore
concentrated their efforts in Bible translation, and
this had a great impact, not only in terms of the
church expansion but also in the indigenization of
Christianity in India.
During the late 19th and early 20th centuries the
conversion of lower and outcastes in various parts
of India brought changes in the demography of the
Indian religious setting. Mass conversion along the
lines of caste group or community was a general
pattern in the history of Christianity in India, but
this became a very sensitive issue, especially as the
British government in India moved in 1932 to provide
a separate electorate for the depressed classes, and
it thus became a political issue. Toward Independence
there were active discussions for unity among the
Protestant denominations in South India, and as a
result the Church of South India was formed in
1947 as an amalgamation of the South India United
Church, Anglican, and Methodist Churches. This
was an unprecedented case of the union of Episcopal
and non-Episcopal churches, which became a basis
of schemes of union in North India, Pakistan, and
Sri Lanka. Furthermore, in 1978 a joint council was
established by the Church of South India, Church of
North India, and the Mar Thoma Church, reflecting a
high degree of union: intercommunion, doctrinal
unity, episcopal polity, mutual recognition of one
another’s ministry, and some joint activities.
Various Christian Expressions and the Demography
of Christianity
Christianity was introduced to the northeast of
India by the Baptists of Serampore during the early
part of the 19th century; they were soon followed by
American Baptists and Welsh Presbyterian mission-
aries during the rest of the 19th and early 20th cen-
turies. Baptist missions were particularly successful in
terms of numerical growth, resulting in a remarkably
high proportion of Christians in these states (up to
90% in places). The churches in northeast India face
considerable challenges in terms of sociopolitical and
economic tensions with the central government, but
continue to maintain Christian activities both within
the northeast and beyond. Recently Pentecostal and
charismatic movements, which have conservative
theology, organized missionary apparatus, and an
Christianity in South Asia 399
emphasis on various spiritual gifts mentioned in the
Bible, have been strong among the lower and out-
castes, and this seems to set to continue. There has
also been movement among dalit (outcaste) Christian
groups for their social uplift in society as well as
equality within the Christian churches.
Christianity in India is the second largest religious
minority, after Islam. According to the 2001 census
there were 24 million Christians, 2.3% of the total
population. Looking at the states, the northeast states
have a very high proportion of Christians – for exam-
ple, Nagaland, 90%; Mizoram, 87%; Meghalaya,
70.3%. Goa has 26.7% and Kerala 19.0% whereas
in many of the north and central states Christians are
less than 1% of the population. The Christian
churches have been actively involved in medical, edu-
cational, and other social work in India, for example,
the work of Mother Teresa.
Christianity in Sri Lanka largely consists of
Catholics who are descendants of converts during
the Portuguese time, Anglicans, and some others.
Most of the 1.7 million Christians (9.3% of the pop-
ulation) live on the west coast and over 70% are
Catholics. Pakistan has 3.8 million Christians (2.4%
of the population), of which 80% are from the
Punjabi-speaking ethnic group as a result of an
early–20th-century mass conversion movement. In
1970 the United Church of Pakistan was formed.
In recent years Christians have been the subject of
intimidation by some militant Muslim groups.
As in other South Asian nations, Christians are a
minority in Bangladesh and Nepal, and their religious
worship and activities are limited by being in a disad-
vantageous state in their societies.
Issues in Christianity in South Asia
Christianity in South Asia, with the exception of the
Mar Thoma tradition, has been introduced in associ-
ation with foreign imperial authorities, and this his-
torical attachment has always been a problem for the
Christians in this region. There are two major areas of
concern for Christianity in South Asia: ‘inculturation’
of Christianity (making Christianity acceptable and
relevant to South Asian culture and society) and over-
coming the problem of conversion (the relationship
between the Christian community and the wider reli-
gious community).
‘Inculturation’ of Christianity
One of the earliest and best known examples of
Christian attempts at inculturation was by the Jesuit
missionary Roberto de Nobili, who arrived in
Madurai in 1605. He mastered Sanskrit in order
400 Christianity in South Asia
to convey the Christian faith by means of Indian
philosophy, and also translated catechisms into
the Tamil language. He lived like a sannyasi (Hindu
holy man) and worked among the Brahmin caste.
He even suggested to the Catholic authorities that
Sanskrit instead of Latin should be taken as the litur-
gical language for the Indian church. Since then
there have been various attempts to bridge the gap
between Christian doctrines and Hindu philosophy
by actively employing Sanskritic religious concepts
into Christian thinking. In late 19th-century Bengal,
Brahmabandhab Upadhyay advocated the idea of
Indian Christians as ‘Hindu-Catholic’ in the sense of
being Hindus in culture and Christian in faith, and
suggested that the Christian doctrine of the Trinity
could be related to the definition of Brahman as
Being, Consciousness, and Bliss. Also following clas-
sical advaita philosophy, in 1964 Raymond Panikkar
published his book The Unknown Christ of Hindu-
ism, in which he argued that Christ is already present
in Hinduism as Ishvara (the Lord). On the other
hand, following the tradition of bhaki devotion,
in the early 20th century A. J. Appasamy inter-
preted Jesus Christ as the unique Avatar (descent) or
incarnation of the deity.
The Problem of Conversion and Communal
Relations
The most contentious issue between Christian and
Hindu communities has been the problem of conver-
sion. The traditional understanding of conversion
as manifested in joining the Christian community
leads to serious difficulties in the life of the converts
in South Asia, particularly in India, where change
of religious community has major implications for
relations with the wider Hindu community. Hindu
leaders oppose Christian conversion as incom-
patible with Indian philosophies and social practices,
and have countered it by legislation and by the re-
conversion of Christian converts. In particular in the
1930s, M. K. Gandhi made his strong objection
to Christian conversion activities a part of his politi-
cal agenda in his struggle against the British Raj
because he feared mass conversions would increase
communal disturbances. During and after Indepen-
dence, the discussion about conversion was focused
on the inclusion of the freedom to ‘propagate’ as
one of the fundamental rights in the Indian Consti-
tution Assembly (1947–1949). Hindu objections to
Christian missionary activities led to a public inquiry
into missionary activities by the government of
Madhya Pradesh in 1954. The resulting Niyogi Re-
port, completed in 1956, was highly critical of con-
verting activities, particularly the conversion of
tribals, and of the activities of foreign missionaries.
Subsequently, Hindu objections to conversion were
made concrete in three main ways: by the introduc-
tion of Hindu ‘personal laws,’ which were disadvan-
tageous for caste Hindus who converted to another
religion (1955–1956); by the limitation of social ben-
efits for converts from Scheduled Caste backgrounds
(1950s); and by the passing of the Freedom of Reli-
gion Acts in various states (1960s and 1970s). The
election of 2003 was won by the Congress Party,
which promotes a secular approach to religious issues
in the central government, and the tensions over the
conversion issue seem to have relaxed.
Christianity in South Asia, despite being a minority
in numbers, has made major contributions to nation-
building, especially in education, medical work, and
other social areas. Christian communities in India try
to live side by side with their neighbors by fully
integrating into the languages and cultures of India,
while at the same time affirming their Christian faith
and practices, which may be distinctive from others.
The future shape of Christianity in South Asia may lie
in the balancing of these two aspects of integration
and distinctiveness as Christians strive to exhibit their
integrity and identity in both public and private life
in the diverse yet often rigid cultures and societies of
this region.
See also: Aramaic and Syriac; Christianity, Catholic;
Christianity, Protestant; Dravidian Languages; Hindi;
Islam in Southeast Asia; Sanskrit; South Asia: Religions;
Tamil.
Bibliography
Boyd R (1975). An introduction to Indian Christian
theology. Delhi: ISPCK.
Brown L (1982). The Indian Christians of St Thomas
(2nd edn.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
C.H.A.I. (1988–1997). History of Christianity in India
(vols I–V). Bangalore: The Church History Association
of India.
Moffett S H (1998). A history of Christianity in Asia
(vol. 1). Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books.
Neill S (1985). A history of Christianity in India,
1707–1858. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Christianity in Southeast Asia
B Watson Andaya, University of Hawai‘i,
Honolulu, Hawaii
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Early Spread of Christianity
The history of Christianity in Southeast Asia can
be dated from 1494, when the Treaty of Tordesillas
divided the global missionary project between
Europe’s two great Catholic powers. What is now
the Philippines fell in the Spanish sphere, with
the Portuguese given responsibility for the Malay-
Indonesian archipelago. A Spanish expedition reached
the Philippines in 1521, but a full commitment did
not come until 1570, when Manila was captured.
Over the next century Spanish control and the Chris-
tian religion spread over the entire archipelago except
for the Muslim south.
From the outset, the Catholic orders were com-
mitted to mastering local languages. Using roman-
ized phonetic writing rather than local scripts,
they compiled dictionaries, catechisms, confessions,
and sermons in the major Filipino languages. Latin
or Castilian words were retained for terms such
as ‘God,’ ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ ‘holy spirit,’ ‘sin,’ ‘limbo,’
etc., so that new concepts would not carry the bag-
gage of animist beliefs. The vocabulary and traditions
of Christianity were also adapted by Southeast
Asians, with Filipino versions of the sung Pasyon,
the life of Christ, assuming a central position in reli-
gious ritual. Though Church schools were a major
vehicle for imparting the new teachings, ethnolinguis-
tic boundaries were reinforced because each order
developed expertise in the cultural area to which it
was assigned.
The impact of Portugal’s Christianizing effort was
more limited than that of Spain. The conquest of
Melaka on the Malay Peninsula in 1511 was expected
to provide a base for missionary work, but Islam was
already entrenched in the western archipelago. There
was less opposition in the islands east of Java, but
despite initial successes the lack of priests made it
difficult to prevent apostasy. Numerous Portuguese
words were nonetheless adopted into local languages
and Portuguese became widely used in diplomacy and
trade. The creole known as Kristang is still spoken by
the Portuguese-descended community in Melaka.
The Portuguese missionary effort suffered a major
blow when the Dutch East India Company (VOC)
captured Melaka in 1641. The Dutch harbored
an intense dislike of Papism and actively promoted
Protestantism, especially in the spice-producing
islands of eastern Indonesia where VOC interests
Christianity in Southeast Asia 401
were concentrated. VOC ministers used Portuguese
or more commonly Malay for Christian instruction,
since both were well established as lingua franca. The
Bible was printed in both romanized Malay and
the Arabic-based Jawi script. Christian teachings
were prominent in the schools established in areas
under VOC control, with teaching delegated to Chris-
tian schoolmasters familiar with Malay in its new
romanized form. Although older Catholic commu-
nities such as the one in Melaka survived, Portuguese
missionary activity was mostly restricted to coastal
areas in Flores and eastern Timor. The British settle-
ments of Penang (1786) and Singapore (1819),
intended primarily to further trade, had only limited
influence in Christian proselytizing.
In mainland Southeast Asia, Catholic missions
were more active. A romanized form of Vietnamese
known as quoc ngu (‘national language’) was devel-
oped to help missionaries prepare sermons and
translate texts. In 1662, the Missions Étrangères de
Paris (MEP) established a base in Siam, but
their ‘converts’ were generally infants, the dying, or
marginalized groups such as the Mon or Lao. The
MEP had more success in neighboring Vietnam,
especially among women, but suffered periodic per-
secution, and during the 18th century missionaries
were expelled or withdrew.
Christianity, Colonialism and Nationalism
During the 19th century, all Southeast Asia except
Thailand came under European control. Colonial
administrations typically used a European and a se-
lected local language for administrative purposes,
but always showed a preference for employing
Christians. Roman Catholicism thus revived in
French-controlled Vietnam, and French became the
language of the elite. Quoc ngu was promoted
and eventually displaced Chinese and the Chinese-
based Vietnamese script known as nom. French-
speaking Vietnamese were also employed in Laos
and Cambodia. In the Netherlands Indies, Malay
was the medium of communication between colonial
officials and indigenous administrators, although
English was somewhat more common in British
Malaya. Because Burma was part of British India,
Indians fluent in English were commonly hired for
the colonial service, and Burmese never developed
into an administrative language.
Colonial administrations were generally wary of
encouraging Christian missions in societies already
committed to other world religions. However, remote
areas were opened up to missionaries, who saw the
402 Christianity in Southeast Asia
compilation of dictionaries and grammars for unwrit-
ten and little-known languages as a primary task.
New as well, revised translations of the Bible and
other Christian books were accorded a high priority.
Fonts were developed to print the gospels, Christian
tracts, and catechisms in Burmese and Thai charac-
ters. In 1813, American Baptist missionaries began
working in Burma, concentrating on non-Buddhist
societies such as the Chins, Karens, and Kachins.
The Netherlands East Indies government looked
favorably on the Bible Society and other missionary
groups because conversion of animist groups was
seen as a way of stemming the Muslim advance.
From the mid-19th century, Catholic missions were
permitted entry, with German Lutherans prominent
among the Toba Batak of Sumatra. In Vietnam
the French ‘civilizing mission’ encouraged Church
penetration into the highlands, and in 1917 the
first extensive dictionary of a Miao dialect was
published.
This linguistic codification had far-reaching effects
because the standardized form of favored languages
was endorsed by government usage, mission educa-
tion, school texts, and vernacular newspapers. While
this affirmed the position of well-known languages
such as Malay, others such as Iban became more
widely known as a medium for mission teaching.
Tetun Prasa (one of 16 languages in Portuguese
Timor) became a lingua franca primarily because it
was promoted by the Catholic Church. Often a new
sense of identity was forged between previously sepa-
rate groups, as in the Kachin areas, where Baptist
missionaries created a common language, Jinghpaw,
for all the Kachin tribes.
For the most part, indigenous Christian commu-
nities saw themselves as allies of colonial regimes,
and it is not surprising that migrant Asians, especially
Chinese, frequently adopted Christianity. In the Phi-
lippines, however, the tensions associated with colo-
nialism were fueled because the Catholic Church
never welcomed the ordination of indigenous priests.
The vocabulary of the Pasyon, with its images of
heaven, illumination, and saintly leadership, proved
highly effective in motivating and inspiring peasant-
based anticolonial movements. Resistance also drew
on a growing body of nationalist literature written
in Spanish by elite Filipinos, the most notable
of whom was Dr. Jose Rizal. When a revolution
against Spanish rule finally erupted in 1896, he was
condemned as a traitor and executed.
With America’s acquisition of the Philippines in
1898 after the Spanish-American war, the Catholic
Church lost some of its former wealth, but it
remained a formidable influence in Philippine soci-
ety. However, the door was now open to Protestant
missionary activity, notably in the highlands and in
the Muslim island of Mindanao. English became the
accepted medium for Christian preaching and in-
struction among a new generation of Protestant
and Catholic leaders. Tagalog was more common in
a Catholic breakaway group, the Iglesia Filipina Inde-
pendiente, and in the Protestant Iglesia ni Kristo, both
of which developed during the early years of the
American occupation.
The outbreak of the Second World War and the
Japanese invasion of Southeast Asia in 1941 mark
the end of a chapter. All Europeans were imprisoned,
and although the French gained a short reprieve in
Vietnam, the Japanese eventually assumed control
here as well. Those who followed Christianity were
regarded as supporters of the colonial powers, and
European languages were forbidden.
Christianity After Independence
All the colonized countries of Southeast Asia eventu-
ally attained their independence after the Second
World War, and indigenous control over practice
and policy has increased as more local men and
women have become ministers, priests, and high-
ranking church officials. In 1960, for instance, the
first Filipino cardinal was appointed. Although for-
eign missionaries have continued to work in the
region, despite occasional government opposition,
there have been pronounced linguistic shifts. In Cath-
olic areas, this was especially evident after Vatican II
(1962–1965) sanctioned indigenous languages for
celebrating Mass. Within the formal church struct-
ure, some developments are uniquely local. In the
Philippines, the Pentecostal movement known as El
Shaddai has remained within the Catholic Church,
but its charismatic leadership, belief in miracles, and
use of symbols invoke earlier peasant movements.
Because preaching is largely in Tagalog rather than
English or the ‘Taglish’ associated with intellectuals,
El Shaddai has a strong working class base and has
moved overseas via the Filipino diaspora. At the same
time, evangelical churches in the Philippines have also
proliferated, drawing many adherents away from
mainstream Catholicism.
In Indonesia and Malaysia, most churches still dis-
play their origins in European missionizing, but there
is considerable room for local transformations be-
cause they were initially built on an ethnic base,
such as the Gereja Batak Karo Protestan (the Karo
Batak Protestant Church) and the Gereja Toraja, both
founded in 1941. This allows for local expressions
of Christian identity such as the huge monuments
that Toba Bataks erect in honor of the dead. After
1965, when communism was made illegal, Church

membership increased everywhere in Indonesia. Be-
cause Indonesian rather than a regional language is
increasingly common in city churches and among a
younger generation of Christians, earlier ethnic ex-
plicitness has been muted. An example of a greater
inclusiveness comes from Borneo, where the Sidang
Injil Borneo (Borneo Gospel Council, established
by Westerners in 1928) is now under complete local
control. It is very strong among some interior com-
munities such as the Kelabit, but has also established
a firm base in urban centers by conducting services
in both Malay and Iban. Annual pilgrimages to re-
vered mountain sites, faith healing, and a belief in
miracles are all reminiscent of older animist practices.
As elsewhere in Southeast Asia, this localization can
generate tensions. While there are few difficulties in
employing indigenous languages, questions always
arise about the adoption of specific cultural practices,
especially in regard to marriage and burial.
Throughout contemporary Southeast Asia, connec-
tions with overseas Christian organizations remain
influential. Because the region is so linguistically di-
verse, translation of Christian texts is a high priority.
In 1971, the Summer Institute of Linguistics was
established to translate the Bible into little-known
languages. It has been very active in Indonesia,
where Catholicism and Protestantism are two of
the five officially sanctioned religions and where mis-
sionary work is thought to assist development pro-
grams. The Indonesian government has permitted
numerous Christian missions to teach and prose-
lytize, with most using Indonesian as a medium. In
the Philippines, evangelization has also continued
in Mindanao, and among interior groups. Apart
from Thailand, where the presence of missionaries
as teachers and health workers among the hill tribes
is again seen as compatible with the government’s
goal of modernization, Christian proselytization on
the mainland has faced more obstacles because there
is always the potential that Christian churches will
become critics of the government. The authorities
have only to look towards East Timor, which was
invaded by Indonesia in 1975 and where the Catholic
Church emerged as a focus for dissent, particular-
ly after 1981 when Mass was conducted in Tetun
Prasa in place of the banned Portuguese. In Burma,
ethnic groups associated with Christianity such as
the Karens have also been strong opponents of the
government. Such examples explain why Christian
congregations in Vietnam are subject to closer sur-
veillance, especially in the non-Vietnamese high-
lands. In the Philippines, the Catholic Church
initially supported President Ferdinand Marcos in
his declaration of Martial Law in 1972, but Church
leadership was critical in the ‘people’s power’
Christianity in Southeast Asia 403
movement that ended the Marcos regime. Much of
this opposition was generated by activist priests,
nuns, and laity, who argued that liberation theology
and an alliance with the Communist Party was the
best means for dealing with entrenched poverty. For
the most part, this left wing movement has been
retained within the Catholic Church.
At the beginning of the 21st century, a disturbing
development is the simmering Christian-Muslim hos-
tility in eastern Indonesia and the southern Philip-
pines. Although the issues must be analyzed within a
historical context, hostilities have been fueled by
global developments. Internet sites have become a
battleground as advocates from both sides seek to
make their causes more widely known, mostly in
English, but also in local languages.
Despite some internal divisions, Christianity main-
tains an unassailable position in the Philippines (91%
of the population) and East Timor (93%), with the
majority Roman Catholic. In all the other countries of
Southeast Asia, Christians are a minority, ranging
from an estimated 10% in Brunei and 8% in Indone-
sia to 4% in Burma and 0.5% in Thailand. In these
places, Christianity is more vulnerable if it is thought
to provide an umbrella for opposition to government
policies.
See also: Applied Linguistics in Southeast Asia; Bateson,
Gregory (1904–1980); Burma: Language Situation; Chris-
tianity in South Asia; Indonesia: Language Situation;
Islam in Southeast Asia; Language Education Policies in
Southeast Asia; Malay; Malaysia: Language Situation;
Philippines: Language Situation; Tai Languages; Thai-
land: Language Situation; Vietnam: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Collins J T (2004). ‘A book and a chapter in the history of
Malay.’ Archipel 67, 77–127.
DeFrancis J (1977). Colonialism and language policy in
Viet-Nam. The Hague: Mouton.
Fernandez P (1979). History of the Church in the Philip-
pines, 1521–1898. Manila: National Book Store.
Fox J J (2000). ‘Tracing the path, recounting the
past: historical perspectives on Timor.’ In Fox J J &
Soares D B (eds.) Out of the ashes: destruction and re-
construction of East Timor. Adelaide: Crawford House.
Herbert P & Milner A (1989). South-East Asia. Languages
and literatures: a select guide. Honolulu: University of
Hawai‘i Press.
Ileto R C (1979). Pasyon and revolution: popular move-
ments in the Philippines, 1840–1910. Quezon City:
University de Ateneo Press.
Keyes C (ed.) (1996). ‘Symposium: Protestants and tradi-
tion in Southeast Asia.’ Journal of Southeast Asian
History 27(2), 280–386.
404 Christianity in Southeast Asia
Rafael V L (1993). Contracting colonialism: translation
and Christian conversion in Tagalog society under early
Spanish rule. Durham: Duke University Press.
Steenbrink K (2002). Catholics in Indonesia, 1808–1900.
Leiden: KILTV Press.
Christianity in the Far East
B Vermander, Taipei Ricci Institute, Taipei,
Taiwan, ROC
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The encounter between Christianity and East Asian
languages, cultures, and nations took place mainly
in the larger context of the confrontation between
Western expansionism and societies meeting with a
number of crises. The original conditions of the en-
counter still partly determine the relationship between
Christianity and East Asian languages (the focus of
this article being on Chinese, Japanese, and Korean).
However, this relationship was shaped not by histor-
ical factors only but also by the intrinsic difficulties
encountered in translating the Christian worldview
as elaborated in Europe throughout centuries with
words, concepts, and linguistic structures proper to
East Asia. Four successive questions will help us to
circumscribe the issues here at stake:
. How were the historical circumstances of the en-
counter between Christianity and East Asia re-
flected in religious terminology and linguistic
choices made up to the present day?
. How did translations of the Bible in East Asian
languages contribute to this religious–linguistic
encounter?
. How to translate religious terms and concepts de-
pendent on Greco-Latin vocabulary and philoso-
phy into languages of the Far East, especially when
taking into account the fact that these languages
rely on the present use or past inheritance of
Chinese characters loaded with specific cultural
meanings?
. Do lexical, syntactic, and cultural characteristics of
East Asian languages provide Christianity with new
resources for expressing anew its dogma, world-
view, and spiritual experience?
Historical Encounter and Language Issues
Christianity as shaped by European tradition encoun-
tered the civilizations of Japan, China, and Korea
from 1550 on. Until the beginning of the 19th
Swellengrebel J L (1974). In Leijdeckers voetspoor. Ander-
halve eeuw Bijbelvertaling en taalkunde in de Indone-
sische talen. I, 1820–1900. The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff.
century, East Asian nations witnessed the arrival of
mostly Catholic missionaries, whose lingua franca
was Latin, although Portuguese (due to the patronage
delegated by the Pope to the King of Portugal) and
other European languages were also used as commu-
nication and translation tools. Protestant mission-
aries arrived in the region at the beginning of the
19th century. Their linguistic policies had much to
do with efforts developed for translating the Bible
into vernacular languages and will therefore be
sketched later.
Jesuit missionaries in particular dealt directly with
a variety of linguistic problems. Matteo Ricci (in
China from 1583 until his death in 1610) took pains
to write his apologetic works in elegant literary
Chinese. In 1615, the Jesuits received from the Pope
permission to use vernacular language in the litur-
gy and to translate the Bible into classical Chinese.
However, the development of the Rites Controversy
prevented them from making use of this permission.
Attempts made in Japan during the same period were
also aborted. More generally, although apologetic and
catechetical treaties in East Asian languages were
numerous, the authoritative sources of Catholicism
were still controlled by the use of Latin until the
middle of the 20th century. Making use of Chinese
as a language for theological teaching and research is
a quite recent enterprise, at least when one speaks
about ‘professional’ theologians contrasted with the
lay persons who, from the 17th century on, expressed
their understanding of the faith in their own language.
For example, the Jesuit faculty of theology in Shanghai,
which was first transferred to the Philippines from
1952 to 1967, kept Latin as the only teaching lan-
guage until 1964, later shifting to English. In the
Catholic world, it is only with the foundation of the
Fu Jen Faculty of Theology, in Taipei, that teaching
and research were conducted in Chinese, starting in
1968. From that time on, the shift has been swift and
complete. Similar remarks could be made for Japan
and Korea. It is no wonder that the Catholic Japanese
novelist Shusaku Endo made one of his characters
declare to a Christian having studied abroad, ‘‘Your
Latin is good. But your faith is rotten.’’
404 Christianity in Southeast Asia
Rafael V L (1993). Contracting colonialism: translation
and Christian conversion in Tagalog society under early
Spanish rule. Durham: Duke University Press.
Steenbrink K (2002). Catholics in Indonesia, 1808–1900.
Leiden: KILTV Press.
Christianity in the Far East
B Vermander, Taipei Ricci Institute, Taipei,
Taiwan, ROC
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The encounter between Christianity and East Asian
languages, cultures, and nations took place mainly
in the larger context of the confrontation between
Western expansionism and societies meeting with a
number of crises. The original conditions of the en-
counter still partly determine the relationship between
Christianity and East Asian languages (the focus of
this article being on Chinese, Japanese, and Korean).
However, this relationship was shaped not by histor-
ical factors only but also by the intrinsic difficulties
encountered in translating the Christian worldview
as elaborated in Europe throughout centuries with
words, concepts, and linguistic structures proper to
East Asia. Four successive questions will help us to
circumscribe the issues here at stake:
. How were the historical circumstances of the en-
counter between Christianity and East Asia re-
flected in religious terminology and linguistic
choices made up to the present day?
. How did translations of the Bible in East Asian
languages contribute to this religious–linguistic
encounter?
. How to translate religious terms and concepts de-
pendent on Greco-Latin vocabulary and philoso-
phy into languages of the Far East, especially when
taking into account the fact that these languages
rely on the present use or past inheritance of
Chinese characters loaded with specific cultural
meanings?
. Do lexical, syntactic, and cultural characteristics of
East Asian languages provide Christianity with new
resources for expressing anew its dogma, world-
view, and spiritual experience?
Historical Encounter and Language Issues
Christianity as shaped by European tradition encoun-
tered the civilizations of Japan, China, and Korea
from 1550 on. Until the beginning of the 19th
Swellengrebel J L (1974). In Leijdeckers voetspoor. Ander-
halve eeuw Bijbelvertaling en taalkunde in de Indone-
sische talen. I, 1820–1900. The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff.
century, East Asian nations witnessed the arrival of
mostly Catholic missionaries, whose lingua franca
was Latin, although Portuguese (due to the patronage
delegated by the Pope to the King of Portugal) and
other European languages were also used as commu-
nication and translation tools. Protestant mission-
aries arrived in the region at the beginning of the
19th century. Their linguistic policies had much to
do with efforts developed for translating the Bible
into vernacular languages and will therefore be
sketched later.
Jesuit missionaries in particular dealt directly with
a variety of linguistic problems. Matteo Ricci (in
China from 1583 until his death in 1610) took pains
to write his apologetic works in elegant literary
Chinese. In 1615, the Jesuits received from the Pope
permission to use vernacular language in the litur-
gy and to translate the Bible into classical Chinese.
However, the development of the Rites Controversy
prevented them from making use of this permission.
Attempts made in Japan during the same period were
also aborted. More generally, although apologetic and
catechetical treaties in East Asian languages were
numerous, the authoritative sources of Catholicism
were still controlled by the use of Latin until the
middle of the 20th century. Making use of Chinese
as a language for theological teaching and research is
a quite recent enterprise, at least when one speaks
about ‘professional’ theologians contrasted with the
lay persons who, from the 17th century on, expressed
their understanding of the faith in their own language.
For example, the Jesuit faculty of theology in Shanghai,
which was first transferred to the Philippines from
1952 to 1967, kept Latin as the only teaching lan-
guage until 1964, later shifting to English. In the
Catholic world, it is only with the foundation of the
Fu Jen Faculty of Theology, in Taipei, that teaching
and research were conducted in Chinese, starting in
1968. From that time on, the shift has been swift and
complete. Similar remarks could be made for Japan
and Korea. It is no wonder that the Catholic Japanese
novelist Shusaku Endo made one of his characters
declare to a Christian having studied abroad, ‘‘Your
Latin is good. But your faith is rotten.’’

Besides the large-scale encounter between European
Christianity and East Asia that occurred from 1550
onward, more limited exchanges took place through-
out history, which brought into East Asia Christian
traditions shaped through other languages and cul-
tures. The most interesting of these attempts is the
one that developed after 635 when a few monks
from the Chaldean (Nestorian) Church arrived at
Xi’an, capital of the Chinese Empire. The Xi’an
Stele (erected in 781) remains the most complete
testimony of this early presentation of Christianity
to China. Based on Syriac documents translated into
Chinese, it makes a creative use of Buddhist and
Taoist terminology in order to express aspects of the
Christian mysteries. Approximately 70 years after the
completion of the stele, this Christian community was
included within the large-scale persecution that
decimated Buddhism in China, and its fragile roots
were probably extirpated from the Chinese soil.
However, the questions that this first attempt at
inculturation raised have remained acute.
With regard to the relationship between the
spreading of the faith and sociolinguistics, the cases
of Korea and Taiwan deserve special mention. In
Korea, Christian use of the Hangul script enabled
the spreading of the faith. As early as the end of
the 18th century, portions of the Gospels, doctrinal
books, and a hymnary appeared in this script. This
was a challenge to the perceived cultural superiority
of Chinese and a factor in the rise of literacy. In
Taiwan, the influence of the Presbyterian Church is
strongly linked to its early advocacy of the Taiwanese
(Minnan) language and romanization.
Translating the Bible into East Asian
Languages
Protestant missionaries in the Far East viewed the en-
counter between Christianity and Eastern languages
mainly through the prism of Bible translation. An
exploratory stage took place from 1820 to 1890, a
time during which full translations in Japanese and
Chinese of both testaments were completed. In ap-
proximately 1910–1920, revised, reliable, and well-
polished translations of the Bible in Far Eastern
languages were published and are still in use today.
In 1919, the publication of the Mandarin Union
Version, coinciding with the May Fourth Movement,
was a lasting cultural and literary event. In Japan,
authoritative Catholic and Protestant versions of the
New Testament were published in approximately
1910–1917. From the 1920s onward, the translated
Bible was not only a religious but also a literary text
influencing the intellectual life of China, Korea, and
Japan. Biblical narratives and stylistic features entered
Christianity in the Far East 405
into Far Eastern languages. After 1960, new publica-
tions appeared, based on renewed scholarship. The
first complete Chinese Catholic Bible was published
in 1967 in Taiwan. In Korea, the Bible was newly
translated for common use by both the Catholic and
the Protestant churches – the New Testament in 1971
and the Old Testament in 1977. Questions regarding
the reliability of these two translations have been
raised; a Catholic Bible was completed only in 2002.
East Asian Languages and Christian
Dogmas
East Asian Christian theology might have yet to de-
velop a body of assumptions and research that would
make it comparable in size and importance to other
‘regional’ theologies such as found in India, Africa, or
Latin America. Furthermore, with regard to the global
theological field, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese are
still minority, if not marginal, languages.
At the same time, regarding elaborate theological
discourse in East Asian languages, the reference
to Chinese is somehow analogous to what was the
reference to Latin in classical Christianity. Linguistic–
cultural concepts embodied in characters such as dao
(the Way), li (Reason), and xing (Nature) are the
indispensable tools used not only by Chinese but
also by Japanese and Korean Christian thinkers. The
challenge is that the Chinese intellectual tradition (at
the same time a corpus of wisdom, a philosophical
worldview, and a religious way of life) does not easily
accommodate the conceptual framework through
which Christian theology is currently expressed.
Chinese as a linguistic tool deeply differs from lan-
guages such as Greek, Latin, or Sanskrit. Its morpholo-
gy does not distinguish between clear-cut grammatical
categories. On the other hand, Chinese characters have
a concrete flavor and a suggestiveness of their own and
constitute a framework for expressing perception and
thought that closely associates form and meaning.
Consequently, basic Western concepts such as soul,
substance, and modality have often been translated
in a rather clumsy way, whereas finding equivalents
for some basic Chinese categories is a painstaking en-
deavor. Furthermore, Chinese terminology is rooted
in the canon of classical writings that constituted
the basis for the development of Chinese culture and
philosophy. This explains the fact that in the entire
East Asia, for Christian theology, Confucianism was
always perceived as an ‘‘embedded cultural–linguistic
matrix’’ (the expression is due to the Protestant Korean
theologian Heup Young Kim). With regard to such
an inheritance, it is not surprising that theological
inculturation has much to do with semantics. In this
respect, a few terms deserve special attention.
406 Christianity in the Far East
First, the word ‘God’ has no immediate equivalent
in Chinese language. A choice had to be made between
the terms ‘Heaven’ (tian) and ‘Lord (or Emperor) from
above’ (shangdi). Forming a pure neologism (as had
been the case in Japan), expressions such as ‘Supreme
Principle’ (taiji) or ‘Spirit’ (shen) were less plausible
alternatives. Later, the Catholics adopted the term
tianzhu (‘Lord of Heaven’), and the ecclesiastical
authorities prohibited the use of other names after
1704. Today, most Protestant denominations still
prefer the term shangdi, which is more common in
Chinese.
Another field open for semantic inculturation is
that formed by words such as ‘virtue’ (daode), ‘law’
(fa), and ‘rites’ (li). Virtue is traditionally seen as an
internal principle that governs one’s conduct and
deeply influences one’s surroundings. In contrast,
law is often accused of being an artificial construct
that goes against the natural and virtuous flow of life.
Some Chinese theologians have contrasted Moses,
who gives his people a law, with Confucius, who
gives the Chinese cultural world a set of internal
principles of conduct.
The previous examples illustrate how terminologi-
cal problems are intrinsically linked with theological
debates that determine the understanding and devel-
opment of Christianity in East Asian societies and
cultures.
East Asian Languages and the Reshaping
of the Christian Narrative
During the past 30 years of the 20th century, Korean
minjung theology has provided East Asia with an
example of the importance of language issues in the
crafting of a new Christian expression. Although
minjung roughly means ‘people,’ the word is usually
not translated in order to preserve the specificity of
the historical experience it represents. Korean min-
jung theology pioneered extratextual hermeneutics,
insisting on popular rituals and expressions of feeling
as a source of inspiration. Of special importance has
been the stress put on kut, a shaman-like rite that
makes the community as a whole gathering, resur-
recting and offering sacrifice. Similarly, much writing
has been devoted to han, the dominant popular feel-
ing arising from ‘‘the suppressed, amassed, and con-
densed experience of oppression’’ (Suh Nan-dong).
Such journey allowed, for instance, the Korean femi-
nist Chung Hyun Kyung to write, ‘‘I discovered
my bowels are shamanistic bowels, my heart is a
Buddhist heart, and my head is a Christian head.’’
(On the blurring of religious identities, see Christian-
ity in Southeast Asia.) Although not as vibrant as was
the case in the 1980s, minjung theology still provides
a set of questions for East Asian Christianity as a
whole.
The linguistic and cultural rooting of Christianity
in the East Asian context is a multivalent endeavor.
It means coming to terms with the East Asian world-
view embedded into words, concepts, and linguistic
structures. It requires to remain open to the plurality
of experiences as translated into linguistic forms. The
various texts and cultural–linguistic expressions that
East Asian Christian thinkers have to deal with are to
be taken and analyzed according to their hermeneuti-
cal status: A closer look at the ambivalence of Chinese
classics enriches biblical exegesis, individual narra-
tions of the spiritual experiences undergone in East
Asian contexts challenge Western categories of the
spiritual or mystic path, and Buddhist and Taoist
scriptures obey hermeneutic models that challenge
the usual categorization of theological discourse (a
good example is provided by the debate between the
Buddhist philosopher Masao Abe and the Catholic
theologian David Tracy). Interpreting anew the quest
for ‘harmony’ typical of East Asian culture, recalling
stories of hardships, traumas, forgiveness, survival,
and hopes, and being attentive to the style of story-
telling found in various East Asian cultures, all con-
tribute to the writing of the Christian East Asian
narrative. The appropriation of Christianity by East
Asian languages is not a mere lexicographic endeav-
or: words and concepts take blood and flesh within
the flow of a story told in many tongues.
See also: Bible; Christianity in Southeast Asia; Sacred
Texts: Hermeneutics.
Bibliography
Abe M (1990). ‘Kenotic God and dynamic Sunyata.’ In
Cobb J B & Ives C (eds.) The emptying god. Maryknoll,
NY: Orbis. 3–65.
Chandrakanthan A J V (1990). ‘Emerging trends in Asia
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Costelloe J (ed.) (1992). The letters and instructions of
Francis Xavier. St Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources.
DeVido E A & Vermander B (eds.) (2004). Creeds, rites and
videotapes, narrating religious experience in East Asia.
Variétés Sinologiques New Series No. 93. Taipei: Taipei
Ricci Institute.
Eber I, Wan S K & Walf K (eds.) (1999). Bible in modern
China, the literary and intellectual impact. Sankt Augustin,
Germany: Institut Monumenta Serica.
England J C, Kuttiaimattathil J, Prior J M, Quintos L A,
Suh D K S & Wickeri J (eds.) (2003). Asian Christian

theologies, a research guide to authors, movements:
(Vol .3). Northeast Asia. Delhi: ISPCK.
Kim H Y (1994). ‘Jen and Agape: towards a
Confucian Christology.’ Asia Journal of Theology, 8(2),
335–363.
Koyama K (1974). Waterbuffalo theology. London: SCM.
Künster V R (1995). Theologie in Kontext, zugleich ein
Versuch über die Minjung-Theologie. Studia Instituti
Missiologici Societatis Verbi Divini No. 62. Nettetal,
Germany: Steylker Verlag.
Phan P C (1996). ‘Jesus the Christ with an Asian face.’
Theological Studies 57, 399–430.
Christianity, Catholic
D Sheerin, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame,
IN, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Latin Christianity
Christianity first developed in the West in Greek-
speaking Jewish communities, thus the earliest surviv-
ing documents are in Greek; from the first half of the
3rd century, however, there are sophisticated Latin
texts from Christian communities in Africa and in
Rome (although use of Greek as well continued
in Rome (see Lafferty, 2003)). The religious idiom
of the Latin texts owed much to the Greek Christian
authors who had built on the linguistic achievements
of Hellenistic Judaism (see Loi, 1992a, 1992b), and
owed much as well to the anonymous translations of
the scriptures from Greek into Latin (known collec-
tively as the Vetus Latina, by way of distinction from
translations and revisions made later by the biblical
scholar Jerome (d. 420)). The Latin of these transla-
tions is quite distinctive due to the large number of
lexicographic, syntactic, and stylistic Grecisms and
mediated Hebraisms created by the literalism of the
translators, and due as well to the many vulgarisms
(some coincident with Grecisms and Hebraisms) that
the translators admitted to the written register,
whether consciously, with a view to accessibility, or
unconsciously, because of their limited control of
written Latin (see Sheerin, 1996a).
Christian Latin
Christian Latin has been studied extensively (see
Sanders and Van Uytfanghe, 1989) and its peculiar
features are well known (see Sheerin, 1996a). There
are mostly literary remains, but the language of less
educated Christians is known from inscriptions and
Christianity, Catholic 407
Song C S (1984). Tell us our names: story theology from an
Asian perspective. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Standaert N (ed.) (2001). Handbook of Christianity in
China (vol. 1). Leiden: Brill. 635–1800.
Sujirtharajah R S (ed.) (1994). Frontiers in Asian Christian
theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Vermander B (1996). ‘Theologizing in the Chinese context.’
Studia Missionalia 45, 119–134.
Vermander B (2000). ‘Le monde sinisé: Chine, Taiwan,
Corée, Japon.’ In Doré J (ed.) Le devenir de la théologie
catholique mondiale depuis Vatican II, 1965–1999.
Paris: Beauchesne. 397–427.
graffiti, from reports by literary figures, and from
usage in the many sermons that survive from steno-
graphic records. What has proved controversial is the
exact linguistic category into which ‘Christian Latin’
should be placed.
Christian Latin could be called a sociolect, but not
as conventionally understood, for its use was not
restricted along class lines. Yet it was at once the
creation and the linguistic identifier of a particular
group, and might even be called a ‘restricted code’ (in
the sense of sociolinguistic scholar Basil Bernstein),
for it would have been confusing and exclusion-
ary to non-Christians. But it was employed only in
connection with religion, thus it was, in effect, a
Fachsprache, a ‘language for special purposes,’ or
technolect. However, Christian Latin was employed
by and helped to define an ever-growing and more
varied community, a community that went far toward
realizing its ambition of universality.
The Christian Latin community developed its
own terminology through loanwords from Greek
and Hebrew, neologisms, and polysemous use of
common terms as technical terms. Writers from
late antiquity through the early modern period
have shown an awareness of the difference and pecu-
liarity of Christian terminology, as when Isidore of
Seville (d. 636) contrasted Christian Grecisms to
standard Latin terms: ‘‘On prophets. Those that the
pagans call vates, our people call prophetae . . .’’,
‘‘Martyres in the Greek language are called testes
(witnesses) in Latin . . .’’ (Etymologiae 7: 8.1, 11.1),
and Erasmus provided a very comical (and satirical)
specimen of an attempt to present Christian discourse
in Ciceronian Latin (Ciceronianus, Amsterdam edi-
tion of Erasmus’s Opera omnia (ASD) I-2: 640–642;
Leyden edition (LB) 1: 995–996).
Phonology and morphology were unaffected save
by the many foreign-sounding terms and names

theologies, a research guide to authors, movements:
(Vol .3). Northeast Asia. Delhi: ISPCK.
Kim H Y (1994). ‘Jen and Agape: towards a
Confucian Christology.’ Asia Journal of Theology, 8(2),
335–363.
Koyama K (1974). Waterbuffalo theology. London: SCM.
Künster V R (1995). Theologie in Kontext, zugleich ein
Versuch über die Minjung-Theologie. Studia Instituti
Missiologici Societatis Verbi Divini No. 62. Nettetal,
Germany: Steylker Verlag.
Phan P C (1996). ‘Jesus the Christ with an Asian face.’
Theological Studies 57, 399–430.
Christianity, Catholic
D Sheerin, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame,
IN, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Latin Christianity
Christianity first developed in the West in Greek-
speaking Jewish communities, thus the earliest surviv-
ing documents are in Greek; from the first half of the
3rd century, however, there are sophisticated Latin
texts from Christian communities in Africa and in
Rome (although use of Greek as well continued
in Rome (see Lafferty, 2003)). The religious idiom
of the Latin texts owed much to the Greek Christian
authors who had built on the linguistic achievements
of Hellenistic Judaism (see Loi, 1992a, 1992b), and
owed much as well to the anonymous translations of
the scriptures from Greek into Latin (known collec-
tively as the Vetus Latina, by way of distinction from
translations and revisions made later by the biblical
scholar Jerome (d. 420)). The Latin of these transla-
tions is quite distinctive due to the large number of
lexicographic, syntactic, and stylistic Grecisms and
mediated Hebraisms created by the literalism of the
translators, and due as well to the many vulgarisms
(some coincident with Grecisms and Hebraisms) that
the translators admitted to the written register,
whether consciously, with a view to accessibility, or
unconsciously, because of their limited control of
written Latin (see Sheerin, 1996a).
Christian Latin
Christian Latin has been studied extensively (see
Sanders and Van Uytfanghe, 1989) and its peculiar
features are well known (see Sheerin, 1996a). There
are mostly literary remains, but the language of less
educated Christians is known from inscriptions and
Christianity, Catholic 407
Song C S (1984). Tell us our names: story theology from an
Asian perspective. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Standaert N (ed.) (2001). Handbook of Christianity in
China (vol. 1). Leiden: Brill. 635–1800.
Sujirtharajah R S (ed.) (1994). Frontiers in Asian Christian
theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Vermander B (1996). ‘Theologizing in the Chinese context.’
Studia Missionalia 45, 119–134.
Vermander B (2000). ‘Le monde sinisé: Chine, Taiwan,
Corée, Japon.’ In Doré J (ed.) Le devenir de la théologie
catholique mondiale depuis Vatican II, 1965–1999.
Paris: Beauchesne. 397–427.
graffiti, from reports by literary figures, and from
usage in the many sermons that survive from steno-
graphic records. What has proved controversial is the
exact linguistic category into which ‘Christian Latin’
should be placed.
Christian Latin could be called a sociolect, but not
as conventionally understood, for its use was not
restricted along class lines. Yet it was at once the
creation and the linguistic identifier of a particular
group, and might even be called a ‘restricted code’ (in
the sense of sociolinguistic scholar Basil Bernstein),
for it would have been confusing and exclusion-
ary to non-Christians. But it was employed only in
connection with religion, thus it was, in effect, a
Fachsprache, a ‘language for special purposes,’ or
technolect. However, Christian Latin was employed
by and helped to define an ever-growing and more
varied community, a community that went far toward
realizing its ambition of universality.
The Christian Latin community developed its
own terminology through loanwords from Greek
and Hebrew, neologisms, and polysemous use of
common terms as technical terms. Writers from
late antiquity through the early modern period
have shown an awareness of the difference and pecu-
liarity of Christian terminology, as when Isidore of
Seville (d. 636) contrasted Christian Grecisms to
standard Latin terms: ‘‘On prophets. Those that the
pagans call vates, our people call prophetae . . .’’,
‘‘Martyres in the Greek language are called testes
(witnesses) in Latin . . .’’ (Etymologiae 7: 8.1, 11.1),
and Erasmus provided a very comical (and satirical)
specimen of an attempt to present Christian discourse
in Ciceronian Latin (Ciceronianus, Amsterdam edi-
tion of Erasmus’s Opera omnia (ASD) I-2: 640–642;
Leyden edition (LB) 1: 995–996).
Phonology and morphology were unaffected save
by the many foreign-sounding terms and names
408 Christianity, Catholic
that came with Christianity and by a toleration of –
indeed, a preference for – vulgarisms (see, e.g.,
Augustine, De doctrina christiana IV). Syntax was
not greatly affected save that the prestige of the scrip-
tures made written registers of Christian Latin perme-
able to the Grecisms, mediated Hebraisms, and
vulgarisms that characterize the Latin biblical trans-
lations. Rusticity became for a time the Christian
ideal – often real, sometimes pretended as a humility
topos.
The Latin Church
Latin became the official language of Western
Christianity, so much so that Western Christianity
was sometimes called Latinitas (see Sheerin, 1987).
Latin dominance in Romanized regions is to be
expected, but Latin primacy was also resolutely main-
tained against non-Romance vernacular alternatives.
Thus, although Eastern Christianity early produced
scripture, liturgy, and literature in Greek, Syriac,
Coptic, Ge‘ez, Armenian, and Georgian, and later in
Church Slavonic and Arabic, Latin remained the
unique vehicle for the higher end of ecclesiastical
discourse in the West, the official language of the
Bible and liturgy (see Sheerin, 1996b), and over the
centuries distinctive styles and idioms developed
in the schools for philosophy, theology, and canon
law (see articles in Mantello and Rigg (1996)).
Even when religious texts became available in the
vernaculars, a kind of ecclesiastical diglossia contin-
ued through the Middle Ages and well beyond (see
‘The ‘‘Latin Stronghold’’: the Church,’ in Waquet
(2001: chap. 2)).
Of course, vernacular vocabulary, syntax, and, to a
far greater degree, pronunciation affected ecclesiasti-
cal Latin (see Erasmus, De correcta latini graecique
sermonis pronuntiatione). Not until the early 20th
century did anything like a ‘standard’ pronunciation
of ecclesiastical Latin came about, with the general
adoption of ‘Roman’ or ‘Italian’ pronunciation as a
consequence of the revival of Gregorian chant, and
even then not without resistance from traditionalists
in France (see Brittain, 1955) and, later, from ‘nation-
alists’ in Spain. But even in the post-Vatican II era,
Latin has remained the official language of the
Roman Catholic Church (see the Vatican’s official
publication, Acta apostolicae sedis). How well Latin
has served may be seen in the fact that for 1700 years
Latin has been the vehicle of administration, regula-
tion, and education of a polyglot religious imperium
more extensive than any political empire the world
has seen.
Clerical education had to begin with training in
Latin. Even in late antiquity, clerical ignorance of
Latin was a problem; Augustine (De catechizandis
rudibus 9.13) remarked on the scandal caused by
clerics’ garbled Latin, and clerical inability to com-
pose ex tempore contributed to the abandonment of
improvised liturgical prayers for fixed ones. Com-
plaints about clerical ignorance of Latin are found
in the literature through the Middle Ages and
well beyond (see Waquet, 2001: 60–63). Training
in Latin, rudimentary or advanced, was the preserve
of males, of clergy alone for centuries, but later
young ‘gentlemen’ as well (see Ong, 1959). Though
some women, mostly in religious life, were taught
Latin and became proficient scribes and composers
of Latin texts (see Churchill et al., 2002), women in
religious life, in degree varying with time and place,
had to depend on oral instruction in the vernacular or
on versions of theological and spiritual texts in the
vernacular.
The vernacular languages of the Catholic peoples,
however, were the medium for unwritten communi-
cation with the vast majority who did not know
Latin. In the later Middle Ages, multiple factors
evoked an increase in the composition of religious
texts in the vernacular languages and pari passu an
elaboration of vernacular resources for the presenta-
tion of religious thought (a view of these resources
can be had in a glance at the work of Foster and Carey
(2002)). Printing, the Reformation, and the Counter-
reformation accelerated the vernacularization of
religious language. But the Catholic church barely
allowed vernacular translations of the Latin Vulgate
Bible and refused translation of the Latin liturgy.
Latin remained the medium for theological education
and discourse, but vernacular theological language
had to be employed in vernacular controversial liter-
ature and in vernacular catechisms for the instruction
of the laity.
The Roman Catholic Church in the
United States
Here focus shifts abruptly from the pre-modern to the
modern period, and narrows from the official Latin
language to the vernacular of American Catholics.
Until at least the early 1960s, the speech of American
Catholics was characterized, to a limited degree,
by pronunciation and the use of Latin tags (for
their residue, see Wills (1972: 16–17) and Bretzke
(1998)), but far more by a latinate English terminol-
ogy, a technolect, largely derived from the Baltimore
catechism, which had been promulgated by the U.S.
Catholic bishops in 1891 (the American equivalent
of the Anglo-Irish ‘penny catechism,’ A catechism of
Christian doctrine).

Catholic elementary school students were taught
about things divine and how to define perfection,
unity, nature, and substance; they were taught about
the church and how to define its attributes of author-
ity, infallibility, and indefectibility, and how to de-
scribe the various ranks of the officers of the church,
those in minor orders and major orders, and the pre-
lates who ruled the church, from monsignor through
the Pope (who could teach ex cathedra) and his vicars
apostolic and cardinals. They were taught a taxono-
my of sins: original and actual, mortal and venial, and
capital and material, and about predominant sin or
ruling passion, which might determine for each what
constituted a near occasion of sin. But grace was
available – actual grace and sanctifying grace –
which came through the sacraments (the sacraments
of the living and sacraments of the dead), with their
outward sign, matter, and form, and the requisite
right intention and right dispositions. Students
learned that confession and general confession (not
recommended for those with scruples), with its abso-
lution and penance, could remit the two punishments
due to actual sins, the eternal punishment, but only
part of the temporal punishment in purgatory. For
help with the latter, one sought a plenary indulgence
or a partial indulgence. Catholics knew the end of
man, that after death there would be a particular
judgment that would send him to hell, purgatory, or
heaven, but that there was to be a general resurrection
followed by a general judgment, after which the
souls of the just would live on in a glorified body,
with its qualities of brilliancy, agility, subtility, and
impassibility.
For some practices, Catholics had expressions
ranging from the top to the bottom of Catholic
idiom (see Wills (1972: 40), on the hypercorrect
usage of the Catholic intelligentsia of the 1950s),
e.g., from the formal ‘receive the Eucharist’ or ‘re-
ceive Holy Communion’ to the informal ‘go to Com-
munion,’ to the antiformal ‘hit the rail’ (the
communion, or altar, rail that separated the sanctuary
from the nave of the church). The intelligentsia
employed a reserved code of compressed, implicit
expressions, such as when they advised one another
to ‘offer it up’ (gladly to offer personal discomfort or
frustration in place of the pains of the church
suffering in purgatory) or excused themselves to
‘make a visit’ (to the Blessed Sacrament reserved in
church). Even Catholic profanity was distinctive, an
apt topic for a study such as that of Beccaria (2001).
Catholic communities were distinguished also by
onomastics. Religion restricted the choice of personal
names given in the sacraments of baptism and confir-
mation to ‘saints’ names’ broadly understood, and
affected even the toponymy of areas where Catholics
Christianity, Catholic 409
lived. Spanish-speaking Catholics had left the mark of
their religion on the toponymy of the western states in
names that are still intact or that have been abbre-
viated, e.g., in the United States, Ventura (California),
from San Bonaventura, and the Animas River (north-
ern Colorado), from Rio de las Animas Perdidas.
Later waves of Catholic immigrants used parish
boundaries to create their own toponymy for the
great cities in which they settled. Thus, when asked
where they or another lived, they would reply with
the name of the parish. This could have ethnic signifi-
cance, e.g., St. Laurence O’Toole (Irish), St. Liborius
(German), or St. John Nepomuk (Czech), or might
simply indicate in which Catholic community they
lived, with all of the socioeconomic and cultural
implications of any other community designation.
This toponymy was confusing to non-Catholics or
even to Catholics from out of town, and confusion
was compounded when the term ‘parish’ was
dropped from the complete or abbreviated parish
name, as when one would say that he was from
‘Blessed Sacrament’ or ‘Holy Rosary’ or from ‘Sor-
rows’ (Our Lady of Sorrows parish) or ‘Immaculate’
(Immaculate Conception parish).
Roman Catholic culture has undergone funda-
mental changes since the Second Vatican Council,
and the American Catholic idiom described here is
now obsolescent. Some of its features endure, but
many have been displaced by new formulations,
and, in the interests of interfaith relations, gender
equity, etc., many peculiar usages have been elimi-
nated altogether. It would be, perhaps, inexact to
apply the term ‘language death’ to this case, but the
fact remains that cultural changes are bringing about
the extinction of a form of peculiarly Catholic mode
of communication.
See also: Bible; Ethnicity; Gender, Grammatical; Lan-
guages for Specific Purposes.
Bibliography
Beccaria G L (2001). Sicuterat: il latino di chi non lo sa:
Bibbia e liturgia nell’italiano e nei dialetti. Milano:
Garzanti.
Bretzke J T (1998). Consecrated phrases: a Latin theologi-
cal dictionary: Latin expressions found in theological
writings. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.
Brittain F (1955). Latin in church: the history of its pronun-
ciation. London: A. R. Mowbray.
Churchill L J, Brown P R & Jeffrey J E (eds.) (2002).
Women writing Latin: From Roman antiquity to early
modern Europe. New York: Routledge.
Foster E E & Carey D H (2002). Chaucer’s church: a
dictionary of religious terms in Chaucer. Aldershot:
Ashgate.
410 Christianity, Catholic
Lafferty M K (2003). ‘Translating faith from Greek to
Latin: romanitas and christianitas in late fourth-
century Rome.’ Journal of Early Christian Studies 11,
21–62.
Loi V (1992a). ‘Greek, Christian.’ In Di Berardino A (ed.)
Encyclopedia of the early church, vol. 2. New York:
Oxford University Press. 360–361.
Loi V (1992b). ‘Latin, Christian.’ In Di Berardino A (ed.)
Encyclopedia of the early church, vol. 2. New York:
Oxford University Press. 474.
Mantello F A C & Rigg A G (eds.) (1996). Medieval
Latin: an introduction and bibliographical guide.
Washington, DC: Catholic University of America
Press.
Christianity, Protestant
H Hillerbrand, Duke University, Durham, NC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Protestantism is one of the three major Christian
traditions, alongside Roman Catholicism and Greek
and Russian Orthodoxy. Its number of adherents world-
wide is calculated to be 342 000 000 Core Protestants, to
which should be added another 491 000 000 Wider Pro-
testants, members of so-called independent traditions,
which are referred to as Protestant by others. Statistics
of adherents of religions are not always fully reliable,
however, since they are often based on self-reported fig-
ures by the churches themselves. European countries with
vestiges of the historical state-church system count bap-
tized members (for example, in both Sweden and Finland
approximately 82% of the respective populations), many
of whom have no meaningful relationship to Christianity
or Protestantism. Nonetheless, Protestants comprise
about 44% of the adherents of world Christianity.
Much like Roman Catholicism, Protestantism is not con-
fined to Europe and North America but has increasingly
been, since the 18th century, a global phenomenon. The
importance of Protestantism can be seen in the fact that
worldwide the overwhelming number of Christian pub-
lications come from Protestant sources and that a
Christian ‘megacensus,’ which measures everything em-
pirically measurable about Christianity, has found that
75% stem from Protestant initiatives.
Unlike Roman Catholic and Orthodox Christiani-
ty, however, Protestant Christianity is divided not
only geographically and culturally, but also theologi-
cally and ecclesiastically. There is no single Protestant
Church as such, as there is – despite various diversi-
ties – a single Roman Catholic Church. Quite the
contrary, there are dozens upon dozens of Protestant
Ong W (1959). ‘Latin language study as a Renaissance
puberty rite.’ Studies in Philology 56, 103–124.
Sanders G & Van Uytfanghe M (1989). Bibliographie
signalétique du Latin des chrétiens. Turnhout: Brepols.
Sheerin D (1987). ‘In media latinitate.’ Helios 14, 51–67.
Sheerin D (1996a). ‘Christian and biblical Latin.’ In
Mantello & Rigg (eds.) 137–156.
Sheerin D (1996b). ‘The liturgy.’ In Mantello & Rigg (eds.)
157–182.
Waquet F (2001). Latin, or, the empire of a sign: from
the thirteenth to the twentieth century. Howe J (trans.).
London: Verso.
Wills G (1972). Bare ruined choirs: doubt, prophecy, and
radical religion. New York: Doubleday.
Churches. Some of these, such as the Anglican Com-
munion, are worldwide in scope and distribution of
membership; others such as the Church of the Prus-
sian Union are confined to a single country or area;
still others such as the independent snake-handling
congregations of Appalachia in the United States,
are solitary congregations. Despite such diversity,
which Catholics in the past used to buttress their
own truth claims (since truth – as Bishop Bossuet
noted in the 17th century – must be one, not many),
virtually all of these traditions had their origin in
staking out the same absolutist truth claims as have
the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches. Until
the modern era, all Protestant churches insisted on
their exclusive possession of Christian truth and, each
in its own way, echoed the ancient notion, extra
ecclesiam nulla salus – outside the church there is no
salvation – except that Protestants had a way of
defining ‘church’ rather subjectively.
The term ‘Protestant’ itself comes from the ‘protest’
which the German territorial rulers, supportive of
Luther’s movement of reform, lodged at the diet (par-
liament) at Speyer in 1529 against the decision of
the Catholic rulers to carry out the stipulations
of the Edict of Worms against Martin Luther. Thus,
one may define Protestant as all those individuals and
churches that affirm the Bible as the sole norm of
truth and, in so doing, protest the authority of the
Roman pontiff and the Catholic Church. The term
itself is, therefore, a negative one, even though some
interpreters of the 1529 action have pointed to the
root meaning of the Latin protestari as denoting ‘to
bear witness’ as is still found in the word ‘protesta-
tion,’ meaning strong declaration or affirmation.
Protestantism may thus be defined with a number of
positive assertions, as one also.
410 Christianity, Catholic
Lafferty M K (2003). ‘Translating faith from Greek to
Latin: romanitas and christianitas in late fourth-
century Rome.’ Journal of Early Christian Studies 11,
21–62.
Loi V (1992a). ‘Greek, Christian.’ In Di Berardino A (ed.)
Encyclopedia of the early church, vol. 2. New York:
Oxford University Press. 360–361.
Loi V (1992b). ‘Latin, Christian.’ In Di Berardino A (ed.)
Encyclopedia of the early church, vol. 2. New York:
Oxford University Press. 474.
Mantello F A C & Rigg A G (eds.) (1996). Medieval
Latin: an introduction and bibliographical guide.
Washington, DC: Catholic University of America
Press.
Christianity, Protestant
H Hillerbrand, Duke University, Durham, NC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Protestantism is one of the three major Christian
traditions, alongside Roman Catholicism and Greek
and Russian Orthodoxy. Its number of adherents world-
wide is calculated to be 342 000 000 Core Protestants, to
which should be added another 491 000 000 Wider Pro-
testants, members of so-called independent traditions,
which are referred to as Protestant by others. Statistics
of adherents of religions are not always fully reliable,
however, since they are often based on self-reported fig-
ures by the churches themselves. European countries with
vestiges of the historical state-church system count bap-
tized members (for example, in both Sweden and Finland
approximately 82% of the respective populations), many
of whom have no meaningful relationship to Christianity
or Protestantism. Nonetheless, Protestants comprise
about 44% of the adherents of world Christianity.
Much like Roman Catholicism, Protestantism is not con-
fined to Europe and North America but has increasingly
been, since the 18th century, a global phenomenon. The
importance of Protestantism can be seen in the fact that
worldwide the overwhelming number of Christian pub-
lications come from Protestant sources and that a
Christian ‘megacensus,’ which measures everything em-
pirically measurable about Christianity, has found that
75% stem from Protestant initiatives.
Unlike Roman Catholic and Orthodox Christiani-
ty, however, Protestant Christianity is divided not
only geographically and culturally, but also theologi-
cally and ecclesiastically. There is no single Protestant
Church as such, as there is – despite various diversi-
ties – a single Roman Catholic Church. Quite the
contrary, there are dozens upon dozens of Protestant
Ong W (1959). ‘Latin language study as a Renaissance
puberty rite.’ Studies in Philology 56, 103–124.
Sanders G & Van Uytfanghe M (1989). Bibliographie
signalétique du Latin des chrétiens. Turnhout: Brepols.
Sheerin D (1987). ‘In media latinitate.’ Helios 14, 51–67.
Sheerin D (1996a). ‘Christian and biblical Latin.’ In
Mantello & Rigg (eds.) 137–156.
Sheerin D (1996b). ‘The liturgy.’ In Mantello & Rigg (eds.)
157–182.
Waquet F (2001). Latin, or, the empire of a sign: from
the thirteenth to the twentieth century. Howe J (trans.).
London: Verso.
Wills G (1972). Bare ruined choirs: doubt, prophecy, and
radical religion. New York: Doubleday.
Churches. Some of these, such as the Anglican Com-
munion, are worldwide in scope and distribution of
membership; others such as the Church of the Prus-
sian Union are confined to a single country or area;
still others such as the independent snake-handling
congregations of Appalachia in the United States,
are solitary congregations. Despite such diversity,
which Catholics in the past used to buttress their
own truth claims (since truth – as Bishop Bossuet
noted in the 17th century – must be one, not many),
virtually all of these traditions had their origin in
staking out the same absolutist truth claims as have
the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches. Until
the modern era, all Protestant churches insisted on
their exclusive possession of Christian truth and, each
in its own way, echoed the ancient notion, extra
ecclesiam nulla salus – outside the church there is no
salvation – except that Protestants had a way of
defining ‘church’ rather subjectively.
The term ‘Protestant’ itself comes from the ‘protest’
which the German territorial rulers, supportive of
Luther’s movement of reform, lodged at the diet (par-
liament) at Speyer in 1529 against the decision of
the Catholic rulers to carry out the stipulations
of the Edict of Worms against Martin Luther. Thus,
one may define Protestant as all those individuals and
churches that affirm the Bible as the sole norm of
truth and, in so doing, protest the authority of the
Roman pontiff and the Catholic Church. The term
itself is, therefore, a negative one, even though some
interpreters of the 1529 action have pointed to the
root meaning of the Latin protestari as denoting ‘to
bear witness’ as is still found in the word ‘protesta-
tion,’ meaning strong declaration or affirmation.
Protestantism may thus be defined with a number of
positive assertions, as one also.

Historically, Protestantism had its beginnings early
in the 16th century in the various efforts to engage the
Roman Catholic Church in reform of practice and
theology. These efforts were spearheaded by Martin
Luther, professor at the University of Wittenberg in
Central Germany, and his 95 Theses against the prac-
tice of indulgences. The prompt verdict of excommu-
nication against Luther and his supporters issued in
1521 meant a parting of the ways and, before long,
the establishment of new churches separate from the
Roman Church.
It is a truism that, once the break had occurred,
subsequent theological reflection convinced the Prot-
estant reformers that their understanding of text and
message differed categorically from that of the old
church. There surely should be no doubt – the excep-
tions seem to be systematic theologians who tend to
view the past from the perspective of the present –
that from a certain time onward in the Reformation
controversy, the reformers and their successors would
not have returned to the Catholic Church even if they
had been welcomed with open arms.
Soon it became obvious, however, that common
opposition against the Roman church and its theolo-
gy did not mean common belief. Dissension arose
within the movement of reform, first among those
who wished for a more selective church and repu-
diated the baptism of infants, later called Anabaptists,
then among those who held different interpretations
of the meaning of the Lord’s Supper. Indeed, this par-
ticular issue became the cause for a far-reaching split
among the ranks of the reformers, with the line drawn
most sharply between the Lutheran and the Calvinist
traditions, the latter tracing its origin to John Calvin, a
Frenchman whose reforming activities centered in
Geneva, Switzerland. Calvin understood the bread
and wine of the Communion service to signify the
spiritual union between the believer and Christ,
while Luther held that these elements were his true
body and blood.
Calvin’s tradition has had a particularly strong im-
portance in the Anglo-Saxon world, while Lutheran-
ism tended to be found in central and northern
Europe. In the England of King Henry VIII, religious
agitation together with the strong will of the king led
to the establishment of a new church that initially
focused on the repudiation of papal authority but
subsequently, under Edward VI and Elizabeth I,
took on a more Protestant ring. Even as on the Conti-
nent earlier in the century, there had been those for
whom the reforms undertaken did not go far enough,
so there were those in England during Elizabeth’s
reign who called for reform that was more extensive
and a purer church. Dubbed Puritans by their oppo-
nents, these ardent reformers owed a great debt to
Christianity, Protestant 411
Calvin, and became a lasting element in English Prot-
estantism. Mainstream Protestantism in England,
soon dubbed Anglican, saw its distinctive feature in
the affirmation of a via media between Catholicism
and Protestantism.
The story of Protestantism in England gained in
excitement in the course of the 17th century with
the turbulence of the civil war and its mixture of
political and religious concerns. This brought the
emergence of several dissenting churches that, while
small in numbers, have lastingly influenced English
Protestantism to this day: Baptists, Quakers, and
Congregationalists. Similar discontent with main-
stream Protestantism in England in the 18th century
led to the emergence of the Wesleyan movement,
named after the Oxford don and Church of England
clergyman John Wesley. Eventually, this movement
separated from the Church of England and subse-
quently became known as Methodist.
Continental Protestantism was characterized in the
17th century by an emphasis on proper doctrine (thus,
the label Orthodoxy), which later gave it the unmerited
reputation of having little empathy for the praxis of
Christianity. Orthodox theology focused on delineat-
ing the distinctive doctrines of the respective traditions,
which led, among other affirmations, to the delineation
of the notion of the verbal inspiration of the Bible. Late
in the century, Philipp Jakob Spener, a German Luther-
an clergyman, influenced by such English devotional
writers as William Perkins and William Ames, offered a
proposal for renewing the church in a book entitled
Pious Desires. This book triggered the movement of
Pietism, which can be seen as a Continental parallel to
the Wesleyan movement in England.
Of equal, if not greater, importance for the course
of Protestantism were the intellectual changes ema-
nating from the European Enlightenment in the late
17th and 18th centuries. The searching reexamina-
tion of long-held scholarly, philosophical, and reli-
gious views led to an increasing attack on the
conventional understanding of the Bible as well as
on traditional theology. A group of English thinkers
labeled Christian Deists challenged the time-honored
understanding of the Bible as a revealed book, repu-
diating not only the concept of revelation but mira-
cles and prophecy as well. Protestantism became
divided into two camps: those that affirmed tradition-
al Christian doctrines and those who reinterpreted
these doctrines.
In the 19th and even the 20th century, the history of
Protestantism was less the story of great church
leaders or institutions than it was the story of theo-
logians, such as Friedrich Schleiermacher, Albrecht
Ritschl, David Friedrich Strauss, or Adolf Harnack.
These theologians undertook to reinterpret the
412 Christianity, Protestant
Christian faith in the face of the challenges of moder-
nity. Others, often less in the public eye, affirmed
traditional notions. Twentieth century Protestantism
was marked by several theological waves. Some, such
as Neo-Orthodoxy, were theologically conservative,
while others, such as Liberation Theology, tended to
be more liberal. The great theme of 20th century
Protestantism, however, was its globalization and its
eroding numbers and importance in Europe.
Protestantism was successfully transplanted from
old to New England in the 17th century. Many immi-
grants who came to North America were religious
dissenters, such as the Mennonites, the Amish, the
Independents, or the Baptists, for whom the new
continent was the biblical city on a hill, where they
could practice their faith unhindered by government,
though they often manifested the same kind of intol-
erance that they themselves had experienced in their
European homelands.
Theologically, several affirmations characterize
Protestantism, of which the centrality of the Bible as
sole authority for life and faith holds the primacy of
place and importance. The Latin phrase sola scriptura
(‘Scripture alone’) expresses this centrality, which
implies the rejection of the church and its traditions
as normative authority as is variously the case in
Roman Catholicism and Greek and Russian Ortho-
doxy. Since it is the presupposition of this Protestant
premise that the meaning of the Bible is clear and self-
evident, Protestantism has no teaching office (magis-
terium) as does the Roman Catholic Church. Thus,
the distinctive Protestant hallmark has to do with
authority.
A second Protestant assertion relates to the doc-
trine of justification, which explains how humans
are reconciled with God. Catholic teaching has held
in varying ways that such justification entails a pro-
cess of divine and human cooperation, where humans
will marshal their moral prowess to which divine
grace is added. This Catholic notion of cooperation,
often mislabeled as work righteousness by Protes-
tants, was countered in Protestant theology with the
insistence that justification is solely attributable to
divine grace, which humans appropriate solely by
faith. Here, too, Protestant nomenclature invoked
the Latin sola (alone) to insist that justification is
sola gratia, sola fide, solely by grace, solely by faith.
Beyond these basic affirmations, Protestantism is
marked by theological diversity. Protestant diversity
finds its explanation in the absence of a central au-
thoritative entity – either person or structure – in
Protestantism that would exercise normative authori-
ty (and power). The Protestant recourse to the Bible,
or the Word of God as the ultimate authority,
produced multiple divergent interpretations, and
new theological or biblical interpretations frequently
assumed structural concreteness. Yet it seems neither
fair nor theologically accurate to contrast the relative-
ly homogeneous Catholic and Orthodox churches
with the diversity of Protestant denominations – and
to find in this diversity proof positive for the nonvia-
bility of Protestant truth claims. The Roman Catholic
Church sustains its theological homogeneity through
excommunication or the voluntary separation of dis-
senting members, indicating that it is not itself able to
maintain unity of interpretation. The very existence of
Orthodox and Protestant traditions suggests that the
Roman Catholic Church has not been able to sustain its
truth claims universally but has sloughed off dissent
within its ranks. In Protestant churches, excommunica-
tion and dissent have likewise led to separation, but
with a difference: the establishment of new groupings
and churches. The phenomenon of new ecclesial struc-
tures has been particularly prominent in places where
the legal freedom to do so existed. The absence of
established churches in North America and the non-
European world has allowed dissent from the main-
stream to express itself organizationally and sociologi-
cally in the form of new churches, each of which claims
its own truth.
The diversity of Protestant churches, especially
pronounced in the United States, entails two conse-
quences. One is the difficulty of speaking of the Prot-
estant understanding of almost any topic, be it
worship, doctrine, ethics, etc. Even as regards the
traditional hallmark of Protestantism, the priority of
grace in salvation, there are diverse Protestant
notions as to exactly how divine grace and human
effort are to be related. Second, there is also the
increasingly popular (at least among scholars) ten-
dency to use the plural and speak of Protestantisms
to denote the empirical reality of Protestant diversity.
This view, which simultaneously speaks of Catholi-
cisms or Christianities, ignores the fundamental unity
in diversity by favoring the latter rather than the
former.
The closing decades of the 20th century saw a
striking vitality of theologically conservative Protes-
tant churches, especially in places such as Korea,
Central America, and Africa. Pentecostal churches
have seen dramatic increases in membership. This is
in contrast to stable membership numbers and a more
liberal theological outlook in the European and
North American Protestant churches. The important
question, as regards the future of Protestantism, will
be if these recent developments must be seen as har-
bingers of identity and place of Protestantism in the
21st century.

See also: Bible; Christianity, Catholic; Christianity in Afri-
ca; Christianity in Latin America; Christianity in the Far
East; Luther, Martin (1483–1546); Quakerism; Reforma-
tion, Northern European; Religious Language; Sacred
Texts: Hermeneutics.
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Pincus S C A (1996). Protestantism and patriotism: ideolo-
gies and the making of English foreign policy, 1650–
1668. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University
Press.
Rausch D A & Voss C H (1987). Protestantism, its modern
meaning. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Schütte H (1967). Protestantismus. Sein Selbstverständnis
und sein Ursprung gemäss der deutschsprachigen protes-
tantischen Theologie der Gegenwart und eine kurze
katholische Besinnung, mit einem Geleitbrief. Essen-
Werden: Fredebeul & Koenen.
Shaull R (1991). The reformation and liberation theolo-
gy: insights for the challenges of today. Louisville:
Westminster/J. Knox Press.
Wuthnow R & Evans J H (2002). The quiet hand of God:
faith-based activism and the public role of mainline
Protestantism. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Zahl P F M (1998). The Protestant face of Anglicanism.
Grand Rapids: W. B. Eerdmans.
414 Christmas Island: Language Situation
Christmas Island: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
An Australian Territory since 1958, Christmas Island
is a small tropical isle in the eastern sector of the
Indian Ocean, 2600 km northwest of Perth, Western
Australia. Its closest neighbor is Java, 360 km away.
The uninhabited island was discovered and named on
Christmas Day of the year 1643 by Captain William
Mynors of the East India Ship Company, but it was
not until 1888 that Christmas Island was annexed by
Britain and settled. The Clunies-Ross brothers from
neighboring Cocos-Keeling Islands (some 900 km to
the southwest) established a settlement at Flying Fish
Cove to collect timber and supplies for the grow-
ing industry on Cocos, and when phosphate mining
began in the 1890s, Christmas Island became increas-
ingly populated. The earliest settlers spoke English
and Cocos Malay, a unique version of Malay that
has been isolated from the mainstream language for
over 150 years. Early arrivals from China mainly
spoke Cantonese. In fact, many early place names
on Christmas Island are Cantonese words, such as
Poon Saan, which means ‘halfway up the hill’. Post-
war arrivals who came from Penang introduced
other Chinese languages including Hakka, Hainese,
Hokkien, and Teochew, while those from Singapore
Chrysippos (ca. 282–208 B.C.)
P Swiggers and A Wouters, Katholieke Universiteit
Leuven, Leuven, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born in Soli (Cilicia), Chrysippus went to study in
Athens, where he received his philosophical training
in the Platonist academy with Arcesilaus and subse-
quently in the Stoic school led by Cleanthes of Assos.
He succeeded his master, Cleanthes, and became the
third head of the Stoic school. He died in Athens
around 205 B.C.
Chrysippus was an extremely influential thinker
and highly prolific writer, but unfortunately very
little is left of the approximately 700 titles attributed
to him by Diogenes Laertius, whose Lives of the
philosophers remains our main source of informa-
tion on Chrysippus and other Stoic philosophers.
Chrysippus’s main fields of research were dialectics
and language study (i.e., philosophy of language and
introduced Mandarin. Malay is widely spoken by the
Malay Community present on the island and, even
though English is the official language of Christmas
Island, there are many residents who generally com-
municate in Malay or one of the four Chinese dia-
lects. Because English was not a prerequisite for
employment, a sizable proportion of today’s commu-
nity is not fluent in English and many residents still
converse in their native tongue. The Australian
Bureau of Statistic Census of 2001 recorded a total
population of 1508 people on Christmas Island,
with an ethnic composition of approximately 60%
Chinese, 10–15% European, and 25–30% Malay.
The influx of tourists has also had an impact on
the island’s language. Indonesian is frequently spo-
ken along with many of the Chinese languages.
Thai, Japanese, German, and a few other European
languages are sometimes also heard.
See also: Cocos (Keeling) Islands: Language Situation;
Malay.
Bibliography
Adelaar S (1996). ‘Malay in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’ In
Nothofer B (ed.) Reconstruction, classification, descrip-
tion. Festschrift in honor of Isidore Dyen. Hamburg:
Abera. 167–198.
grammar), and he seems to have laid the foundations
of Stoic linguistic thought. For Chrysippus, the term
dialektikê (‘dialectics’) referred to the study of signs
and ‘things signified.’ From the catalogue of his lost
writings it is possible to get an idea of the extent and
technicality of his philosophical-linguistic work
(more than 100 titles). The areas of dialectics and
language study investigated by Chrysippus covered
the following topics: (a) judgments and other types
of sentences (disjunctive judgments, hypothetical
judgments, consequents; questions, queries, answers,
orders); (b) predicates and classes (species, genera,
contrary terms, and relative terms); (c) words, word
classes, and their morphological and syntactic behav-
ior (this domain includes writings on cases, on proper
names, on the elements of speech, on the arrangement
of expressions); and (d) the origin of words (etymolo-
gy). The first three kinds of topics fall within Stoic
logic and theory of meaning: the composition, the
nature, the content, and the function of sentences
414 Christmas Island: Language Situation
Christmas Island: Language Situation
Editorial Team
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
An Australian Territory since 1958, Christmas Island
is a small tropical isle in the eastern sector of the
Indian Ocean, 2600 km northwest of Perth, Western
Australia. Its closest neighbor is Java, 360 km away.
The uninhabited island was discovered and named on
Christmas Day of the year 1643 by Captain William
Mynors of the East India Ship Company, but it was
not until 1888 that Christmas Island was annexed by
Britain and settled. The Clunies-Ross brothers from
neighboring Cocos-Keeling Islands (some 900 km to
the southwest) established a settlement at Flying Fish
Cove to collect timber and supplies for the grow-
ing industry on Cocos, and when phosphate mining
began in the 1890s, Christmas Island became increas-
ingly populated. The earliest settlers spoke English
and Cocos Malay, a unique version of Malay that
has been isolated from the mainstream language for
over 150 years. Early arrivals from China mainly
spoke Cantonese. In fact, many early place names
on Christmas Island are Cantonese words, such as
Poon Saan, which means ‘halfway up the hill’. Post-
war arrivals who came from Penang introduced
other Chinese languages including Hakka, Hainese,
Hokkien, and Teochew, while those from Singapore
Chrysippos (ca. 282–208 B.C.)
P Swiggers and A Wouters, Katholieke Universiteit
Leuven, Leuven, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Born in Soli (Cilicia), Chrysippus went to study in
Athens, where he received his philosophical training
in the Platonist academy with Arcesilaus and subse-
quently in the Stoic school led by Cleanthes of Assos.
He succeeded his master, Cleanthes, and became the
third head of the Stoic school. He died in Athens
around 205 B.C.
Chrysippus was an extremely influential thinker
and highly prolific writer, but unfortunately very
little is left of the approximately 700 titles attributed
to him by Diogenes Laertius, whose Lives of the
philosophers remains our main source of informa-
tion on Chrysippus and other Stoic philosophers.
Chrysippus’s main fields of research were dialectics
and language study (i.e., philosophy of language and
introduced Mandarin. Malay is widely spoken by the
Malay Community present on the island and, even
though English is the official language of Christmas
Island, there are many residents who generally com-
municate in Malay or one of the four Chinese dia-
lects. Because English was not a prerequisite for
employment, a sizable proportion of today’s commu-
nity is not fluent in English and many residents still
converse in their native tongue. The Australian
Bureau of Statistic Census of 2001 recorded a total
population of 1508 people on Christmas Island,
with an ethnic composition of approximately 60%
Chinese, 10–15% European, and 25–30% Malay.
The influx of tourists has also had an impact on
the island’s language. Indonesian is frequently spo-
ken along with many of the Chinese languages.
Thai, Japanese, German, and a few other European
languages are sometimes also heard.
See also: Cocos (Keeling) Islands: Language Situation;
Malay.
Bibliography
Adelaar S (1996). ‘Malay in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’ In
Nothofer B (ed.) Reconstruction, classification, descrip-
tion. Festschrift in honor of Isidore Dyen. Hamburg:
Abera. 167–198.
grammar), and he seems to have laid the foundations
of Stoic linguistic thought. For Chrysippus, the term
dialektikê (‘dialectics’) referred to the study of signs
and ‘things signified.’ From the catalogue of his lost
writings it is possible to get an idea of the extent and
technicality of his philosophical-linguistic work
(more than 100 titles). The areas of dialectics and
language study investigated by Chrysippus covered
the following topics: (a) judgments and other types
of sentences (disjunctive judgments, hypothetical
judgments, consequents; questions, queries, answers,
orders); (b) predicates and classes (species, genera,
contrary terms, and relative terms); (c) words, word
classes, and their morphological and syntactic behav-
ior (this domain includes writings on cases, on proper
names, on the elements of speech, on the arrangement
of expressions); and (d) the origin of words (etymolo-
gy). The first three kinds of topics fall within Stoic
logic and theory of meaning: the composition, the
nature, the content, and the function of sentences

(and their constituents, such as subject terms, predi-
cates) were the essential prerequisite for a correct
analysis of syllogisms, ambiguities, fallacies, aporiai,
and other philosophical puzzles. Chrysippus played a
major role in showing the importance of linguistic-
grammatical study (focusing on the structure of
the proposition, on propositional content, and on
the meaning of its constituent parts) for logical analy-
sis and for a correct understanding of statements
(as referring to states of affairs).
Bibliography
Arnim H von (1903). Stoicorum veterum fragmenta (vol. I).
Leipzig: Teubner.
Blank D & Atherton C (2003). ‘The Stoic contribution
to traditional grammar.’ In Inwood B (ed.) The
Cambridge Companion to the Stoics. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 310–327.
Brunschwig J (1986). ‘Remarques sur la classification des
propositions simples dans les logiques hellénistiques.’ In
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages
G D S Anderson, Max Planck Institute, Leipzig,
Germany, and University of Oregon, Eugene, OR, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chukotko-Kamchatkan
Chukotko-Kamchatkan, formerly also known as
Luor[a]vetlan, is a small family of languages spoken
in extreme northeastern Siberia on the Chukotka
Peninsula, opposite Alaska and the large Kamchatka
Peninsula in far Eastern Siberia. The family consists of
four remaining languages, Alutor, Chukchi, Itelmen,
and Koryak. All of the languages in the group, exclud-
ing Chukchi, are endangered; Kerek became extinct in
the 1990s.
Alutor (Ethnologue code ALR), also known as
Alyutor or Palana Koryak, is spoken by some 200
people in the villages of Vyvenka and Rekinniki in
the Koryak National District, in the northeast Kam-
chatka Peninsula. Chukchi (Ethnologue code CKT)
is spoken by some 10 000 people, primarily on the
Chukchi Peninsula of northeastern Siberia. In English
language literature, especially older works, the lan-
guage is sometimes spelled Chukchee as well. Several
local variants exist, but differences are relatively
minor. More celebrated were the once active phono-
logical differences in men’s and women’s speech, seen
in the following word pair: (men) reqerken ¼
(women) tzeqetzen ‘what is s/he making/doing?’
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages 415
Philosophie du langage et grammaire dans l’antiquité.
Brussels: OUSIA. 287–310.
Gould J B (1970). The Philosophy of Chrysippus. Leiden:
Brill.
Hagius H (1979). ‘The Stoic theory of the parts of speech.’
Ph.D. thesis, Columbus University, New York.
Hülser K (1987–1988). Die Fragmente zur Dialektik der
Stoiker (4 vols). Stuttgart: Frommann/Bad Cannstatt:
Holzboog.
Ildefonse F (2000). Les stoı̈ciens. I. Zénon, Cléanthe,
Chrysippe. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.
Luhtala A (2000). On the origin of syntactical description
in Stoic logic. Münster: Nodus.
Mansfeld J (1986). ‘Diogenes Laertius on Stoic philosophy.’
Elenchos 7, 297–382.
Marrone L (1984). ‘Proposizione e predicato in Crisippo.’
Cronache Ercolanesi 14, 135–146.
Swiggers P & Wouters A (1997). ‘Philosophical aspects of
the Technê grammatikê of Dionysius Thrax.’ In
Berrettoni P & Lorenzi F (eds.) Grammatica e ideologia
nella storia della linguistica. Perugia: Margiacchi-
Galeno. 35–83.
(Kämpfe and Volodin, 1995: 8). Itelmen (Ethnologue
code ITL) is also known as Kamchadal. Itelmen is
currently moribund, with fewer than 100 speakers.
Itelmen speakers are found primarily in the Tigil re-
gion, in Kovran, and in the Upper Khairiuzovo vil-
lages on the Kamchatka Peninsula. There were
originally at least three Itelmen languages, two grad-
ually giving way to Russian over the past two centu-
ries, and they are now extinct. Only the Western
dialect remains; it is sometimes divided into separate
Kovran and Sedanka varieties. Kerek (Ethnologue
code KRK) became extinct in the late 1990s. It was
closely related to Koryak (Ethnologue code KPY);
Koryak has some 3500 speakers scattered across
the Koryak National Okrug, on the northern half
of Kamchatka. An alternate name is Nymylan.
There are several divergent varieties, some now con-
sidered separate languages (Alutor). Dialects include
Chavchuven, Apukin, and Kamen.
Itelmen stands in isolation from the northern lan-
guages genetically, with the speech representing a
southern branch. It is sometimes debated whether
Itelmen is related at all to Northern Chukotko-Kam-
chatan, and it is indeed different in numerous ways,
but these are attributable rather to different sub-
strate populations and various locally defined inter-
nal developments within Northern and Southern
Chukotko-Kamchatkan, and their ultimate genetic
unity seems clear. The northern branch in many

(and their constituents, such as subject terms, predi-
cates) were the essential prerequisite for a correct
analysis of syllogisms, ambiguities, fallacies, aporiai,
and other philosophical puzzles. Chrysippus played a
major role in showing the importance of linguistic-
grammatical study (focusing on the structure of
the proposition, on propositional content, and on
the meaning of its constituent parts) for logical analy-
sis and for a correct understanding of statements
(as referring to states of affairs).
Bibliography
Arnim H von (1903). Stoicorum veterum fragmenta (vol. I).
Leipzig: Teubner.
Blank D & Atherton C (2003). ‘The Stoic contribution
to traditional grammar.’ In Inwood B (ed.) The
Cambridge Companion to the Stoics. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 310–327.
Brunschwig J (1986). ‘Remarques sur la classification des
propositions simples dans les logiques hellénistiques.’ In
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages
G D S Anderson, Max Planck Institute, Leipzig,
Germany, and University of Oregon, Eugene, OR, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Chukotko-Kamchatkan
Chukotko-Kamchatkan, formerly also known as
Luor[a]vetlan, is a small family of languages spoken
in extreme northeastern Siberia on the Chukotka
Peninsula, opposite Alaska and the large Kamchatka
Peninsula in far Eastern Siberia. The family consists of
four remaining languages, Alutor, Chukchi, Itelmen,
and Koryak. All of the languages in the group, exclud-
ing Chukchi, are endangered; Kerek became extinct in
the 1990s.
Alutor (Ethnologue code ALR), also known as
Alyutor or Palana Koryak, is spoken by some 200
people in the villages of Vyvenka and Rekinniki in
the Koryak National District, in the northeast Kam-
chatka Peninsula. Chukchi (Ethnologue code CKT)
is spoken by some 10 000 people, primarily on the
Chukchi Peninsula of northeastern Siberia. In English
language literature, especially older works, the lan-
guage is sometimes spelled Chukchee as well. Several
local variants exist, but differences are relatively
minor. More celebrated were the once active phono-
logical differences in men’s and women’s speech, seen
in the following word pair: (men) reqerken ¼
(women) tzeqetzen ‘what is s/he making/doing?’
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages 415
Philosophie du langage et grammaire dans l’antiquité.
Brussels: OUSIA. 287–310.
Gould J B (1970). The Philosophy of Chrysippus. Leiden:
Brill.
Hagius H (1979). ‘The Stoic theory of the parts of speech.’
Ph.D. thesis, Columbus University, New York.
Hülser K (1987–1988). Die Fragmente zur Dialektik der
Stoiker (4 vols). Stuttgart: Frommann/Bad Cannstatt:
Holzboog.
Ildefonse F (2000). Les stoı̈ciens. I. Zénon, Cléanthe,
Chrysippe. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.
Luhtala A (2000). On the origin of syntactical description
in Stoic logic. Münster: Nodus.
Mansfeld J (1986). ‘Diogenes Laertius on Stoic philosophy.’
Elenchos 7, 297–382.
Marrone L (1984). ‘Proposizione e predicato in Crisippo.’
Cronache Ercolanesi 14, 135–146.
Swiggers P & Wouters A (1997). ‘Philosophical aspects of
the Technê grammatikê of Dionysius Thrax.’ In
Berrettoni P & Lorenzi F (eds.) Grammatica e ideologia
nella storia della linguistica. Perugia: Margiacchi-
Galeno. 35–83.
(Kämpfe and Volodin, 1995: 8). Itelmen (Ethnologue
code ITL) is also known as Kamchadal. Itelmen is
currently moribund, with fewer than 100 speakers.
Itelmen speakers are found primarily in the Tigil re-
gion, in Kovran, and in the Upper Khairiuzovo vil-
lages on the Kamchatka Peninsula. There were
originally at least three Itelmen languages, two grad-
ually giving way to Russian over the past two centu-
ries, and they are now extinct. Only the Western
dialect remains; it is sometimes divided into separate
Kovran and Sedanka varieties. Kerek (Ethnologue
code KRK) became extinct in the late 1990s. It was
closely related to Koryak (Ethnologue code KPY);
Koryak has some 3500 speakers scattered across
the Koryak National Okrug, on the northern half
of Kamchatka. An alternate name is Nymylan.
There are several divergent varieties, some now con-
sidered separate languages (Alutor). Dialects include
Chavchuven, Apukin, and Kamen.
Itelmen stands in isolation from the northern lan-
guages genetically, with the speech representing a
southern branch. It is sometimes debated whether
Itelmen is related at all to Northern Chukotko-Kam-
chatan, and it is indeed different in numerous ways,
but these are attributable rather to different sub-
strate populations and various locally defined inter-
nal developments within Northern and Southern
Chukotko-Kamchatkan, and their ultimate genetic
unity seems clear. The northern branch in many
416 Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages
interpretations has further subgroups of Alutor and
Koryak (and Kerek), in opposition to Chukchi.
Along the coasts, Chukchi people live as sea mam-
mal hunters, like the local Yup’ik populations, but
they live as reindeer herders in the interior. Approxi-
mately three-quarters of the Chukchi live as reindeer
herders. Northern Kamchatkan groups mainly prac-
tice reindeer-oriented economies and fishing and sea
mammal hunting along the coasts. The Itelmen live
primarily as subsistence fishers.
Chukotko-Kamchantkan languages in general, but
the northern ones in particular, are characterized by a
range of features that set them apart from many
indigenous Siberian languages, but also reflect a num-
ber of areally common features. First, many words in
Chukotko-Kamchatkan languages are very long (e.g.,
Chukchi ga-npenac̆g-ergena-qora-ma ‘with the old
men’s reindeers’ (Skorik, 1986: 107)), and initial n-
is common (as is typical of northern and eastern
Siberian languages (Anderson, 2003). Clusters of
stop þ n are also found. Example (1) is from Skorik
(1986: 79, 85) (cf. Itelmen nosx ‘tail’ and neyne
‘mountain’ (Volodin, 1976: 31)):
(1) Chukchi Koryak Alutor Kerek gloss
NoyNen NoyNen NoyNen NuyNen ‘tail’
Neron- Neyon- Nerun- neyuq- ‘3 together’
laN-o laN laN laNu
Compare Kerek tnivek ‘to send’ (Skorik, 1986: 89)
with Itelmen pnilpnel ‘root’ (Skorik, 1986: 78)).
Itelmen shows an unusual tolerance to consonant
clusters word-initially, as well as ejective consonants
that the northern languages do not share. Thus,
words such as klfknan ‘it fell out’ and kstk’lknan
‘he jumped’ may be found in Itelmen.
Northern Chukotko-Kamchatkan languages stand
out for their areally atypical system of vowel harmo-
ny. Vowels belong to one of two harmonic classes,
strong/dominant and weak/recessive. A strong vowel
triggers strong allophones throughout the word, and
therefore a vowel in an affix may trigger alternation
in stem vowels, as shown in Example (2) for Koryak:
(2) weyem ‘river’ > wayamen ‘river-DAT’
mil’ut ‘hare’ > mel’otan ‘hare-DAT’
eñpic̆ ‘father’ > añpec̆e- ‘father-
na-nan AUGM-
DAT’
Note: geyqe-miml-e ‘with water’ vs. gawen-meml-
ema ‘with water’ (Zhukova, 1972: 111–112; 120).
Among the most characteristic features of Chu-
kotko-Kamchatkan morphology is the frequent use
of circumfixes (combined prefix þ suffix combina-
tions) to encode a variety of inflectional categories,
both nominal and verbal, some of which appear to be
very old in the family. In Koryak, this is realized as
ga-c̆ol’-ma ‘with salt’ (Zhukova, 1972: 120), and in
Chukchi it is ga-npenac̆g-ergena-qora-ma ‘ with the
old men’s reindeers’ (Skorik, 1986: 107). In Koryak,
y(A)-. . .-n (Zhukova, 1972: 202):
(3) y-ac̆ac̆gañ-n-ek ye-lqeñ-n-ek
DESID-laugh-DESID-INF DESID-leave-DESID-INF
‘want to laugh’ ‘want to leave’
In Chukchi, re-. . .-n (Kämpfe and Volodin, 1995: 88):
(4) vinrete-rken > re-vinrete-ne-rken
help-IMPERF. DESID-help-
REALIS DESID-IMPERF.REALIS
‘he helps’ ‘he wants to help’
Among the wider relationships that have been pro-
posed for Chukotko-Kamchatkan languages, none
widely accepted by specialists, are connections with
Uralic, Eskimo-Aleut, and ‘Eurasian,’ among others.
See also: Endangered Languages; Russian Federation:
Language Situation.
Bibliography
Anderson G D S (2003). ‘Towards a phonological typology
of Native Siberia.’ In Holisky D A & Tuite K (eds.)
Current trends in Caucasian, East European and Inner
Asian linguistics. Papers in honor of Howard I. Aronson.
Amsterdam & Philadelphia: John Benjamins. 1–22.
Angere J (1951). ‘Das Verhältnis des tschuktschischen
Sprachgruppe zu dem uralischern Sprachstamme.’ Språk-
vetenskapliga Sällskapets i Uppsala Förhandlingar 1949–
1951, 109–150.
Asinovskij A S (1991). Konsonantizm chukotskogo jazyka.
Leningrad: Nauka.
Bobaljik J (1998). ‘Pseudo-ergativity in Chukotko-Kam-
chatkan agreement systems.’ Recherches Linguistiques
de Vincennes 27, 21–44.
Bogoraz W (1922). ‘Chukchee.’ In Boas F (ed.) Handbook
of American Indian languages. Washington: Government
Printing Office. 631–903.
Bogoraz V G (1937). ‘Luoravetlanskij (chukotskij) jazyk.’
In Krejnovich E A & Koshkin J P (eds.) Jazyki i pis’men-
nost’ narodov Severa. Chast’ III. Jazyki i pis’mennosti
paleoaziatskix narodov. Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe
uchebno-pedagogicheskoe izdatel’stvo.
Comrie B (1979). ‘Degrees of ergativity: some Chukchee
evidence.’ In Plank F (ed.) Ergativity. New York:
Academic Press. 219–240.
Comrie B (1980). ‘Inverse verb forms in Siberia: evidence
from Chukchee, Koryak, Kamchadal.’ Folia Linguistica
I(1), 61–74.
Dürr M, Kasten E & Khalojmova K N (2001). Itelmen
language and culture. Münster/Berlin: Waxmann [multi-
media CD-ROM].

Fortescue M (1998). Language relations across Bering
Strait: reappraising the archaeological and linguistic evi-
dence. London: Cassel.
Georg R-S & Volodin A P (1999). Die itelmenische Sprache.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
Inenlikej P I (1987). Slovar’ chukotsko-russkij i russko-
chukotskij (2nd edn.). Leningrad: Proveshchenie.
Kämpfe H R & Volodin A P (1995). Abriss der
tschuktschischen grammatik. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
Kibrik A E, Kodzasov S V & Muravyova I A (2000). Alju-
torskii iazyk i folklor. Moscow: IMLI RAN Nasledie.
Kozinsky I S, Nedjalkov V P & Polinskaja M S (1988).
‘Antipassive in Chukchee: oblique object, object incor-
poration, zero object.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) Passive and
voice. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 651–706.
Krejnovich E A (1979). ‘Nejtral’nyj glasnyj i konsonatizm v
chukotsko-kamchatskikh jazykakh.’ In Zvukovoj stroj
jazykov. Leningrad: Nauka. 157–166.
Mudrak O A (2000). Etimologicheskij slovar’ Chukotsko-
Kamchatskix jazykov. Moscow: Jazyki Russkoj Kul’turi.
Nedjalkov V P (1979). ‘Degrees of ergativity in Chukchee.’
In Plank F (ed.) Ergativity. New York: Academic Press.
241–262.
Nedjalkov V P, Inenlikej P I & Rachtilin V G (1983).
‘Rezul’tativ i perfekt v Chukotskom jazyke.’ In Tipo-
logija rezul’tativnyx konstruktsij. Leningrad: Nauka.
101–109.
Radloff L (1861). Über die Sprache der Tschuktschen
und ihr Verhältnis zum Korjakischen. St. Petersburg:
Comissionäre der Kaiserlichen Akademie der
Wissenschaften.
Skorik P J (1948). Ocherki po sintaksisu chukotskogo
jazyka. Inkorporatsija. Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe
uchebno-pedagogicheskoe izdatel’stvo.
Church Slavonic
C M MacRobert, Oxford University, Oxford, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Church Slavonic is a generic term for the closely
related, highly conservative varieties of Slavic lan-
guage used for liturgical purposes by the Eastern
Orthodox Slavs (Belorussian, Bulgarian, Macedo-
nian, Russian, Serbian, Ukrainian) and the Ukrainian
Uniates, and also by the Romanians until the 16th
century and, until the introduction of services in
the vernacular, the Roman Catholic Croats of the
Slavonic rite. In the medieval period, Church Slavonic
also had the wider functions of a literary language
among most of these peoples.
Church Slavonic originated in the translations of
Scripture and liturgy made mainly from Greek by SS
Cyril and Methodius and their associates in the late
Church Slavonic 417
Skorik P J (1961). Grammatika chukotskogo jazyka. Chast’
I. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akodemii Nauk SSSR.
Skorik P J (1977). Grammatika chukotskogo jazyka. Chast’
II. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akodemii Nauk SSSR.
Skorik P J (1986). ‘Kategorii imeni sushchestvitel’nogo v
Chukotsko-Kamchatskikh jazykakh.’ In Skorik P J (ed.)
Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Novosibirsk: Akademija Nauk
SSSR. 76–111.
Spencer A (1995). ‘Incorporation in Chukchi.’ Language
71(3), 439–489.
Stebnitskij S N (1937). ‘Osnovnye foneticheskie razlichija
dialektov nymylanskogo (korjakskogo) jazyka.’ In Pam-
jati V. G. Bogoraza. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii
Nauk SSSR.
Stebnitskij S N (1938). ‘Aljutorskij dialekt nymylanskogo
jazyka.’ Sovetskij Sever I, 65–102.
Volodin A P (1976). Itel’menskij jazyk. Leningrad: Nauka.
Volodin A P (1991). ‘Prospekt opisanija grammatiki ker-
ekskogo jazyka (Chukotsko-Kamchatskaja gruppa).’ In
Jazyki narodov sibiri. grammaticheskie issledovanija.
Novosibirsk: Nauka Sibirskoe Otdelenie.
Volodin A P (1997). Itel’menskij jazyk.’ In Jazyki Mira:
Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Moscow: Indrik. 60–72.
Volodin A P & Khalojmova K N (1989). Itel’mensko- russkij
russko-itel’menskij slovar’. Leningrad: Proveshchenie.
Worth D S (1962). ‘La place du Kamtchadal parmi les
langues soi-disant paléosibériennes.’ Orbis XI(2).
Zhukova A N (1968). ‘Aljutorskij jazyk.’ In Jazyki narodov
SSSR, V, Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Moscow: Akademija
Nauk SSSR. 294–309.
Zhukova A N (1972). Grammatika korjakskogo jazyka.
Leningrad: Nauka.
Zhukova A N (1980). Jazyk palanskikh korjakov.
Leningrad: Nauka.
9th and early 10th centuries (see Old Church Slavon-
ic). The basic vocabulary, grammatical forms, and
pronunciation of these texts predominantly followed
the usage of Slavs in the southeast Balkans, while
syntax and word-formation were to a large extent
modeled on Greek.
Two developments signal the transition, by the end
of the 11th century, from Old Church Slavonic to
Church Slavonic. One was the emergence of local
varieties, such as Croatian, Russian, and Serbian
Church Slavonic, which compromised between tradi-
tional pronunciation and grammatical forms and the
vernacular usage of the area. Initially unsystematic,
these modified varieties rapidly stabilized to local
norms that in the hands of competent scribes attained
a high degree of regularity. The other development
consisted in revisions of syntax and vocabulary,
which seem to have been motivated partly by the

Fortescue M (1998). Language relations across Bering
Strait: reappraising the archaeological and linguistic evi-
dence. London: Cassel.
Georg R-S & Volodin A P (1999). Die itelmenische Sprache.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
Inenlikej P I (1987). Slovar’ chukotsko-russkij i russko-
chukotskij (2nd edn.). Leningrad: Proveshchenie.
Kämpfe H R & Volodin A P (1995). Abriss der
tschuktschischen grammatik. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
Kibrik A E, Kodzasov S V & Muravyova I A (2000). Alju-
torskii iazyk i folklor. Moscow: IMLI RAN Nasledie.
Kozinsky I S, Nedjalkov V P & Polinskaja M S (1988).
‘Antipassive in Chukchee: oblique object, object incor-
poration, zero object.’ In Shibatani M (ed.) Passive and
voice. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. 651–706.
Krejnovich E A (1979). ‘Nejtral’nyj glasnyj i konsonatizm v
chukotsko-kamchatskikh jazykakh.’ In Zvukovoj stroj
jazykov. Leningrad: Nauka. 157–166.
Mudrak O A (2000). Etimologicheskij slovar’ Chukotsko-
Kamchatskix jazykov. Moscow: Jazyki Russkoj Kul’turi.
Nedjalkov V P (1979). ‘Degrees of ergativity in Chukchee.’
In Plank F (ed.) Ergativity. New York: Academic Press.
241–262.
Nedjalkov V P, Inenlikej P I & Rachtilin V G (1983).
‘Rezul’tativ i perfekt v Chukotskom jazyke.’ In Tipo-
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Radloff L (1861). Über die Sprache der Tschuktschen
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Comissionäre der Kaiserlichen Akademie der
Wissenschaften.
Skorik P J (1948). Ocherki po sintaksisu chukotskogo
jazyka. Inkorporatsija. Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe
uchebno-pedagogicheskoe izdatel’stvo.
Church Slavonic
C M MacRobert, Oxford University, Oxford, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Church Slavonic is a generic term for the closely
related, highly conservative varieties of Slavic lan-
guage used for liturgical purposes by the Eastern
Orthodox Slavs (Belorussian, Bulgarian, Macedo-
nian, Russian, Serbian, Ukrainian) and the Ukrainian
Uniates, and also by the Romanians until the 16th
century and, until the introduction of services in
the vernacular, the Roman Catholic Croats of the
Slavonic rite. In the medieval period, Church Slavonic
also had the wider functions of a literary language
among most of these peoples.
Church Slavonic originated in the translations of
Scripture and liturgy made mainly from Greek by SS
Cyril and Methodius and their associates in the late
Church Slavonic 417
Skorik P J (1961). Grammatika chukotskogo jazyka. Chast’
I. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akodemii Nauk SSSR.
Skorik P J (1977). Grammatika chukotskogo jazyka. Chast’
II. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akodemii Nauk SSSR.
Skorik P J (1986). ‘Kategorii imeni sushchestvitel’nogo v
Chukotsko-Kamchatskikh jazykakh.’ In Skorik P J (ed.)
Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Novosibirsk: Akademija Nauk
SSSR. 76–111.
Spencer A (1995). ‘Incorporation in Chukchi.’ Language
71(3), 439–489.
Stebnitskij S N (1937). ‘Osnovnye foneticheskie razlichija
dialektov nymylanskogo (korjakskogo) jazyka.’ In Pam-
jati V. G. Bogoraza. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii
Nauk SSSR.
Stebnitskij S N (1938). ‘Aljutorskij dialekt nymylanskogo
jazyka.’ Sovetskij Sever I, 65–102.
Volodin A P (1976). Itel’menskij jazyk. Leningrad: Nauka.
Volodin A P (1991). ‘Prospekt opisanija grammatiki ker-
ekskogo jazyka (Chukotsko-Kamchatskaja gruppa).’ In
Jazyki narodov sibiri. grammaticheskie issledovanija.
Novosibirsk: Nauka Sibirskoe Otdelenie.
Volodin A P (1997). Itel’menskij jazyk.’ In Jazyki Mira:
Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Moscow: Indrik. 60–72.
Volodin A P & Khalojmova K N (1989). Itel’mensko- russkij
russko-itel’menskij slovar’. Leningrad: Proveshchenie.
Worth D S (1962). ‘La place du Kamtchadal parmi les
langues soi-disant paléosibériennes.’ Orbis XI(2).
Zhukova A N (1968). ‘Aljutorskij jazyk.’ In Jazyki narodov
SSSR, V, Paleoaziatskie jazyki. Moscow: Akademija
Nauk SSSR. 294–309.
Zhukova A N (1972). Grammatika korjakskogo jazyka.
Leningrad: Nauka.
Zhukova A N (1980). Jazyk palanskikh korjakov.
Leningrad: Nauka.
9th and early 10th centuries (see Old Church Slavon-
ic). The basic vocabulary, grammatical forms, and
pronunciation of these texts predominantly followed
the usage of Slavs in the southeast Balkans, while
syntax and word-formation were to a large extent
modeled on Greek.
Two developments signal the transition, by the end
of the 11th century, from Old Church Slavonic to
Church Slavonic. One was the emergence of local
varieties, such as Croatian, Russian, and Serbian
Church Slavonic, which compromised between tradi-
tional pronunciation and grammatical forms and the
vernacular usage of the area. Initially unsystematic,
these modified varieties rapidly stabilized to local
norms that in the hands of competent scribes attained
a high degree of regularity. The other development
consisted in revisions of syntax and vocabulary,
which seem to have been motivated partly by the
418 Church Slavonic
desire to eliminate outdated or unfamiliar linguistic
material, but also aimed to make texts conform to a
received Greek version and to produce more closely
literal translations. The earliest systematic revisions
are associated with Preslav, the capital of Bulgaria in
the 10th century, when a number of early Church
Slavonic revisions, new translations, and original
compositions came into existence. There also appears
to have been a revision of Croatian Church Slavonic
texts on the basis of Latin sources in the 12th century.
Revisionist tendencies culminated by the 14th cen-
tury in comprehensive reform of scriptural and litur-
gical translations into Bulgarian and Serbian Church
Slavonic. This development has been associated with
the Bulgarian patriarch Euthymius (elected patriarch
in 1375; exiled by the Turks in 1393), though more
recent research suggests it began in the early part of
the century, perhaps on Mount Athos. The resulting
standardized orthography, conservatism in grammat-
ical forms and vocabulary, and highly literalistic
translational practice were introduced among the
East Slavs from the end of the 14th century, albeit
with some adjustments to pre-existing local usage.
The late 16th and early 17th centuries saw attempts
in the Ukraine at systematic description of this late
and composite type of Church Slavonic, on the model
of Greek and Latin grammars; the most comprehen-
sive of these, compiled by Meletij Smotryc’kyj in the
early 17th century and subsequently modified to con-
form to Muscovite practice, remained the fullest de-
scription of Russian Church Slavonic until the 19th
century.
Further revisions of Church Slavonic texts initiated
in Muscovy or the Ukraine in the 16th and 17th
centuries, though controversial in their time, dealt
with minor textual discrepancies or the detail of
grammatical and orthographical norms. A final stan-
dardization was effected in the publications ap-
proved by the Synod of the Russian Orthodox
Church in the 18th century. Thanks to the dissemi-
nation of these printed books in the Balkans, the
Orthodox Bulgarians, Macedonians, and Serbs came
to use ‘Synodal’ Russian Church Slavonic, albeit with
their own pronunciations.
Modern Church Slavonic does not stand in a simple
genetic relationship to other Slavic languages. Its
texts may be understood in different ways and to
varying degrees by Slavs of differing linguistic back-
ground and, as a result of literalistic translational
practices aiming at morpheme for morpheme equiva-
lence, some of them are intelligible only with the help
of their Greek originals. It is virtually a closed system,
for though new texts can be created if need arises,
they are acceptable as Church Slavonic only insofar
as they reproduce traditional constructions and phra-
seology. While its liturgical use still prevails in the
Russian Orthodox Church, among the Orthodox
South Slavs, Church Slavonic tends increasingly to
be supplanted by modern vernacular translations,
and survives mainly as a vehicle for the traditional
corpus of hymns.
See also: Balto-Slavic Languages; Bulgaria: Language
Situation; Bulgarian; Macedonia: Language Situation;
Macedonian; Old Church Slavonic.
Bibliography
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Slavonic.’ Slovo 41(13), 155–196.
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slovar’ (2 vols). Moscow: Vil’de/ Rome: JUH.
Horbatsch O (1964). Die vier Ausgaben der kirchensla-
vischen Grammatik von M. Smotryćkyj. Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz.
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slavjanskogo jazyka v Rossii: konec XIX–XX v. Moscow:
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Pletneva A A & Kraveckij A G (2001). Cerkovnoslavjanskij
jazyk. Moscow: Drevo dobra.
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Synodal Church Slavonic verb. Columbia: Ann Arbor.
Mathiesen R (1984). ‘The Church Slavonic language ques-
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Goldblatt H (eds.) Aspects of the Slavic language ques-
tion (2 vols). New Haven: Slavica. vol. 1, 45–65.
Miklosich F von (1862–1865/1977). Lexicon Palaeoslove-
nico-Graeco-Latinum. Vienna: Wilhelm Braumüller/
Scientia Verlag Aalen).
Picchio R (1980). ‘Church Slavonic.’ In Schenker A M &
Stankiewicz E (eds.) The Slavic literary languages: forma-
tion and development. New Haven: Slavica. 1–33.
Plähn J (1978). Der Gebrauch des modernen russischen
Kirchenslavisch in der russischen Kirche. Hamburg:
Buske.
Reinhart J (1990). ‘Eine redaktion des kirchenslavischen
Bibeltextes im Kroatien des 12. Jahrhunderts.’ Wiener
Slavistisches Jahrbuch 37, 193–241.
Slavova T (1989). ‘Preslavska redakcija na Kirilo-
Metodievieja starobălgarski evangelski prevod.’ In
Dinekov P et al. (eds.) Kirilo-Metodievski studii 6.
Sofia: Bălgarska Akademija na naukite. 15–129.
Thomson F J (1998). ‘The Slavonic translation of the Old
Testament.’ In Krašovec J (ed.) Interpretation of the
Bible. Ljubljana/Sheffield: Slovenska akademija zanosti
in umetnosti/Sheffield Academic Press. 605–920.
Tolstoy N I (1988). Istorija i struktura slavjanskix literatur-
nyx jazykov. Moscow: Nauka.
Trunte N H (1998). Slavenskij jazyk. Ein praktisches Lehr-
buch des Kirchenslavischen in 30 Lektionen. Band 2:
Mittel- und Neukirchenslavisch. Munich: Otto Sagner.

Chuvash
L Johanson, Mainz University, Mainz, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Location and Speakers
Chuvash (čăvaš čĕlxi, čăvašla) is the only modern
representative of the Oghur (or Bulgar) branch of
the Turkic language family. It is spoken in the
Volga-Ural region, partly in the Chuvash Republic
(C̆ăvaš Respubliki) at the ‘Great Bend’ of the
Volga River. The Chuvash Republic (the capital is
Cheboksary, Šupaškar) was established in 1990 with-
in the Russian Federation; its forerunner was the
Chuvash Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, cre-
ated in 1925. The Chuvash have majority status in
the Republic, forming nearly 70% of the population.
Over three-fourths of the population regard Chuvash
as their native language.
More than half of the speakers of Chuvash live
outside the Republic, especially in the south and
southwest parts of Tatarstan, in the central and west
parts of the Bashkortostan, and in the Kuybyshev,
Ulyanovsk, and Samar provinces. Speakers of
Chuvash also live in other parts of Russia, in West
and East Siberia, in the Far East, and in some Central
Asian republics. The total number of Chuvash-
speaking people is nearly 2 million. According to a
law adopted in 1991, Chuvash and Russian are the
official languages of the Republic. Russian is the me-
dium of communication between nationalities and
the main language of instruction. However, the
efforts to maintain Chuvash are strong, even in the
younger generation.
Origin and History
Parts of the old Oghur tribal confederation, originally
based in the Baikal Lake region, moved west and
arrived, in the mid-5th century, in the European
steppe, where they established states on the Kuban,
Danube, and Volga rivers. They mostly assimilated
linguistically, a well-known example being the
Slavicization of Bulgar groups in the Balkans. At
the end of the 9th century or earlier, Oghur groups
settled in the Volga-Kama region, where they estab-
lished the Volga Bulgar kingdom, with its center on
the middle and lower course of the Volga River. They
accepted Islam as early as 922. After the destruction
of this state by the Mongols in the 13th century, the
Volga Bulgars and other groups of the region became
subject to the Golden Horde.
Early Oghur is unknown except for the evidence
found in some proper names and old loanwords.
Chuvash 419
Chuvash, which was recorded for the first time in
the 18th century in word lists, texts, and one gram-
mar, is considered closely related to Volga Bulgar and
other old varieties of the Oghur type. Volga Bulgar is
partly known from tombstone inscriptions found on
the left bank of the Volga River, dating to the 13th
and 14th centuries. Several linguistic features
recorded in these epitaphs do not, however, fit very
well with the known features of Chuvash. It is thus
still not quite clear that Chuvash is a direct descen-
dant of Volga Bulgar. It is also unknown whether the
ancestors of the Chuvash took part in the written
culture of the Bulgars. There are no Volga Bulgar
epitaphs on the territory of the Chuvash Republic.
The fact that Chuvash is one of the very few Turkic
languages that is not strongly influenced by Islam
may indicate that the ancestors of the Chuvash were
not affected by the Volga Bulgar Islamic culture.
Related Languages and Language
Contacts
Chuvash is the result of the oldest known split within
the Turkic family. Its origins reside in the language of
Oghur Turkic group. Chuvash has played a key role
in comparative Turkic linguistics, especially in discus-
sions about a possible genealogical relationship of
Turkic, Mongolic, and Tungusic within an Altaic lan-
guage family. According to an older view, Chuvash
constitutes an independent Altaic language. The hy-
pothesis of an Altaic protolanguage relies on recon-
structions on the basis of words shared by Turkic,
Mongolic, Tungusic, and sometimes other languages,
such as Korean and Japanese. Deviant Chuvash con-
sonant representations have been used to reconstruct
a Proto-Altaic phonology.
Chuvash words with r and l sometimes correspond
to Common Turkic words with z and š (e.g., Chuvash
čul ‘stone’ vs. Common Turkic ta:š ). This is an archa-
ic Oghur feature. Two Samoyed words that can be
traced back to *yür ‘hundred’ and *kil" ‘winter’ have
obviously been copied from Oghur words containing
the same final consonants. The corresponding
Chuvash words are śĕr and xĕl, whereas other Turkic
languages display forms ending in -z and -š, respec-
tively (e.g., Turkish yüz, kı ). Chuvash words with r
and l sometimes have Mongolic equivalents with r and
l (e.g., čul ‘stone’ vs. čilagun). Cases such as these
have been used to reconstruct the special Proto-Altaic
elements r2 and l2, which are thought to be repre-
sented by r and l in Mongolic and Chuvash, whereas
they have developed into z and š in Common Turkic.
Scholars who do not accept the Altaic hypothesis
420 Chuvash
explain these and other correspondences by contact
relationship. In this case, the assumption is that an
Oghur language of the Chuvash type, with certain
features, was the source of the oldest layer of Turkic
loanwords in Mongolic. Tungusic, in turn, is thought
to have borrowed words with these features from
Mongolic.
Complex processes of linguistic assimilation have
taken place in the Volga-Kama region since the 10th
century. The Bulgar influence on East Finnic, Slavic,
and early Kipchak Turkic was considerable. Ances-
tors of the Chuvash assimilated speakers of Udmurt
(Votyak) and Meadow Mari (Cheremis). The assimi-
lation of local populations led to strong substrate
influences, especially from Mari. The term ‘Chuvash,’
first documented in Russian chronicles of the 16th
century, originally referred to groups that also includ-
ed speakers of Mari. On the other hand, the designa-
tion ‘Cheremis’ was also applied to Chuvash. After
the Mongol conquest, from the 14th century on,
Kipchak-speaking newcomers played an important
role in the area. Speakers of Volga Bulgar were lin-
guistically influenced by them. Parts of them assimi-
lated Volga Bulgars and other Oghur-speaking
groups, which led to substratum influence. What is
known as Chuvash today remained relatively uninflu-
enced by the Kipchak wave. In its more recent linguis-
tic history, however, Chuvash has been closely
connected with Kipchak Turkic through massive
Tatar impact.
The Written Language
Standard Chuvash is written with a Cyrillic-based
alphabet that includes a few special letters. It goes
back to a script system established by Ivan Jakovlev
(1848–1930), which mirrors the pronunciation of the
Anatri dialect. The alphabet was reformed in 1938
and has remained unchanged since then. It basically
represents phonemes, and few allophones.
Distinctive Features
Chuvash shares basic linguistic features with other
Turkic languages, preserving numerous so-called
Common Turkic traits. It exhibits most linguistic fea-
tures typical of the Turkic family (see Turkic Lan-
guages). It is, for example, an agglutinative language
with suffixing morphology, sound harmony, and a
head-final constituent order. On the other hand, it
strongly deviates from Common Turkic in some
respects, particularly in its phonology. In the follow-
ing suffix notations, capital letters indicate phonetic
variation (e.g., A ¼ ă/ĕ). Hyphens are used to indicate
morpheme boundaries.
Phonology
Chuvash phonology displays many irregular and
complicated sound changes. This is especially true of
the vowels, of which correspondences with Common
Turkic vowels are far from unequivocal. For instance,
the Common Turkic vowel a is represented by u in
words such as ut ‘horse’ (cf. Tatar at), but by ı̈
in words such as pı̈r- ‘to go’ (cf. Tatar bar-). Chuvash
possesses the reduced vowels ă and ĕ (e.g., tăr- ‘to
stand’, pĕr ‘one’), which have their counterparts in
neighboring languages, including Tatar, without cor-
responding to them in a systematic way. Originally
long vowels are generally not preserved in Chuvash.
In some cases, however, they are represented by
diphthongs (e.g., kĕvak ‘blue’ < kö:k).
Chuvash has a rather reduced consonant inventory
in comparison with most other Turkic languages.
Under Slavic influence, palatalized and nonpalata-
lized consonants are distinguished, the palatalized
ones occurring before and after front vowels.
Chuvash r sometimes corresponds to an Old Turkic
interdental d, as in ura ‘foot’ vs. adaq. This is not
necessarily an archaic feature. In cases such as this,
early Bulgar d seems to have changed into z, which
then developed into r in late Bulgar.
Chuvash words are, as a rule, subject to sound
harmony. The vowels of a word normally belong
either to the front or to the back class. Most suffixes
have a back vowel and a front vowel variant. Howev-
er, some suffixes of standard Chuvash exist only in a
front vowel variant: the plural suffix -sem, as in ača-
sem ‘children’ (of ača ‘child’), and the third-person
possessive suffix, as in ı̈văl-ĕ ‘her/his son’ (of ı̈vàl
‘son’).
Grammar
The morphology exhibits certain deviations from
Common Turkic patterns. There are thus excep-
tions from the agglutinative principles generally
valid for Turkic languages (e.g., tu ‘mountain’ vs.
tăv-a [mountain-DAT] ‘to the mountain’) (cf. Turkish
dağ [mountain], dağ-a [mountain-DAT]). Eight cases
are normally distinguished for the standard language.
As a result of phonetic development, the dative and
accusative case markers have fused into one marker,
-A. Besides the suffixless nominative, the dative–
accusative, the genitive in -An, the locative in -rA,
and the ablative in -rAn, Chuvash grammarians reck-
on with an instrumental-comitative case in -pA[lA], a
privative (or abessive) case in -sAr, and a causal or
purposive case in -šAn. Some scholars distinguish
still more cases, e.g., a directive in -AllA. The plural
suffix -sem is of unknown origin; other Turkic lan-
guages use plural suffixes of the type -lAr. The plural

marker -sem follows possessive suffixes and precedes
case markers (e.g., kil-ĕm-sen-čen [house-POSS.1.SG-PL-
ABL] ‘from my houses’). In other Turkic languages, the
plural suffix precedes the possessive markers, as in
Turkish ev-ler-im-den [house-PL-POSS.1.SG-ABL].
The nominative forms of the personal pronouns of
the first and second persons contain a proclitic deictic
element e-, lacking in other Turkic languages: epĕ ‘I’,
esĕ ‘you (singular)’, epir ‘we’, esir ‘you (plural)’ (cf.
Turkish ben, sen, biz, siz). The reflexive pronouns of
the type xa- plus possessive suffixes (e.g., xam ‘I
myself’) are unknown in other Turkic languages.
Three degrees of proximity are expressed with
the demonstrative pronouns ku ‘this’, śak(ă) ‘this
there’, and śav(ă) ‘that there’. The numerals 1–10
display, besides their normal forms (pĕr(e) ‘one’,
tăxăr ‘nine’), emphatic variants with long consonants
for use in isolated syntagmatic positions (pĕrre ‘one’,
tăxxăr ‘nine’). Ordinals are formed with the suffix
-mĕš, otherwise unknown in Turkic (ikkĕ-mĕš
[two-ORD] ‘second’).
The Chuvash verb system does not exhibit such
important deviations from the common Turkic sys-
tem as has been assumed by some researchers. For
example, the so-called ‘aorist’ (e.g., Turkish gel-ir
[come-AOR.3.SG] ‘comes, will come’) is not lacking in
Chuvash, but has survived as the so-called future, as
in kil-ĕ [come-FUT.3.SG] ‘will come’. The negated im-
perative is formed with a preposed particle an (an pı̈r
[NEG go.IMP] ‘do not go’), whereas other Turkic lan-
guages use the negation suffix -mA with imperatives
as well (e.g., Turkish git-me [go-NEG.IMP] ‘do not go’).
It has been suggested that some of these idiosyn-
cratic Chuvash features – the deictic element e-, the
pronouns śakă and śavă, the negative particle an, and
the plural suffix -sem – have been copied from Mari
or other Volga Finnic languages.
Lexicon
Most basic words in the Chuvash lexicon belong
to the common Turkic vocabulary. Many ele-
ments have, however, been copied from other lan-
guages, mostly from Tatar, neighboring Finnic
languages, and Russian. An old layer indicates con-
tacts with Samoyeds in southwestern Siberia. Later
loans reflect the contacts with Mari in the Volga
region, e.g., pürt ‘house’ < pört. Tatar dialects have
exerted strong influence on the lexicon. Words of Arabic
and Persian origin have mostly entered Chuvash via
Tatar, but certain words were borrowed already in the
Chuvash 421
Volga Bulgarperiod. Words of Mongolic origin havealso
mostly been copied from Tatar, such as tăxta- ‘to wait’ -
< tuqta- ‘to stop’. There are numerous Russian loans,
including xaśat ‘newspaper’ < gazeta and kĕneke
‘book’ < kniga. There are also many lexical elements of
unknown origin.
Dialects
Modern Chuvash has two main dialects. Viryal, the
‘upper’ dialect, is spoken in the northern and north-
western parts of the Republic. Anatri, the ‘lower’ one,
is spoken in the south. In the center and northeast,
there is found a transitional dialect that is rather close
to the lower dialect. The differences between the
dialects are small. Standard Chuvash is based on
Anatri dialects. Chuvash speakers living outside the
Republic also speak Anatri dialects. Vowel harmony
is less consistent in Standard Chuvash and Anatri
than in Viryal. Tatar loans are more common in
Anatri, whereas Mari and Russian loans are more
common in Viryal.
See also: Altaic Languages; Russian Federation: Lan-
guage Situation; Turkic Languages.
Bibliography
Andreev I A (1966). ‘C̆uvašskij jazyk.’ In Baskakov N A
(ed.) Jazyki narodov SSSR 2. Tjurkskie jazyki. Moskva:
Nauka. 43–65.
Ašmarin N I (1928–1950). Thesaurus linguae tschu-
vaschorum/Slovar’ čuvašskogo jazyka. Kazan: C̆eboksary.
Benzing J (1959). ‘Das Tschuwaschische.’ In Deny J et al.
(eds.) Philologiae turcicae fundamenta 1. Aquis Mattiacis:
Steiner. 695–751.
Clark L (1998). ‘Chuvash.’ In Johanson L & Csató É Á (eds.)
The Turkic languages. London & New York: Routledge.
434–452.
Krueger J (1961). Chuvash manual. Introduction, grammar,
reader, and vocabulary. Indiana University Publications,
Uralic and Altaic Series 7. The Hague: Mouton.
Róna-Tas A (ed.) (1982). Chuvash studies. Budapest:
Akadémiai Kiadó.
Skvorcov M I (ed.) (1982). Čuvašsko-russkij slovar’.
Moskva: Russkij Jazyk.
Relevant Website
http://www.turkiclanguages.com – Website with many Turkic
language resources.
422 Circum-Baltic Area
Circum-Baltic Area
M Koptjevskaja-Tamm, Stockholm University,
Stockholm, Sweden
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Circum-Baltic area comprises primarily Baltic,
Germanic, and Slavic languages within Indo-European;
Finnic and Saami within Uralic/Finno-Ugrian; as
well as the Indo-Aryan language(s) Romani and the
Turkic languages Tatar and Karaim. Since time imme-
morial it has been an arena for intensive linguistic
contacts, but it has never been united, either linguisti-
cally, politically, economically, or culturally. Follow-
ing Jakobson, linguists have suggested various partly
overlapping Sprachbünde here. However, the notion
of Sprachbund is hardly applicable to an area of such
historical and linguistic complexity, with many layers
of micro- and macrocontacts and mutual influences
superimposed on each other over a long period of
time.
The Circum-Baltic Area: The Historical,
Geographical and Sociocultural
Background
The region around the Baltic Sea has been inhabited
by man at least since the end of the last glacial era
Figure 1 The Circum-Baltic languages. Nonterritorial languages (Romani, Yiddish, Tatar) not shown.
(around 8000 B.C.). In historical times, it has mainly
been the home for languages from two linguistic
stocks: Indo-European (Baltic, Germanic and Slavic
languages) and Uralic/Finno-Ugrian (Finnic and
Saami). In addition, three ‘exotic’ languages have
been used in the area for a considerable time: the
Indo-Aryan language(s) Romani and the Turkic lan-
guages Tatar and Karaim. The exact delineation of
the ‘Circum-Baltic area’ (CB area) and list of the
‘Circum-Baltic languages’ (CB languages; both terms
launched in Dahl and Koptjevskaja-Tamm, 1992 and
further developed in Dahl and Koptjevskaja-Tamm,
2001) are open to discussion. At least the following
languages can count here (see also Figure 1):
Indo-European
Germanic
West: High German, Low German, Eastern
Yiddish
North: Danish, Swedish, Dalecarlian,
Norwegian
Baltic: Latvian, Lithuanian
Slavic
West: Polish, Kashubian
East: Belarusan, Russian
Indo-Aryan: Romani
Finno-Ugrian
Finnic: Estonian, Finnish, Ingrian, Karelian,
Ludian, Olonetsian, Veps

Saami: Southern S., Ume S., Pite S., Lule S.,
Northern S., Inari S., Skolt S.
Turkic: Karaim, Tatar
The list does not contain extinct languages – e.g.,
Polabian (Slavic); Old Prussian, Jatvingian, Curonian,
and Galindian (Baltic) – and ignores the dialectal
variation. Dalecarlian (egentligt dalmål), however, is
treated here as a separate language, or a chain of
languages, as opposed to its traditional inclusion
among the Eastern Swedish dialects. ‘Dalecarlian’
refers to the highly conservative Scandinavian verna-
culars that are spoken in the Swedish province of
Dalarna (Dalecarlia) and are not comprehensible to
speakers of Standard Swedish.
The CB area was settled via numerous migrations;
among others, the northward expansion of groups of
Indo-Europeans, and much later the Slavic northward
expansion to the former Baltic and Finnic-speaking
regions. Archaeologists, geneticists, and linguists all
claim to trace back the two language stocks in the
area at least to the 2nd millennium B.C., even though
they disagree on who of the Indo-Europeans or Finno-
Ugrians were the first ones where. Finno-Ugrians and
Indo-Europeans were engaged in multiple contacts
already in prehistoric times, both outside and within
the CB area. Some of these contacts must have taken
place in extensive bilingual areas; otherwise it is
hardly possible to explain the huge number of Baltic
and Germanic loanwords in Finnic, including even
kinship terms and names for body parts.
Although the CB area has been an arena for inten-
sive contacts since time immemorial, it has never been
economically, politically, culturally, or linguistically
united. The contacts, both peaceful and military, have
been achieved both across the sea and by land. Move-
ments across the sea normally involve fewer people
than those on land, either tradesmen, missionaries,
warriors, or colonizers, and there is a smaller chance
that the newcomers will ‘sweep’ through the area.
Also, coastlines and numerous islands often serve as
refuges for the languages pushed from the inland by
expanding ones.
The CB area has been constantly divided and redi-
vided among different spheres of influence. Thus,
the period of 800–1000 meant expansive activities
of the Scandinavian Vikings and the emergence of
the Scandinavian, Polish, and Russian states, each
with its own sphere of dominance. The period of
1100–1500 witnessed Denmark’s expansion, the cru-
sades and the establishment of the Teutonic Order
states in Northern Baltikum, the dominance of the
Hanseatic league, and the expansion of the Polish and
Lithuanian states, later of the Polish-Lithuanian state.
In later times, the area went on being repartitioned
among powers such as Sweden, the Polish-Lithuanian
Circum-Baltic Area 423
Commonwealth, Prussia (later Germany), and Russia
(later the Soviet Union). Each of the dominant powers
brought with it a new prestige language (Danish,
Low German, the Eastern Slavic variety used in the
Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Polish, Russian, Swedish
and German) that expanded over a large area and
influenced the local languages. The three main reli-
gions in the area – Catholicism, Lutheranism, and
Greek Orthodoxy – have also considerably shifted
their spheres of dominance over time.
Contact Phenomena within the CB Area
There is an old tradition of studying contacts among
the languages around the Baltic Sea which mostly con-
centrated on loanwords. R. Jakobson (1931/1971)
was the first to apply the term ‘Sprachbund’ to the
languages of the CB area. He suggested that several
languages spoken around the Baltic Sea together
built a ‘phonetic’ Sprachbund. These included Baltic,
two South Finnic languages (Livonian, Estonian),
Mainland Scandinavian (except for an area in the
west of Norway and for most of the Swedish dialects
in Finland and in Estonia), Northern Kashubian, and
the Germanic varieties spoken in the Cologne-Trier
area (Central Franconian and Limburgian), i.e., out-
side of the CB area proper. Their common property is
lexical, or pitch accent (i.e., tonal oppositions in ad-
dition to stress), which in Danish corresponds to
the opposition between syllables with and without a
glottal closure, stød. However, although the CB lan-
guages show a very high concentration of lexical
accents in Europe, and probably also globally, there
is no evidence for any real connections here, primari-
ly, between the Scandinavian languages, on the one
hand, and Baltic and South Finnic, on the other hand
(Lehiste, 1988; Koptjevskaja-Tamm and Wälchli,
2001).
Later research has suggested several partly overlap-
ping Sprachbünde in the CB area, with two main
hotbeds of areal phenomena. The first is the Latvian–
Livonian–Estonian zone stretching in different direc-
tions over the Baltikum and further – the ‘Peipus-Bund’
(Décsy, 1973); the ‘Baltischer Sprachbund’ (Haar-
mann, 1970; 1976); the ‘Convergence zone in the
Baltikum’ (Stolz, 1991; see also Falkenhahn, 1963);
and the second is the Eastern Finnic–Northwestern
Russian (–Baltic) core – the ‘Eastern Baltic Sprach-
bund’ (Mathiassen, 1985a, 1985b) and the ‘Karelian
Sprachbund’ (Sarhimaa, 1999).
The core in each zone has been a mixed bilin-
gual or multilingual area over long periods of time
with complex local contacts leading to assimilation,
acculturation, language convergence and/or language
shifts. Thus, a strong Finnish substrate is generally
424 Circum-Baltic Area
recognized in Latvian, especially in its northeastern
dialects, covering the area originally inhabited by
Livonians. Livonian itself is at present spoken
by a few dozen speakers and is largely influenced by
Latvian. Northern Russian has a number of features
generally attributed to the Finnic substrate and, pri-
marily, to contacts with the smaller Finnic languages
(Ingrian, Karelian, Ludian, Veps, and Votian). The
latter languages are now on the verge of extinction
or, in the case of Karelian, are mainly used as one part
in bilingual mixed codes (Sarhimaa, 1999).
In addition, the CB area partially overlaps with
two other suggested convergence zones including,
first, Scandinavian–Celtic–Northern Finnic–Saami–
the ‘Wikinger-Bund’ (Haarmann, 1976), and
second, Polish–Kashubian–Belarusan–Ukrainian–
Lithuanian–the ’Rokytno-Bund’ (Haarmann, 1976),
or the ‘Baltic-Slavic contact area’ (Wiemer, 2004; see
also Falkenhahn, 1963).
The abundance of different Sprachbünde in the CB
area rests partly on a fairly vague understanding of
the term. The CB area shows many layers of micro-
and macrocontacts and mutual influences superim-
posed on each other over a long period of time, and
the term ‘Sprachbund’ hardly does justice to an area
of such historical and linguistic complexity (Nau,
1996; Koptjevskaja-Tamm and Wälchli, 2001).
The crosslinguistically most striking isoglosses in
the CB area are mainly found in its eastern part and
include the following (for details, see Koptjevskaja-
Tamm and Wälchli, 2001).
1. The alternation between the accusative and the
genitive (in Baltic and Slavic) or the partitive (Finnic)
case marking differentiates between high transitivity
and low transitivity objects, or ‘total’ vs. ‘partial’
objects. The details and the relevance of this distinc-
tion are subject to a considerable crosslinguistic vari-
ation, where Finnic and Standard Russian show the
most vs. the least grammaticalized system. The factors
underlying this distinction include polarity of the
clause (affirmative vs. negative), as in example (1)
from Polish, aspect, affectedness of the object, etc.
see also Partitives.
(1) Polish
a. Widzi-my gwiazd-ȩ.
see.PRES-1PL star-ACC
‘We see a/the star.’
b. Nie widzi-my gwiazd-y.
NEG see.PRES-1PL star-GEN
‘We do not see a/the star.’
2. Less canonical subjects can sometimes be
marked with the genitive (in Baltic and Slavic)
or the partitive (Finnic) case. Again, the most
grammaticalized system is found in Finnic, where the
partitive case consistently marks subjects in existential
clauses, as in example (2) from Finnish, and in seman-
tically related clause types. The partitive case is partic-
ularly preferred if the clause is negated and the subject
refers to a quantitatively nondelimited entity. Roughly
the same two conditions govern the choice between
the nominative and the genitive case marking on
Baltic and Slavic existential subjects, but on a signi-
ficantly more restricted scale, with the most gramma-
ticalized distinction found in northwestern Russian.
(2) Finnish
a. Kirj-at o-vat pöydä-lla.
book-NOM.PL be.PRES-3PL table-ILLAT
‘The books are on the table.’
b. Pöydä-llä o-n kirj-oja.
table-ILLAT be.PRES-3SG book-PART.PL
‘There are (some) books on the table.’
3. In several constructions in Finnic, Baltic and
Northern Russian (both Old Northern Russian and
modern northwestern dialects), the object appears in
the nominative case and not in the accusative. One
common context, illustrated in example (3) from
northwestern Russian dialects, is provided by an
infinitival clause functioning as the subject of a neces-
sitive matrix predicate. The Latvian correspondence
to such clauses involves the so-called Debitive Mood,
also with the object in the nominative. The set
of nominative–object constructions differs greatly
across the languages. Thus, while nominative objects
in Northern Russian and Lithuanian are normally
restricted to clauses with clearly nonfinite predicates
(infinitives and converbs), Finnic requires, in addi-
tion, nominative objects in imperative clauses and
clauses with impersonal passives. It has been sug-
gested that the common denominator of all these
contexts is their systematic lack of an overt personal
subject (Timberlake, 1974).
(3) Northwestern Russian dialects
a. Topim pečk-u.
heat.PRES.1PL oven-ACC
‘We are heating the oven.’
b. Nado/ Pora topit’ pečk-a.
it-is-necessary/ it-is-time heat.INF oven-NOM
‘It is necessary/It is time to heat the oven.’
4. Finnic, Baltic, and Slavic display double (or
sometimes multiple) options in the case marking
of predicate adjectives and nominals. The choice
between the nominative and some oblique case, e.g.,
the instrumental in example (4) from Lithuanian, can
roughly be described as correlating with the distinc-
tion between time-stable and temporary situations
respectively (Stassen, 2001).

(4) Lithuanian
a. Jis yra mokytoj-as.
he.NOM is teacher-NOM
‘He is a teacher.’
b. Jis buvo mokytoj-u.
he.NOM was.3SG teacher-INSTR
‘He was (working as) a teacher.’
5. In Finnic and most Slavic, most cardinal numerals
higher than one alternate between case-governing and
agreeing with their complements under well-defined
syntactic conditions. As example (5) from Russian
shows, when the numeral is in one of the direct cases
(nominative or accusative), the complement appears in
the genitive (or in the partitive in Finnic). Otherwise,
both the numeral and the complement are in the same
case (here, in the dative). In Baltic, the two properties
are primarily associated with different sets of numerals,
which is more common both crosslinguistically and
within Indo-European.
(5) Russian
a. Ja vižu pjat’ stakan-ov.
I.NOM see.PRES.1SG five.NOM/ACC glass-GEN.PL
‘I see five glasses.’
b. Ja priš-l-a s pjat’-ju stakan-ami.
I.NOM come-PAST-F.SG with five-DAT glass-DAT.PL
‘I came with five glasses.’
6. Estonian, Livonian, Latvian and Lithuanian use
special ‘evidential’ verb forms for marking that the
speaker’s factual claims are based on indirect evi-
dence, rather than on direct, or attested evidence
(evidential, quotative, relative or oblique mood).
These are basically nonfinite verb forms, primarily
participles, sometimes ‘frozen’ in an oblique case:
thus, -vat in example (6) from Estonian is historically
the partitive case form of the present participle.
(6) Estonian
Sina rääki-vat saksa keel-t.
you(SG).NOM speak-QUOT German language-PART
‘You are said to speak German; they say you can
speak German.’
An isogloss connecting Scandinavian, Baltic, and East
Slavic languages is the expression of certain verbal
voice functions (reflexive, reciprocal, anticausative,
passive) by means of verbal postfixes, i.e., affixes in
the last position of a word, following, e.g., tense/
aspect and agreement markers. These affixes have all
developed due to coalescence between the main verb
and permutable reflexive and reciprocal pronouns
(-s/-st in Scandinavian, -s in Baltic, and -s’/-sja in
East Slavic).
Circum-Baltic Area 425
Conclusion
Significantly, there are no isoglosses covering all the
CB languages; moreover, the isoglosses pick up differ-
ent subsets of the languages, in many cases also
extending outside of the CB area proper. In the CB
area, convergence works primarily on a microlevel
and reflects language contacts of groups of people
and, maximally, of two or three languages. Conver-
gence comprising more than two or three languages
seems always to be the result of the overlapping and
superposition of different language contacts. In some
respects, the CB region forms a border zone between
the Central Eurasian languages in the east and the
Standard Average European languages in the west.
See also: Belarus: Language Situation; Case; Contact-
Induced Convergence: Typology and Areality; Denmark:
Language Situation; Evidentiality in Grammar; Finland:
Language Situation; Germany: Language Situation;
Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982); Latvia: Language Situa-
tion; Lithuania: Language Situation; Norway: Language
Situation; Numerals; Partitives; Poland: Language Situa-
tion; Sweden: Language Situation; Tone: Phonology.
Bibliography
Dahl Ö & Koptjevskaja-Tamm M (1992). Language typo-
logy around the Baltic sea: a problem inventory. Stock-
holm: Papers from the Institute of Linguistics University
of Stockholm (PILUS).
Dahl Ö & Koptjevskaja-Tamm M (eds.) (2001). The
Circum-Baltic languages: typology and contact. Studies
in Language Companion Series (SLCS). Amsterdam/
Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Décsy G (1973). Die linguistische Struktur Europas.
Vergangenheit–Gegenwart–Zukunft. Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz.
Falkenhahn V (1963). ‘Die Bedeutung der Verbalrektion für
das Problem eines litauisch-polnischen Sprachbundes.’
Zeitschrift für Slawistik 6, 893–907.
Haarmann H (1970). Die indirekte Erlebnisform als
grammatische Kategorie. Eine eurasische Isoglosse.
Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.
Haarmann H (1976). Aspekte der Arealtypologie. Die Pro-
blematik der europäischen Sprachbünde. Tübingen: Narr.
Jakobson R (1931 (1971)). ‘Über die phonologischen
Sprachbünde.’ In Jakobson R (ed.) Selected writings, 1.
The Hague: Mouton. 137–143.
Koptjevskaja-Tamm M & Wälchli B (2001). ‘The Circum-
Baltic languages: An areal-typological approach.’ In Dahl
& Koptjevskaja-Tamm (eds.). v.2. 615–750.
Lehiste I (1988). Lectures on language contact. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
426 Circum-Baltic Area
Mathiassen T (1985a). ‘A discussion of the notion ‘‘Sprach-
bund’’ and its application in the case of the languages in
the eastern Baltic area.’ International Journal of Slavic
Philology 21/22, 273–281.
Mathiassen T (1985b). Slavisk-baltisk-østersjöfinske syn-
taktiske isoglosser og spørsmålet om et Sprachbund i
den østlige del av østersjøområdet. X Nordiska
Slavostmötet 13-17 augusti 1984. Åbo: Research Insti-
tute of the Åbo Akademi Foundation.
Nau N (1996). ‘Ein Beitrag sur Arealtypologie der Ostse-
seeanrainersprachen.’ In Boretzky N (ed.) Areale,
Kontakte, Dialekte, Sprachen und ihre Dynamik in meh-
rsprachigen Situationen. Bochum: Brockmeyer. 51–67.
Sarhimaa A (1999). Syntactic transfer, contact-induced
change, and the evolution of bilingual mixed codes.
Cladistics
A McMahon, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
R McMahon, Western General Hospital, Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cladistics is an approach to classification initially
introduced for animals and plants. When we consider
how close two or more species are to one another,
‘close’ can mean two different things. In a phenetic
classification, what matters is surface similarity: this
might mean what animals look like, or how they
behave. Phenetic methods seek to measure the dis-
tance between species, regardless of cause. Cladistic
classifications, however, are based on identifying
natural groups, which share characters derived
from a common ancestor. Cladistics therefore seeks
to recover the shared history of a group of organisms.
Three dangers occur in cladistic classification that
are less problematic for phenetics.
. The same character might arise in two or more
species by convergent evolution: often, this means
the same environmental pressures have led to par-
allel solutions. Animals with white coats in winter
do not necessarily share a single, recent common
ancestor; but they probably live in similarly cold
conditions for part of the year. Several different
mutations may also lead to the same endpoint in
different species, especially if systems are intrinsi-
cally limited in permitted variability: in DNA, there
are only four bases (A, C, G, and T), so that over a
long period, multiple mutations at the same site
may well result in a C, regardless of starting states
and histories. Both forms of convergence are
known as homoplasy.
. Contemporary species may also exhibit shared
retentions from a distant common ancestor. If
Focus on Karelian-Russian language alternation.
Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society.
Stassen L (2001). ‘Nonverbal predication in the Circum-
Baltic languages.’ In Dahl & Koptjevskaja-Tamm (eds.).
569–590.
Stolz T (1991). Sprachbund im Baltikum? Estnisch und
Lettisch im Zentrum einer sprachlichen Konvergen-
zlandschaft. Bochum: Brockmeyer.
Timberlake A (1974). The nominative object in Slavic,
Baltic, and West Finnic. München: Sagner.
Wiemer B (2004). ‘Population linguistics on a micro-scale:
lessons to be learned from Baltic and Slavic dialects
in contact.’ In Kortmann B (ed.) Dialectology
meets typology. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter.
497–526.
several groups have lost a feature, it may be taken
as indicating greater closeness than is historically
the case between the groups that happen to retain
it. For example, egg-laying has been retained in
both monotremes (like the duck-billed platypus)
and birds; but this tells us nothing about the close-
ness of the historical relationship between the
two groups. Monotremes, historically speaking,
are definitely mammals, though other mammals
no longer lay eggs.
. The final difficulty does not generally hold at
the species level, but at the population level. Within
a species, interbreeding between groups and conse-
quent genetic interchange can lead to shared fea-
tures, though these are a result of recent history, not
signals of common ancestry.
Cladistics, because it seeks explicitly to recover the
histories of groups, cannot treat all features as equal,
since it would then be calculating distance only, and
would fall prey to the difficulties outlined above.
Instead, it is essential to identify and prioritize shared,
derived features, or synapomorphies.
Both cladistic and phenetic methods can be rele-
vant to language. In constructing family trees, we are
doing cladistics, since here we attempt to prioritize
shared, derived linguistic features. Typological com-
parison, on the other hand, is essentially phenetic, if
the distribution rather than the source of features is
the main issue. When conducting cladistic language
classifications, it is important to remember the three
problems raised above for biological cladistics, since
in language too we face homoplasy, or parallel devel-
opments; shared retentions in some languages that
have been lost in others; and borrowing. It follows
that linguistics may also benefit from the investi-
gation and adoption of computational methods
426 Circum-Baltic Area
Mathiassen T (1985a). ‘A discussion of the notion ‘‘Sprach-
bund’’ and its application in the case of the languages in
the eastern Baltic area.’ International Journal of Slavic
Philology 21/22, 273–281.
Mathiassen T (1985b). Slavisk-baltisk-østersjöfinske syn-
taktiske isoglosser og spørsmålet om et Sprachbund i
den østlige del av østersjøområdet. X Nordiska
Slavostmötet 13-17 augusti 1984. Åbo: Research Insti-
tute of the Åbo Akademi Foundation.
Nau N (1996). ‘Ein Beitrag sur Arealtypologie der Ostse-
seeanrainersprachen.’ In Boretzky N (ed.) Areale,
Kontakte, Dialekte, Sprachen und ihre Dynamik in meh-
rsprachigen Situationen. Bochum: Brockmeyer. 51–67.
Sarhimaa A (1999). Syntactic transfer, contact-induced
change, and the evolution of bilingual mixed codes.
Cladistics
A McMahon, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
R McMahon, Western General Hospital, Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cladistics is an approach to classification initially
introduced for animals and plants. When we consider
how close two or more species are to one another,
‘close’ can mean two different things. In a phenetic
classification, what matters is surface similarity: this
might mean what animals look like, or how they
behave. Phenetic methods seek to measure the dis-
tance between species, regardless of cause. Cladistic
classifications, however, are based on identifying
natural groups, which share characters derived
from a common ancestor. Cladistics therefore seeks
to recover the shared history of a group of organisms.
Three dangers occur in cladistic classification that
are less problematic for phenetics.
. The same character might arise in two or more
species by convergent evolution: often, this means
the same environmental pressures have led to par-
allel solutions. Animals with white coats in winter
do not necessarily share a single, recent common
ancestor; but they probably live in similarly cold
conditions for part of the year. Several different
mutations may also lead to the same endpoint in
different species, especially if systems are intrinsi-
cally limited in permitted variability: in DNA, there
are only four bases (A, C, G, and T), so that over a
long period, multiple mutations at the same site
may well result in a C, regardless of starting states
and histories. Both forms of convergence are
known as homoplasy.
. Contemporary species may also exhibit shared
retentions from a distant common ancestor. If
Focus on Karelian-Russian language alternation.
Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society.
Stassen L (2001). ‘Nonverbal predication in the Circum-
Baltic languages.’ In Dahl & Koptjevskaja-Tamm (eds.).
569–590.
Stolz T (1991). Sprachbund im Baltikum? Estnisch und
Lettisch im Zentrum einer sprachlichen Konvergen-
zlandschaft. Bochum: Brockmeyer.
Timberlake A (1974). The nominative object in Slavic,
Baltic, and West Finnic. München: Sagner.
Wiemer B (2004). ‘Population linguistics on a micro-scale:
lessons to be learned from Baltic and Slavic dialects
in contact.’ In Kortmann B (ed.) Dialectology
meets typology. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter.
497–526.
several groups have lost a feature, it may be taken
as indicating greater closeness than is historically
the case between the groups that happen to retain
it. For example, egg-laying has been retained in
both monotremes (like the duck-billed platypus)
and birds; but this tells us nothing about the close-
ness of the historical relationship between the
two groups. Monotremes, historically speaking,
are definitely mammals, though other mammals
no longer lay eggs.
. The final difficulty does not generally hold at
the species level, but at the population level. Within
a species, interbreeding between groups and conse-
quent genetic interchange can lead to shared fea-
tures, though these are a result of recent history, not
signals of common ancestry.
Cladistics, because it seeks explicitly to recover the
histories of groups, cannot treat all features as equal,
since it would then be calculating distance only, and
would fall prey to the difficulties outlined above.
Instead, it is essential to identify and prioritize shared,
derived features, or synapomorphies.
Both cladistic and phenetic methods can be rele-
vant to language. In constructing family trees, we are
doing cladistics, since here we attempt to prioritize
shared, derived linguistic features. Typological com-
parison, on the other hand, is essentially phenetic, if
the distribution rather than the source of features is
the main issue. When conducting cladistic language
classifications, it is important to remember the three
problems raised above for biological cladistics, since
in language too we face homoplasy, or parallel devel-
opments; shared retentions in some languages that
have been lost in others; and borrowing. It follows
that linguistics may also benefit from the investi-
gation and adoption of computational methods

from biology that seek to assist in determining best
trees, and in diagnosing features that are inconsistent
with such trees (Ringe et al., 2002; McMahon and
McMahon, 2003).
See also: Contact-Induced Convergence: Typology and
Areality; Historical and Comparative Linguistics in the
19th Century; Language Change and Language Contact.
Bibliography
Lass R (1997). Historical linguistics and language change.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Clark, Herbert H. (b. 1940)
P H Portner, Georgetown University,
Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Herbert H. Clark has been one of the most important
psychologists within the community of linguists, psy-
chologists, and other cognitive scientists interested in
language use. His influential research, pursued with a
number of colleagues over the years, has focused on
the role of shared knowledge in linguistic communi-
cation and has been extremely important within
his core fields of psychology of language and psycho-
linguistics. In addition, connections with Stalnaker’s
notion of Common Ground and analysis of presup-
position (Stalnaker, 1974, 1978) helped his work to
become influential in semantics and pragmatics
(e.g., Heim, 1982); meanwhile, his interest in detailed
analyses of interaction brought his work into close
contact with discourse analysis.
Clark did his undergraduate work at Stanford
and his graduate work at Johns Hopkins, receiving
his Ph.D. in 1966. He briefly taught at Carnegie
Mellon before returning to Stanford in 1969, where
he has been Professor of Psychology since 1969.
He has spent time as a visiting scholar at University
College, London, and the Max Planck Institute for
Psycholinguistics in Nijmegen.
See also: Pragmatics: Overview; Psycholinguistics: Over-
view.
Bibliography
Clark H H (1977). ‘Bridging.’ In Johnson-Laird P N &
Wason P C (eds.) Thinking: readings in cognitive science.
London, New York: Cambridge University Press.
Clark, Herbert H. (b. 1940) 427
McMahon April & McMahon Robert (2003). ‘Finding
families: Quantitative methods in language classifica-
tion.’ Transactions of the Philological Society 101, 7–55.
Ridley M (1986). Evolution and classification: The refor-
mation of cladism. London: Longman.
Ringe, Don, Warnow, Tandy and Taylor & Ann (2002).
‘Indo-European and computational cladistics.’ Transac-
tions of the Philological Society 100, 59–129.
Skelton, Peter, Smith & Andrew (2002). Cladistics:
A practical primer on CD-ROM. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Clark H H (1979). ‘Responding to indirect speech acts.’
Cognitive Psychology 11, 430–477.
Clark H H (1992). Arena of language use. Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Clark H H & Brennan S A (1991). ‘Grounding in commu-
nication.’ In Resnick L B, Levine J M & Teasley S D (eds.)
Perspectives on socially shared cognition. Washington:
APA Books.
Clark H H & Clark E V (1977). Psychology and lan-
guage: an introduction to psycholinguistics. New York:
Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich.
Clark H H & FoxTree J E (2002). ‘Using uh and um in
spontaneous speech.’ Cognition 84, 73–111.
Clark H H & Haviland S E (1977). ‘Comprehension
and the given-new contrast.’ In Freedle R (ed.)
Discourse production and comprehension. Norwood,
NJ: Ablex.
Clark H H & Marshall C R (1981). ‘Definite reference and
mutual knowledge.’ In Joshi A K, Webber B L & Sag I A
(eds.) Elements of Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Clark H H & Schaefer E F (1987). ‘Collaborating on
contributions to conversation.’ Language and Cogni-
tive Processes 2, 19–41. [Reprinted in Dietrich R &
Graumann C F (eds.) (1989). Language processing in a
social context. Amsterdam: North Holland.]
Clark H H & Wilkes-Gibbs D (1986). Referring as a
collaborative process. Cognition 22, 1–39. [Reprinted
in Cohen P R, Morgan J L & Pollack M E (eds.)
(1990). Intentions in communication. Cambridge: MIT
Press.]
Heim I (1982). The semantics of definite and indefinite
noun phrases. Ph.D. diss., University of Massachusetts
at Amherst. [Published 1988, New York: Garland.]
Stalnaker R (1974). ‘Pragmatic presupposition.’ In Munitz M
& Unger P (eds.) Semantics and philosophy. New York:
New York University Press. 197–213.
Stalnaker R (1978). ‘Assertion.’ In Cole P (ed.) Syntax and
semantics 9: pragmatics. New York: Academic Press.
315–332.

from biology that seek to assist in determining best
trees, and in diagnosing features that are inconsistent
with such trees (Ringe et al., 2002; McMahon and
McMahon, 2003).
See also: Contact-Induced Convergence: Typology and
Areality; Historical and Comparative Linguistics in the
19th Century; Language Change and Language Contact.
Bibliography
Lass R (1997). Historical linguistics and language change.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Clark, Herbert H. (b. 1940)
P H Portner, Georgetown University,
Washington, DC, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Herbert H. Clark has been one of the most important
psychologists within the community of linguists, psy-
chologists, and other cognitive scientists interested in
language use. His influential research, pursued with a
number of colleagues over the years, has focused on
the role of shared knowledge in linguistic communi-
cation and has been extremely important within
his core fields of psychology of language and psycho-
linguistics. In addition, connections with Stalnaker’s
notion of Common Ground and analysis of presup-
position (Stalnaker, 1974, 1978) helped his work to
become influential in semantics and pragmatics
(e.g., Heim, 1982); meanwhile, his interest in detailed
analyses of interaction brought his work into close
contact with discourse analysis.
Clark did his undergraduate work at Stanford
and his graduate work at Johns Hopkins, receiving
his Ph.D. in 1966. He briefly taught at Carnegie
Mellon before returning to Stanford in 1969, where
he has been Professor of Psychology since 1969.
He has spent time as a visiting scholar at University
College, London, and the Max Planck Institute for
Psycholinguistics in Nijmegen.
See also: Pragmatics: Overview; Psycholinguistics: Over-
view.
Bibliography
Clark H H (1977). ‘Bridging.’ In Johnson-Laird P N &
Wason P C (eds.) Thinking: readings in cognitive science.
London, New York: Cambridge University Press.
Clark, Herbert H. (b. 1940) 427
McMahon April & McMahon Robert (2003). ‘Finding
families: Quantitative methods in language classifica-
tion.’ Transactions of the Philological Society 101, 7–55.
Ridley M (1986). Evolution and classification: The refor-
mation of cladism. London: Longman.
Ringe, Don, Warnow, Tandy and Taylor & Ann (2002).
‘Indo-European and computational cladistics.’ Transac-
tions of the Philological Society 100, 59–129.
Skelton, Peter, Smith & Andrew (2002). Cladistics:
A practical primer on CD-ROM. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Clark H H (1979). ‘Responding to indirect speech acts.’
Cognitive Psychology 11, 430–477.
Clark H H (1992). Arena of language use. Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Clark H H & Brennan S A (1991). ‘Grounding in commu-
nication.’ In Resnick L B, Levine J M & Teasley S D (eds.)
Perspectives on socially shared cognition. Washington:
APA Books.
Clark H H & Clark E V (1977). Psychology and lan-
guage: an introduction to psycholinguistics. New York:
Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich.
Clark H H & FoxTree J E (2002). ‘Using uh and um in
spontaneous speech.’ Cognition 84, 73–111.
Clark H H & Haviland S E (1977). ‘Comprehension
and the given-new contrast.’ In Freedle R (ed.)
Discourse production and comprehension. Norwood,
NJ: Ablex.
Clark H H & Marshall C R (1981). ‘Definite reference and
mutual knowledge.’ In Joshi A K, Webber B L & Sag I A
(eds.) Elements of Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Clark H H & Schaefer E F (1987). ‘Collaborating on
contributions to conversation.’ Language and Cogni-
tive Processes 2, 19–41. [Reprinted in Dietrich R &
Graumann C F (eds.) (1989). Language processing in a
social context. Amsterdam: North Holland.]
Clark H H & Wilkes-Gibbs D (1986). Referring as a
collaborative process. Cognition 22, 1–39. [Reprinted
in Cohen P R, Morgan J L & Pollack M E (eds.)
(1990). Intentions in communication. Cambridge: MIT
Press.]
Heim I (1982). The semantics of definite and indefinite
noun phrases. Ph.D. diss., University of Massachusetts
at Amherst. [Published 1988, New York: Garland.]
Stalnaker R (1974). ‘Pragmatic presupposition.’ In Munitz M
& Unger P (eds.) Semantics and philosophy. New York:
New York University Press. 197–213.
Stalnaker R (1978). ‘Assertion.’ In Cole P (ed.) Syntax and
semantics 9: pragmatics. New York: Academic Press.
315–332.
428 Class Language
Class Language
A Luke, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore
P Graham, University of Waterloo, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The relationship between language and social class is
a key theoretical and empirical issue in critical dis-
course studies, ethnography of communication, and
sociolinguistic research. It has been a focal point for
postwar and current policy in language planning,
and language and literacy education. The central
questions of a class analysis of language were stated
in Mey’s (1985) proposal for Marxian pragmatics:
‘Whose language’ counts? With what material and
social consequences? For which communities and so-
cial groups? Central concerns are how language fac-
tors into the intergenerational reproduction of social
and economic stratification, and how communities,
families, schools, the media, and governments con-
tribute to ‘‘linguistic inequality’’ (Hymes, 1996). Yet
current research continues to table and debate con-
tending definitions of language and social class as
social and economic phenomena.
Marx viewed language as an intrinsic characteristic
of human ‘species being,’ as a form of mental and
material labor. The ‘‘language of real life,’’ he argued,
is ‘‘directly interwoven’’ with ‘‘material activity and. . .
mental intercourse’’ (Marx and Engels, 1845/1970:
118). This ‘‘mental production’’ is ‘‘expressed in the
language of politics, laws, morality, religion, meta-
physics etc. of a people.’’ ‘Sense experience,’ the work
of the eye and ear, was the basis not only of science,
but of communal and social life (Marx, 1844/1964:
160–166). At the same time, Marx’s (Marx and
Engels, 1845/1970: 37) classical definition of ideology
as a ‘camera obscura’ established the centrality of
language in the distortion and misrepresentation
of social and economic reality in social class interests
(see Marxist Theories of Language).
Marxist theory establishes three critical traditions
in the analysis of language and class. These are: (1)
the analysis of language as a form of class-based
social action and consciousness; (2) the analysis of
social class and linguistic variation; and (3) the anal-
ysis of language as the medium for power and control,
ideology, and truth in specific linguistic and capital
markets (see Power and Pragmatics).
Language as Social Action and Class
Consciousness
The prototypical class analysis of language
was undertaken by Voloshinov (1973) (see Voloshi-
nov, V. N. (ca. 1884/5–1936)). Language was concep-
tualized as a marker of class consciousness and a
medium of class struggle. According to models of
heteroglossia and ‘multivocality,’ each utterance and
text is a revoicing of previous historical speakers and
writers. The ideological content and social functions
of each speech act or speech genre bear their own
material historical origins. That is, they are produced
and reproduced by and through social and economic
‘‘conditions of production’’ (Fairclough, 1992). By
this account, face-to-face language exchanges are
instances of class conflict and ideological difference,
where class-located social actors bring to bear distinc-
tive material interests and discourse positions. The
point of such analysis is to extend the notion of the
situated speaking and writing subject, to a closer so-
ciological and economic analysis of that positionality.
Contemporary work in critical discourse analysis sup-
plements class analysis with attention to the linguistic
construction of gender, race, sexual preference, and
other forms of social identity ideology, and position
(e.g., Lemke, 1995).
If utterances and their use are indexical of ideology
and social class consciousness, what might this mean
for differing cultural groups, communities, and their
historical practices? Following Vygotsky (see Vygots-
kii, Lev Semenovich (1896–1934)), Luria (1982) ar-
gued that the cognitive uses of the ‘tool’ of language
were mediated by one’s social relations, cultural prac-
tices, and material conditions. In his studies of the
Uzbeks, Luria made the claim that particular forms of
cognition and consciousness, what Marx referred to
as capacity for the ‘‘production of ideas,’’ were linked
to cultural practices and material conditions of tool
use. The cognitive affordances of language and litera-
cy are mediated by material economic and social
conditions, including class location and cultural his-
tory.
In contemporary literacy theory, Paulo Freire also
argued for the direct links between language and so-
cial class consciousness. Freire’s (1972) prototypical
work was concerned with the effects of literacy edu-
cation upon the language and consciousness of the
indigenous population and peasantry of postwar
Brazil. Bringing together Marxist dialectics with
liberation theology, he argued that autocratic govern-
ments and education systems constituted ‘‘cultures
of silence’’ where marginalized populations were
educated in ways that misnamed and misrecognized
the world. Freire’s work views ideologically distorted
language as a mode of class-based false consciousness.
For Freire, critique of class consciousness was
achieved through an educational process of ‘renaming’

the world in ways that demystified power, conscious-
ness, and life, a similar agenda to that of Mey (1985),
Chouliaraki and Fairclough (2001) and other con-
temporary critical linguists. Current agendas for the
teaching of ‘critical literacy’ and critical discourse
analysis stand in this Marxist tradition, focusing on
the demystification, critique, and reconstruction of
ideological language (Luke, 2004).
Linguistic Variation and Social Class
A further concern in the analysis of language and
social class is how language variation acts as a marker
and instrument of social class, and of racial and other
forms of social stratification. A principal concern of
sociolinguists in the postwar period has been over the
effects of the differential and inequitable spread of
economic and social capital on the language minority,
postcolonial, and economically marginal commu-
nities (Hymes, 1996) (see Minority Languages: Op-
pression). The postwar origins of language planning
reflect the impact of colonization, decolonization,
migration, and geopolitical conflict upon linguistic
retention and stability. The flow of global, regional,
and national capital visibly impacts upon language
loss, use, and retention (Pennycook, 1998). In the
postwar period, sociolinguistic and language
planning research has engaged with the effects of the
unequal spread and distribution of economic capital
upon language loss. Yet attempts to theorize and
empirically describe the complex reproductive rela-
tionships of language and social class have been de-
bated and contested (see Linguistic Decolonization).
The sociological and sociolinguistic research on
U.K. children by Basil Bernstein and colleagues (e.g.,
Bernstein, 1975) took up this challenge. This work
provided an account of the role of language in the
institutional production of stratified levels of educa-
tional achievement. Bernstein’s argument was that
working class students spoke a ‘‘restricted code,’’
characterized by embedded and literal meanings, lim-
ited command of deixis, and thresholds in technical
complexity. Middle-class children, he argued, mas-
tered an ‘‘elaborated code’’ which was fitted for edu-
cational success and mastery of academic and
scientific discourses. These, he argued, were tied to
particular forms of early childhood language sociali-
zation and family structure (Bourdieu and Passeron,
1992). Bernstein’s work was the object of several
decades of controversy. Labov’s (2001) studies of
urban African-American language registers and non-
standard dialects, and Heath’s (1983) studies of early
class-based language socialization made the case
against models of linguistic deficit. Bernstein’s
model has been defended by systemic functional
Class Language 429
linguists, who argue that there are indeed elaborated
technical registers and contents, specific language
domains affiliated with power, some of which partic-
ular social classes make explicitly available in early
language socialization and educational training
(Hasan and Williams, 1996) (see Codes, Elaborated
and Restricted (Bernstein)).
As distinctive sociodemographic speech com-
munities, particular social classes may indeed
have different speech patterns, varying in lingua
franca, register, dialect, accent, and practices of
diglossia (see Multilingualism: Pragmatic Aspects;
Register: Overview). These, further, are affiliated
with class-based social ideologies and cultural prac-
tices (Fishman, 1991). Ethnographic studies have
shown how these variations are made to count in
local social networks and institutions (Milroy,
1987). But the social and cultural bases and material
consequences of such differences remain localized
and contentious. To move past descriptive claims
requires a broader sociological theory of social class,
of ‘‘linguistic markets’’ (Mey, 1985; Bourdieu, 1992),
and of changing media and modes of production and
information.
Language as Capital in Linguistic Markets
Classical sociological definitions of social class begin
from conceptions of structural economic location and
material position. They attempt to define position
and power vis-à-vis dominant means of production.
The tendency of Marxist models is to further affiliate
social class with particular ‘class consciousness,’ of
which language, its use and its expression, is a consti-
tutive speech marker. Bourdieu’s (1992) sociology
began from a view that class position is at least in
part structurally determined. But it is also embodied
by human subjects in their ‘habitus,’ the sum total of
socially acquired dispositions.
By this account, the bodily performance of linguis-
tic competence is an element of cultural capital. This
capital and affiliated forms of embodied taste, style,
and ideology, constitute a key marker of one’s social
class position and mobility. Linguistic capital is
deployed in specific social fields, which constitute
‘linguistic markets.’ Each market, each institutional
context, in turn has variable rules and conventions of
exchange whereby linguistic competence and literate
proficiency in specific languages is valued or not.
There, language use – as class marker and tool – has
exchange value and power only in relation to other
forms of capital, including social capital (e.g., net-
works, institutional access), economic capital, formal
institutional credentials, artifacts, and so forth.
430 Class Language
This is a more complex view of the relationship
of language and social class. Language matters, as
a primary marker of class, gender, culture, training,
education, networks, traditions, and ideological con-
sciousness. Yet like post-structuralist theories of dis-
course, Bourdieu’s model viewed language not just as
an index or marker of class position, but as reflexively
constituting position and identity, power, and categori-
cal social status. In this way, how language marks class,
capital, and power is sociologically contingent, rather
than determined by the characteristics of linguistic
code or class position per se, or the ostensive power of
any given utterance, genre, or text (Luke, 1996). This
contingency is dependent on the availability of other
forms of capital, and the variable, historically shifting
norms, rules, and conventions of particular social insti-
tutions, fields of knowledge, and linguistic markets (see
Discourse, Foucauldian Approach; Poststructuralism
and Deconstruction; Structuralism).
Current Issues
One of the principal critiques of postwar sociolinguis-
tics, ethnography of communication, and functional
linguistics was that they lacked a sufficient analysis of
power, capital, and conflict. Indeed, sociolinguistic
models of ‘social context,’ ‘context of situation,’ and
‘social network’ are often based on structural func-
tionalist models of society and culture. The study of
language and social class requires the rigorous analy-
sis of social and economic relations within and
between speech communities. Current work on lan-
guage and social class continues to examine how
language represents class consciousness, how it is
implicated in ongoing issues of class conflict and
cohesion, and how its acquisition and use are central
to intergenerational production of social stratification
of material and discourse resources.
Language variation, diversity, change, and ideology
can be systematically linked to social class. Linguistic
performance in text and discourse production does
indeed have both symbolic and material exchange
value, particularly in service- and information-based
economies. But this depends upon the complex local
economic and institutional formations of particular
speech communities. Bourdieu offered a stronger an-
alytic frame for analyzing how language ‘counts’ in
specific institutional, disciplinary, and knowledge
fields, and everyday social contexts. He suggested
that issues around ‘whose language’ counts, which
classes have power, require a rigorous socioeconomic
analysis. Particularly under conditions of late capi-
talism and globalization, these sociological and
sociolinguistic contexts and conditions are under
considerable historical transition and challenge.
As the medium of consciousness and labor,
language is entailed in the production of ideology,
material goods, and social relations. The move in
globalized economies towards information- and dis-
course-based forms of labor raises a number of key
challenges to linguistic and ethnographic studies.
First, linguistic, semiotic, and discourse competence
will have increased significance in productive labor
and consumption, shifting social class relations to
means of production. Second, social class location
and membership is determined by relations to domi-
nant modes of communication, semiosis, and infor-
mation (Castells, 2000) as much as it might be
defined in classical Marxist terms. Finally, the forma-
tion of social class identity, ideology, and speech com-
munity have become more complex. They are now
strongly influenced by forces of mass culture, media,
and globalized information flows.
One of the principal claims of post-structuralist
and postmodern theory of the past decade has been
a breakdown of essential relationships between dis-
course and social class as a primary analytic category.
It is increasingly difficult to analyze social class for-
mation without due consideration of the complexity
of cultural, racial, gender, and religious identity and
position. Any analysis of language and social class
must engage with this complexity. But indeed, any
contemporary analysis of class and intersecting cat-
egories must engage with the constitutive place of
language, text, and discourse.
See also: Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein);
Critical Discourse Analysis; Discourse, Foucauldian Ap-
proach; Language Planning and Policy: Models; Linguistic
Decolonization; Marxist Theories of Language; Minority
Languages: Oppression; Multilingualism: Pragmatic As-
pects; Poststructuralism and Deconstruction; Power and
Pragmatics; Structuralism; Voloshinov, V. N. (ca. 1884/5–
1936); Vygotskii, Lev Semenovich (1896–1934).
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Bourdieu P (1991). Language and symbolic power.
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D J Taylor, Lawrence University, Appleton, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
As is the case with so many other Western intellectual
endeavors, the formal study of language begins in
ancient Greece and is transmitted to the modern
world by the Romans, but only after the latter have
creatively adapted and transformed the linguistic leg-
acy bequeathed to them by their Greek predecessors.
The original historical context is the dynamic symb-
iosis of philosophical speculation and literary experi-
mentation that characterized and helped to define the
golden age of classical Greece, but that context
changed dramatically over the centuries and ranged
from the scholarly ambience of Alexandria to the
bilingual reality of Constantinople and from the
fledgling philology of early Rome to the monumental
tradition of the late Latin artes grammaticae.
Graeco–Roman language science features numerous
noteworthy accomplishments: the obligatory inclu-
sion of vowels in the alphabetic inventory, an achieve-
ment of momentous import for the development of
literature; the enumeration of four illocutionary
forces, what they called sentence-types; the invention
of and reliance upon the four pathē or transforma-
tions (addition, deletion, substitution, permutation)
as both heuristic procedures and explanatory devices;
the coining of an entire metalanguage (much of which
is still in use) to refer to the hundreds of grammatical
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Voloshinov V N (1973). Marxism and the philosophy of
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MA: Harvard University Press.
phenomena they discovered; the canonical definitions
of the parts of speech; carefully composed and cogent
arguments on the arbitrariness of language and the
relationships between signifiant and signifiée; meticu-
lous and copious descriptions of accidence including,
in the case of the Romans, the discovery and identifi-
cation of the declensions and conjugations that form
the keystone of all subsequent Latin grammatical
treatises and textbooks; the publication and wide-
spread dissemination of linguistic knowledge
throughout both the Greek and Roman worlds via
grammatical manuals (technai) and tomes (artes); and
in general the conscious acknowledgment of, and
emphasis upon, the central and ubiquitous role of
grammar in education and intellectual discourse as
well as an unremitting insistence upon scientific rigor
in linguistic exegesis. So classical linguistics is much
more familiar to modern language scientists than
might at first be supposed.
Historiographical Problems
The lamentable loss of so much of ancient gram-
matical literature has made it difficult to chronicle
accurately the course of classical language science:
no Stoic linguistic treatise is extant; the dating and
authorship of the only surviving Alexandrian gram-
matical manual have been questioned for centuries;
almost all of ancient Rome’s early scholarly forays
into the study of the Latin language, i.e., Aelius Stilo’s

Fairclough N (1992). Discourse and social change.
Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.
Fishman J A (1991). Reversing language shift: theoretical
and empirical foundations of assistance to threatened
languages. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.
Freire P (1972). Pedagogy of the oppressed. Ramos M B
(trans.). London: Penguin Books.
Hasan R & Williams G (eds.) (1996). Literacy in society.
London: Longman.
Heath S B (1983). Ways with words: language, life, and
work in communities and classrooms. Cambridge/
NewYork: Cambridge University Press.
Hymes D (1996). Ethnography, linguistics, narrative in-
equality: toward an understanding of voice. London:
Taylor & Francis.
Labov W (2001). Principles of linguistic change: social
factors (Vol. 2). Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
Lemke J (1995). Textual politics: discourse and social dy-
namics. London: Taylor & Francis.
Luria A R (1982). Language and cognition. New York:
John Wiley.
Classical Antiquity: Language Study
D J Taylor, Lawrence University, Appleton, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
As is the case with so many other Western intellectual
endeavors, the formal study of language begins in
ancient Greece and is transmitted to the modern
world by the Romans, but only after the latter have
creatively adapted and transformed the linguistic leg-
acy bequeathed to them by their Greek predecessors.
The original historical context is the dynamic symb-
iosis of philosophical speculation and literary experi-
mentation that characterized and helped to define the
golden age of classical Greece, but that context
changed dramatically over the centuries and ranged
from the scholarly ambience of Alexandria to the
bilingual reality of Constantinople and from the
fledgling philology of early Rome to the monumental
tradition of the late Latin artes grammaticae.
Graeco–Roman language science features numerous
noteworthy accomplishments: the obligatory inclu-
sion of vowels in the alphabetic inventory, an achieve-
ment of momentous import for the development of
literature; the enumeration of four illocutionary
forces, what they called sentence-types; the invention
of and reliance upon the four pathē or transforma-
tions (addition, deletion, substitution, permutation)
as both heuristic procedures and explanatory devices;
the coining of an entire metalanguage (much of which
is still in use) to refer to the hundreds of grammatical
Classical Antiquity: Language Study 431
Luke A (1996). ‘Genres of power? Literacy education
and the production of capital.’ In Hasan & Williams
(eds.) Literacy in society. London: Longman.
308–338.
Luke A (2004). ‘Two takes on the critical.’ In Norton B &
Toohey K (eds.) Critical pedagogies and language
learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
21–29.
Marx K (1844/1964). Karl Marx: early writings. Bottomore
T B (trans. & ed.). New York: McGraw-Hill.
Marx K & Engels F (1845/1970). The German ideology.
London: Lawrence & Wishart.
Mey J L (1985). Whose language: a study in linguistic
pragmatics. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Milroy L (1987). Language and social networks (2nd edn.).
Oxford: Blackwell.
Pennycook A (1998). English and the discourses of
colonialism. London: Routledge.
Voloshinov V N (1973). Marxism and the philosophy of
language. Matejka L & Titunik I R (trans.). Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
phenomena they discovered; the canonical definitions
of the parts of speech; carefully composed and cogent
arguments on the arbitrariness of language and the
relationships between signifiant and signifiée; meticu-
lous and copious descriptions of accidence including,
in the case of the Romans, the discovery and identifi-
cation of the declensions and conjugations that form
the keystone of all subsequent Latin grammatical
treatises and textbooks; the publication and wide-
spread dissemination of linguistic knowledge
throughout both the Greek and Roman worlds via
grammatical manuals (technai) and tomes (artes); and
in general the conscious acknowledgment of, and
emphasis upon, the central and ubiquitous role of
grammar in education and intellectual discourse as
well as an unremitting insistence upon scientific rigor
in linguistic exegesis. So classical linguistics is much
more familiar to modern language scientists than
might at first be supposed.
Historiographical Problems
The lamentable loss of so much of ancient gram-
matical literature has made it difficult to chronicle
accurately the course of classical language science:
no Stoic linguistic treatise is extant; the dating and
authorship of the only surviving Alexandrian gram-
matical manual have been questioned for centuries;
almost all of ancient Rome’s early scholarly forays
into the study of the Latin language, i.e., Aelius Stilo’s
432 Classical Antiquity: Language Study
linguistic analyses of archaic documents, Varro’s
voluminous corpus, and Palaemon’s grammar, are
lost; and in extant Roman artes, references to other-
wise unknown grammars and grammarians are all
too frequent. The tendency to ascribe various notions
and developments to nonexistent texts and anony-
mous authors is therefore one of several historio-
graphical problems posed by the vast lacunae in our
knowledge. Dichotomies of one sort or another for
which there is little evidence abound in the secondary
literature – nature and convention, analogy and anom-
aly, philosophical and technical grammar – and are
adduced to provide theoretical links between extant
and lost texts in order to chart a cumulative course for
the history of grammatical thought in antiquity. More
recent research, however, has concentrated exclusive-
ly on extant texts and what can be known for sure,
has uniformly eschewed weighty and sweeping gen-
eralizations, and has concluded that the history
of Graeco–Roman linguistics is for the most part a
discontinuous one. Episodic such accounts may be,
but they are at least faithful to the historical record.
Despite the many problems, readable and informative
surveys of classical linguistics do exist, e.g., Della
Casa (1973), Pinborg (1975), Baratin & Desbordes
(1981), Hovdhaugen (1982), Robins (1990), Schmitter
(1991), Law (2003).
Such surveys readily reveal that linguistic informa-
tion can be found almost anywhere, for philosophers,
logicians, rhetoricians, historians, philologists, liter-
ary critics, even poets, as well as bona fide grammar-
ians, contribute to formulating ancient language
science. Moreover, Greeks and Romans neither com-
partmentalize knowledge nor always broker out
grammatical phenomena as we do. They do, however,
create a vast array of technical terms, but that ter-
minology is, for much of the time, in the process
of evolving and does not become fixed until late in
the tradition; consequently many authors employ
the language of everyday intellectual discourse,
often embellished by notable metaphors, rather than
an established metalanguage when articulating their
linguistic theories and practices. So both the availabil-
ity of texts and the contents of those texts pose histo-
riographical problems of some magnitude. What the
Greeks and Romans have to say about language and
the study of language in those texts is, however, sig-
nificant and ranks as one of the major intellectual
legacies bequeathed to us by classical antiquity.
They do, after all, construct the classical foundations
of most subsequent language science, and so we can
observe firsthand the Western world’s earliest at-
tempts to describe scientifically and to study formally
what is uniquely human, namely, language. We can
also, of course, find striking anticipations of and
parallels with later, even modern, linguistics, but we
can also encounter equally striking differences in both
intellectual attitudes and approaches to the analysis
of linguistic phenomena.
From the Origins to Plato and Aristotle
Including vowels in the Semitic alphabet that the
Greeks imported and adapted was a stroke of genius
and, inter alia, allowed the Greeks to commit
Homer’s orally composed Iliad and Odyssey to
writing. The two processes established the foundation
of language science in Greek antiquity, and as a con-
sequence literature enjoys forever a privileged status
in the scientific study of language. As literature pro-
liferates, 5th-century Greeks attend consciously to
differences in dialect and meter and to errors in mor-
phology (barbarisms) and syntax (solecisms). Prota-
goras initiates what becomes a hallmark of Greek
linguistics, namely, taxonomy: he distinguishes three
genders, three numbers, and probably the four pathē
or transformations; he also identifies four sentence-
types (wish or prayer, question, answer, command).
Herodotus informs us of an Egyptian experiment to
determine the original language, but both monoge-
netic and polygenetic theories on the origin of lan-
guage(s) are known. Socrates addresses the existential
and equational functions of the copula and the arbi-
trariness of the sign. The scores of etymologies and
the explicit confrontation of conventional and natu-
ral explanations for names in the Cratylus have
attracted far more attention than one would suppose,
and the dialogue has its fair share of both critics and
admirers. The term ptōsis (‘inflected form’ and later
‘case’) also appears, but the relationship between its
etymological meaning (‘a fall or falling’) and its gram-
matical meaning is still puzzling. Plato analyzes and
classifies the sounds of Greek reasonably effectively
and also establishes once and for all the roles of NP
and VP in linguistic thought, though the key passage
(Sophist 261D–263D) is quite vexing. He begins by
referring to onomata ‘nouns’ and rhēmata ‘verbs’ as
individual entities but then abruptly treats them in
combination as necessary sentential constituents, pre-
sumably therefore as ‘subjects’ and ‘predicates’; yet
nowhere does he employ onoma as ‘subject’ or rhēma
as ‘predicate.’ Nonetheless, he has both defined noun
and verb and postulated a fundamental, binary, syn-
tactic structure that necessarily includes the former in
one part and the latter in the other. So by the mid-4th
century, grammatical knowledge is fairly extensive
but also fairly eclectic.
The grammatical sketch in Aristotle’s Poetics (21)
takes us into the realm of more formal linguistic
analysis and probably into the schoolroom as well.

Aristotle reprises much of what we already know
from Plato but organizes and augments it. He divides
letters into vowels, semivowels, and consonants
(mutes), and he correctly identifies aspirated stops
for the first time. He then defines and describes sylla-
ble, conjunction, article, noun, verb, cases (inflected
forms of both nouns and verbs), and discourse or
speech. These contents clearly manifest an organiza-
tional scheme that ultimately becomes traditional in
both grammar and education: a hierarchical arrange-
ment of linguistic items (letters, syllables, words, sen-
tences), an embryonic account of selected parts of
speech (although, conspicuously, Aristotle does not
use and presumably does not know that term), and
a rudimentary description of nominal and verbal ac-
cidence. Aristotle affirms the conventional view of
language, the uniqueness of human language (as op-
posed to animal sounds), and the priority of speech
over writing; formulates more precise definitions by
including the feature ‘minus tense’ in his definition of
noun and ‘plus tense’ in that of the verb; defines
metaphor as a semantic analogia ‘proportion, anal-
ogy’; provides a fairly sophisticated and semisyntactic
treatment of solecisms; offers better-developed no-
tions of subject and predicate; and formulates a list
of ten predicate-types that is as exhaustive as it is
ignored by later grammarians. Aristotle’s analysis of
predicates may not be unrelated to his four parts
of speech, for an Aristotelian categorical syllogism
essentially requires only nouns, articles, verbs, and
conjunctions (his rather open-ended category that
includes logical connectors). Aristotle’s remarks on
innateness strikingly anticipate modern theories that
postulate a universal mental language common to all
humankind. Greek language science has obviously
progressed and expanded its scope of inquiry during
the classical period.
Hellenistic Linguistics
The Hellenistic Age (3rd–1st centuries B.C.) features
Stoic logic and Alexandrian philology: the former
introduces what passes for syntax throughout most
of classical antiquity, and the latter establishes liter-
ary criticism as the ‘noblest part’ of grammatical
inquiry. Our major sources for Stoic logic, Diogenes
Laertius and Sextus Empiricus, are both late
(also confused and polemical respectively), and the
Alexandrian Technē ascribed to Dionysius Thrax
may not be completely authentic. It was, however,
a remarkably productive period in the history of
classical linguistics.
Stoics divide their epistemology into logic (dialec-
tic) and rhetoric and the former into the study of
phōnē ‘sound’ and to sēmainomenon ‘the being
Classical Antiquity: Language Study 433
signified.’ Stoics therefore define language science
properly as the relationship between sound and
meaning. Under phōnē they analyze sounds, letters,
parts of speech, grammatical errors (barbarisms and
solecisms), poetic diction, verbal ambiguities, eupho-
ny, and music; under to sēmainomenon they study
case, voice, mood, and lekta ‘sayables.’ They increase
the number of parts of speech by adding articles and
maybe adverbs and by differentiating common and
proper nouns, þ or – case becomes a defining feature
of the major parts of speech, the cases are identified
and named, and grammatical terminology prolifer-
ates. Arguably the Stoics’ most sophisticated linguis-
tic achievement is their analysis of aspect and tense
in the Greek verb system, but where and exactly how
they do so are still sub iudice. Stoic logic privileges to
sēmainomenon, and the increase in the number of
parts of speech is due to the emphasis on logic and
lekta rather than to any cumulative process or more
refined taxonomy.
Lekta, the things signified, are to be distinguished
from both the things signifying (sounds) and the
things existing (referents); the former are incorporeal,
but the latter two are corporeal. Referents aside, logi-
cians often distinguish declarative statements, which
can be written or spoken and read or heard and which
are therefore corporeal, from propositions, which are
what the statements mean or express and which
are consequently incorporeal. Lekta are either com-
plete or incomplete. Complete lekta are yes–no
questions, questions requiring a declarative answer,
commands, oaths, and, most significantly, proposi-
tions (axiōmata), i.e., statements that can be affirmed
or denied. Stoic logic is therefore propositional logic,
and Stoic syntax is the syntax of propositions. Our
sources discuss the several types of axiōmata and
their syntax at length. Incomplete or deficient lekta
include predicates and, although no text explicitly
says so, probably subjects. The Stoic analysis of predi-
cates distinguishes clearly and unambiguously be-
tween the incorporeal predicate (katēgorēma) and
the corporeal verb (rhēma) and accordingly treats
the former under to sēmainomenon and the latter
under phōnē. Both the structure and the metalan-
guage of Stoic logicolinguistic thought are remark-
ably consistent. The complete absence of original
Stoic linguistic texts from the historical record is one
of the most lamentable losses in intellectual history.
Alexandrian scholars are first and foremost philol-
ogists and literary critics: Aristophanes of Byzantium
produces epoch-making editions of the Iliad and
Odyssey; Aristarchus invents critical symbols for
indicating doubts about the authenticity, repetition,
or order of verses, and introduces respect for the
authority of manuscript traditions into the history of
434 Classical Antiquity: Language Study
scholarship; and Dionysius Thrax becomes famous
for his lectures on Nestor’s cup (Iliad 11.632–37).
Numerous commentaries, lexicographical treatises,
etc., facilitate and enhance the reading of the now
critically edited texts of classical Greece’s monumen-
tal authors. Though no textbooks are extant, the
study of language and literature is obviously at the
core of the educational curriculum.
Critical editions and ancillary scholarly texts
presuppose a vast reservoir of grammatical knowl-
edge, but whether such knowledge is ever pursued
for its own sake is still in dispute. For example,
Aristophanes supposedly authors a treatise entitled
Peri Analogias and adduces five principles, to which
Aristarchus adds a sixth, for determining analogy,
and so some scholars argue that the Alexandrians
actually formulate rules for inflection, declensions,
conjugations, paradigms, etc. Yet no extant text con-
tains anything of the sort, and so other scholars argue
that the criteria for analogy are much more readily
understandable as criteria for emending texts. As
Aristotle uses analogia as a means of identifying and
defining metaphor, so the Alexandrians employ it as a
heuristic procedure for correcting poorly transmitted
manuscripts. Moreover, no extant Hellenistic text,
grammatical or otherwise, testifies to any sort of
analogy/anomaly quarrel between Alexandrians and
Stoics, as was once supposed. The Alexandrians do,
however, dramatically expand the scope of grammati-
cal inquiry in their drive to edit and comprehend
literary texts, but unfortunately the one extant gram-
matical Technē that purportedly summarizes their
accomplishments in language science raises more
questions than it answers.
Both the authorship and the dating of the Technē
Grammatikē have been questioned for centuries (see
Di Benedetto, 1958–59, 1973; and Law and Sluiter,
1995). Moreover, neither the Technē nor its author
receives contemporary acclaim, and both are more
influential later and elsewhere. The text begins as
follows (translation from Kemp, 1986):
Grammar is the practical study of the normal usages of
poets and prose writers. Its six divisions comprise:
(1) skill in reading (aloud) with due attention to prosodic
features; (2) interpretation, taking note of the tropes of
literary composition found in the text; (3) the ready
explanation of obscure words and historical references;
(4) discovery of the origins of words; (5) a detailed ac-
count of regular patterns; and (6) a critical assessment of
poems; of all that the art includes this is the noblest part.
Dionysius or whoever is clearly thinking of grammar
in philological and literary terms. After four brief
entries on the first topic, the text switches abruptly
to an analysis of letters and syllables, defines word
and sentence, then enumerates eight parts of speech,
and thereafter devotes itself wholly to defining and
exemplifying those parts of speech; none of this (ex-
cept the four items on reading aloud) follows from
any of the six divisions listed in the introductory
paragraph. Scholars account for this inconcinnity of
contents by assuming that the first five paragraphs are
genuine and the remainder spurious. In any case, the
contents of the slim volume are hardly exceptional,
offering little or nothing beyond the ken of any com-
petent Hellenistic grammarian.
Aristotelian categorical and Stoic propositional
syllogisms no longer determine the enumeration of
the parts of speech; so Alexandrians are free to
focus on the parts of speech (or, more properly,
parts of the sentence) in normal literary discourse
and therefore arrive at eight such items. The Technē’s
parts of speech are noun (including both common and
proper nouns), verb, participle, article, pronoun,
preposition, adverb, conjunction, and this list
becomes canonical. The author is addicted to seman-
tic taxonomy – he classifies nouns into 24 subtypes,
adverbs into 26, and conjunctions into eight, all on
the basis of meaning – but he describes grammatical
accidence rather skillfully. The plethora of grammati-
cal terms is impressive: the tiny volume contains
about 150 technical terms that will comprise almost
the entire Western linguistic vocabulary until well
into the 20th century. The definitions of the parts of
speech include morphological, semantic, and, at least
implicitly, syntactic criteria, but they suffice and so
endure for centuries without much elaboration or
alteration.
In fine, Alexandrian scholarship privileges textual
and literary criticism and the manifold linguistic
issues ancillary to such endeavors, and if grammar is
not yet autonomous, it is nearly so. Language science
now possesses an extensive metalanguage, linguistic
levels are clearly demarcated, and the phonologi-
cal and morphological parameters of linguistic inqui-
ry are well established even if syntax still remains
hidden in the dark domains of Stoic logic and/or
solecisms (but see Swiggers and Wouters, 2003). The
word-class system of grammar instituted by Stoic and
Alexandrian language science readily transfers to the
Roman world.
Linguistic Theory and Practice in
Rome: Varro
Intellectual activity, along with military, political, and
economic power, moves westward in the late 1st and
2nd centuries B.C. to Rome. Educated and bilingual
Romans are aware of their literary and linguistic

debts to Greece, as early Latin literature abundantly
attests. In 168 B.C. or so, Crates of Mallos, a Stoic
philosopher, introduces Romans to the formal study
of literature and linguistics. (Bits and pieces of his
unconventional poetics are beginning to emerge from
a papyrus roll discovered in the mid-18th century but
only recently edited.) Early Roman language science,
however, is decidedly Alexandrian in mode (editions
of poetry, commentaries, etymological analyses, inter-
pretations of hymns and legal documents, etc.) but
also demonstrably practical and quintessentially
Roman in purpose (orthography and spelling re-
form). Lucius Aelius Stilo (fl. 100 B.C.), Rome’s first
philologist of note, teaches both Cicero and Marcus
Terentius Varro (116–27 B.C.), and the latter becomes
Rome’s most famous scholar.
Varro’s intellectual curiosity is all-consuming and
his learning vast – he authors at least 74 works – but
dearest to his soul is the Latin language. Of the dozen
or so major works he authors on language science,
however, only six of the original 25 books, i.e., chap-
ters, of his magnum opus, the De lingua Latina, re-
main. His eclectic work combines Greek and Latin
linguistic thought into a distinctively Roman blend of
language science. The books on etymological theory,
morphological practice, and syntax are lost, but frag-
ments suggest that Varro’s syntax is Stoic, i.e., it deals
with propositions. Books 5–6 on etymological prac-
tice are an enormous reservoir of cultural artifacts
testifying to what Romans think about their own
language, and books 8–10 on morphological theory
are replete with penetrating observations on the na-
ture of language and linguistic inquiry. Varro’s
accomplishments in the De lingua Latina are nu-
merous: he addresses etymology from a distinctly
scientific perspective; distinguishes, for the first time
in ancient linguistic thought, between derivational
and inflectional morphology; formulates the first
embryonic declensions and conjugations in ancient
language science; is the first and only grammarian
in ancient times to apply abstract models to the articu-
lation and solution of linguistic problems; so creative-
ly adapts the Stoic analysis of the Greek verb to the
Latin verb system that he becomes the only Latin
grammarian prior to the Renaissance to recognize
the future perfect indicative; and even includes syntax
in his account of the Latin language. Such achieve-
ments arguably establish that Varro is classical anti-
quity’s premier linguistic theoretician.
According to Varro’s word-based theory (cf. Taylor,
1974 and 1996), words are of two sorts: those
that vary in form, and those that do not. Declinatio
‘morphological variation’ is a linguistic universal and
is likewise of two sorts: declinatio voluntaria is deri-
vational morphology, and declinatio naturalis is
Classical Antiquity: Language Study 435
inflectional morphology. Varro determines that
Latin has four partes orationis ‘parts of speech’:
words with case, words with tense, words with
both, words with neither. How words vary inflection-
ally is determined by both their figura ‘phonological
form’ and their materia ‘grammatical substance,’ and
thus similitudo ‘linguistic similarity’ is a matter of
both form and substance (but not meaning). The
linguist’s task is to identify similitudo wherever he
can, and analogia ‘proportion’ is his most useful heu-
ristic procedure. Varro utilizes four arithmetical pro-
portions as models of inflection, which allow him to
discover both declensions and conjugations. Because
he ignores vowel length, his five declensions are not
the same as our five, and his conjugations are only
three in number; nonetheless he succeeds in identify-
ing, perfectly in theory and almost so in practice, the
declensions and conjugations of Latin, and these form
the core of Latin grammar forever. Varro’s status as a
grammarian par excellence and the vir Romanorum
eruditissimus is thus guaranteed, and it is no wonder
that he is the most frequently cited source in the
Roman grammatical tradition and ergo the first au-
thorial figure in the history of Latin linguistics.
Early Roman Imperial Grammar and the
Alexandrian Renaissance
During the first two centuries A.D., Rome attracts
scholars from all over its far-flung empire who pub-
lish extensively on lexicography, orthography, and
metrics, but most such texts are lost. The pace of
language science accelerates, grammars assume their
canonical form, and the now prominent discipline
garners attention from emperors and critics alike.
Grammarians like Palaemon and Probus are able to
specialize on the uninflected parts of speech and the
verb respectively and to become sufficiently famous
that later works are spuriously attributed to
them. Palaemon substitutes the interjection for
the article, which Latin lacks, in the Alexandrian
list of partes orationis and is also credited with
authoring the first Roman ars. Meanwhile, Greek
scholars like Apollonius Dyscolus (cf. Blank, 1981
and Householder, 1981), his son Herodian, and Sex-
tus Empiricus produce influential and innovative
works. Apollonian language science dominates
Byzantine linguistics, and Priscian’s Latin grammar
(see below) is heavily dependent upon Apollonius
and Herodian. The latter’s works have not survived
independently but were copiously quoted by later
grammarians. Moreover, Apollonius is the first gram-
marian in ancient times, Greek or Roman, whose
book-length works, or at least four of them, have
been preserved more or less in toto and also the first
436 Classical Antiquity: Language Study
formal syntactician in Graeco–Roman linguistics.
Sextus, a physician and philosopher, is a skeptical
critic not only of grammar, the first of the liberal
arts, but of all the arts and sciences.
Quintilian’s description (Institutio oratoria I, 4–8)
of grammatical education in 1st-century A.D. Rome is
the most extensive extant Latin linguistic text of the
period. Quintilian is not himself a grammarian, but
his text is our best source for early imperial grammar.
His organizational scheme accords nicely with that of
the ars in subsequent centuries as well as with what
little we know of Palaemon’s ars, whose pupil he is
reputed to have been. Grammarians and their stu-
dents first study sounds, then word derivation, then
the parts of speech, next declension and conjugation,
and finally the virtues and vices of speech, particular-
ly barbarisms and solecisms. The tripartite arrange-
ment of the later monumental artes – phonology,
morphology, vitia virtutesque orationis – is therefore
present, at least implicitly, in Quintilian’s account.
The study of phonology is important for reading
aloud (the norm in classical antiquity), spelling, and
scanning poetry, and the stylistic component presup-
poses at least some normative grammar. The largest
section in Quintilian’s educational schema is that on
morphology, and it emphasizes the parts of speech,
declined and conjugated forms in particular, although
Quintilian nowhere classifies nouns and verbs into
particular declensions or conjugations and presum-
ably does not know them. Ambiguity interests him,
and he adduces (6.1) and discusses at length four
criteria for resolving ambiguities and other doubtful
grammatical issues: reason (analogy or etymology),
antiquity, authority, usage. He criticizes excessive
reliance on any one criterion, however, and inveighs
mightily against prescriptive analogy and conjec-
tural etymology. Examples are ubiquitous through-
out Quintilian’s entire account of 1st-century A.D.
grammatical education, and they provide fascinating
glimpses into the many linguistic questions with
which Roman grammarians and their students were
grappling at the time. What the Romans do
best, however, is to systematize and organize, and as
Quintilian’s sketch and subsequent artes suggest, that
is what it appears they do most of all for language
study in the early empire.
Apollonius Dyscolus is a rationalist and an analo-
gist: linguistic problems have reasonable solutions,
and similar problems have analogous solutions. Lan-
guage is by nature logical, orderly, and rule governed;
any and all deviations from linguistic logic, order, and
rule are explicable by reason and analogy; and gram-
matical analysis is therefore principled behavior
designed to discover rules and to explain exceptions.
Apollonius assumes an underlying structure for all
levels of language. So there is an order to the letters
of the alphabet, to the parts of speech, to the cases,
and to the sentence. Letters combine into syllables,
syllables into words, and words into sentences, but
constraints obtain; therefore none of these processes
is random. Change (pathos) affects each level, how-
ever, and Apollonius analyzes change as addition,
deletion, substitution, and transposition, i.e., the
four transformations or the quadripartita ratio. Just
as words are subject to pathos, i.e., are misspelled,
and are corrected by the theory of spelling, so too
sentences may consist of improperly combined noeta
‘meanings’ (Apollonius is also a mentalist) and are
to be corrected by syntactic theory. He decomposes
complex syntactic structures with subordination into
synonymous but coordinate simple structures and
analyzes elliptical constructions on the basis of com-
plete ones. Apollonius’s insistence on an underly-
ing structure to phonology, morphology, syntax, and
semantics is remarkably forward-looking and allows
him to stress katallēlotēs ‘grammaticality’ and to seek
such structures where they are not overtly apparent.
Sextus Empiricus could not disagree more. For him,
a science of grammar is simply not possible, and
he therefore debunks Stoic and Alexandrian gram-
matical doctrines alike with impartial glee. In so
doing, however, Sextus provides precious informa-
tion, albeit negatively expressed, about both Stoic
and Alexandrian linguistic thought. He also proves
himself a keen observer of both diachronic change
and synchronic variation. He reports quite accurately
that oi, ei, ou, and ai are no longer diphthongs, that
zeta is now simply [z], and that the aspirated stops
phi, theta, and chi have become continuants. He also
stresses the role of style, register, or idiolect and how
it varies from speaker to speaker or from speech act
to speech act. Of course, Sextus adduces such obser-
vations in order to argue, pace his predecessors, that
neither analogy nor usage, separately or in tandem,
can establish correctness in speech. We know little
about either Apollonius (e.g., why he was called
Dyscolus ‘ill tempered’) or Sextus (e.g., where he
lived), but together they constitute the last chapter
in the history of ancient Greek linguistics.
The Roman Ars Grammatica
In late antiquity, grammar is the undisputed queen of
the sciences: the sheer quantity of grammatical texts
dwarfs that of the preceding centuries taken collec-
tively; numerous grammarians are represented in the
corpus of extant texts; many others who are other-
wise unknown are mentioned in those texts; and
grammarians everywhere enjoy a status in society
that guarantees them respect and remuneration.

Unfortunately, few texts have been edited properly,
and we must therefore depend for the most part upon
Keil’s eight mammoth but outdated volumes (1857–
1880). Worse, prosopography is often chaotic, foot-
noting either casual or conspicuous by absence, and
plagiarism rampant. Extant artes range from text-
books to reference grammars, their authors include
amateurs as well as professionals, and even a new
genre, the grammatical commentary, emerges. Thus,
contents vary widely from favorite themes to areas of
expertise, methods comprise the purely formal and
the heavily semantic (sometimes both in the same
text), and elaborate taxonomies abound. Despite
such diversity these artes nonetheless manifest an
apparent uniformity that obfuscates their authors’
occasional forays into independent thought. There-
fore determining with precision the historical course
of progress, dependence, influence, and innovation is
virtually impossible, but the wealth of information in
these copious artes is undeniably vast. Phonology,
spelling, orthography, metrics, the partes orationis
and their accidence, declensions, conjugations, com-
parison, vitia virtutesque orationis, even syntax, and
countless other topics all receive their due and more,
and grammarians ruthlessly mine both pagan and
Christian texts for relevant literary examples.
Sacerdos (3rd century A.D.) authors the first extant
ars, but it is in the next century that grammar prolif-
erates and rises to prominence. Charisius regularly
exercises his own judgment as he reviews and cri-
tiques Roman grammatical literature; Diomedes can
be unduly influenced by Greek sources one moment
but quite independent, even radical, the next; and
Donatus, the teacher of St Jerome and the most fa-
mous and influential contemporary grammarian, pro-
duces two classics, his Ars major and Ars minor. The
latter is a series of questions and answers
concentrating exclusively on the parts of speech and
testifying to the preeminent place of morphology
in Latin grammar, whereas St Augustine reprises
much of Stoic linguistics in his De dialectica. Con-
trastive linguistics looms larger as both the Roman
empire and grammar become bilingual, a fact much
in evidence in the grammatical works of Marius
Victorinus, Macrobius, and Dositheus. The 5th cen-
tury features equally frenetic grammatical activity.
Consentius and Phocas limit their artes to the noun
and verb: both take a deductive approach to Latin
grammar, but the former emphasizes definitions and
explanations in the manner of schoolbooks while
the latter produces a regula-type grammar heavy on
rules, paradigms, and examples. Servius, Cledonius,
and Pompeius inaugurate the new genre of gram-
matical literature by commenting on the texts of
Donatus. Martianus Capella’s bizarre fantasy on the
Classical Antiquity: Language Study 437
marriage of Mercury and Philology ranks the ars
grammatica as the first of the artes liberales just
as Varro’s Disciplinae had done more than a half-
millennium previously.
Priscian’s Institutiones grammaticae (5th–6th cen-
tury A.D.) constitutes the stunning and surprising cul-
mination to the history of Graeco–Roman language
science. Priscian is a data-oriented grammarian who
devotes his first 16 books to morphology; examples
and literary quotations by the thousands enhance
some of the most extensive morphological analyses
in the entire history of linguistics. (His abridged trea-
tise on the noun, pronoun, and verb becomes a peda-
gogical classic.) Semantics reigns supreme in his
linguistic theory, however, for Priscian is heavily de-
pendent upon Apollonius Dyscolus, as befits a gram-
marian writing in Constantinople. Priscian devotes
books 17 and 18 to syntax, the first such study in all
of Roman language science. He relies on Apollonius
for theory, form, content, and methodology, and thus
reason, analogy, order, and, obviously, semantics fig-
ure prominently everywhere. He cites Apollonius re-
peatedly and even recasts in Latin Apollonius’s
famous analogy between spelling and syntax. Like
his Greek predecessor, Priscian decomposes com-
plex structures into simpler ones and analyzes ellipses
on the basis of complete constructions. Especially
noteworthy, are Priscian’s analyses of the ablative
absolute, gapping, the passive transformation, and
impersonal verbs. Priscian’s work is so significant
that it is transmitted in more than a thousand manu-
scripts, and his syntax so striking that books 1–16
and books 17–18 are often separately entitled
Priscianus major and Priscianus minor, respectively.
Priscian’s supreme achievements in morphology and
syntax are difficult to assess in detail, for even
now we still ‘‘have no extensive study of him nor
even a satisfactory philological edition of his work’’
(Hovdhaugen, 1982: 105); nonetheless his magnum
opus stands as the consummate swan song to ancient
language study.
Conclusion
Western intellectual history would not be the same
without the contributions of classical antiquity’s lan-
guage scientists, for individually and collectively the
grammarians of Greece and Rome lay the founda-
tions and chart the course for the formal study of
language in the future. Their claims on originality
are considerable; the four transformations, parts of
speech, grammatical terms by the score, the word-
class system, word-and-paradigm grammar, sign and
referent, and dozens of other linguistic matters first
articulated in Greece or Rome are still with us
438 Classical Antiquity: Language Study
today. Plato and Aristotle begin the lengthy process of
identifying the fundamental constituents of language,
Stoic logic remains au courant, the Techne’s taxo-
nomic and terminological influence is indisputable,
Varro’s revised declensions and conjugations are
the permanent heart and soul of Latin grammar the
world over, Donatus’s artes are centerpieces of gram-
matical literature and educational curricula, and Pris-
cian’s syntactic analyses have found their way into
modern textbooks. The history of Graeco–Roman
language science is not always as well documented
as we would like, but what is extant not only testifies
to one of the longest-lasting intellectual legacies in
the Western world but also continues to inspire and
inform its modern practitioners.
See also: Apollonius Dyscolus and Herodian; Architecture
of Grammar; Aristotle and Linguistics; Aristotle and the
Stoics on Language; Diogenes the Babylonian (ca. 240–
152 B.C.); Dionysius Thrax and Hellenistic Language
Scholarship; Ellipsis; Europe Alphabets, Ancient Classi-
cal; Grammar; Greek, Ancient; Hippocrates: Theory of the
Sign; Historiography of Linguistics; Latin; Linguistic Ter-
minology; Logic and Language: Philosophical Aspects;
Plato and His Predecessors; Pliny the Elder (23–79 A.D.);
Priscianus Caesariensis (d. ca. 530); Quintilian (ca. 30–98
A.D.); Roman Ars Grammatica; Sextus Empiricus (fl. 200
A.D.); Varro, Marcus Terentius (116–27 B.C.); Word Clas-
ses/Parts of Speech: Overview.
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Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders
J Macoir, Laval University, Quebec, QC, Canada
A Sylvestre, Laval University, Quebec, QC, Canada
Y Turgeon, Campbellton Regional Hospital,
Campbellton, NB, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The evaluation of speech and language is one of the
most important tasks of speech-language pathologists
and professionals from a variety of disciplines and
backgrounds (neuropsychologists, physicians, nurses,
etc.). The assessment session is often the first contact
with clients and also constitutes the starting point of
all clinical interventions. Because of the absence of
biological markers or simple assessment methods, the
early detection or diagnosis of speech and language
problems remains dependent on various indirect assess-
ments (i.e., speech or language functioning must be
inferred from the client performance in various tasks
devised to explore the different areas of this function-
ing) performed to identify specific impairments and
eliminate other possible causes.
There are various purposes to conduct speech-
language assessments. The main goal of screening
is to determine whether a client has a problem or not.
The output of this type of assessment is a ‘pass’ or ‘fail’
result, based on an established criterion that could
lead to a more extensive or a follow-up assessment.
Diagnosis and differential diagnosis assessments are
usually performed to label the communication problem
and/or to differentiate it from other disorders in which
similar characteristics are usually reported.
Another important purpose to evaluation is to pro-
vide clinicians with a detailed description of the cli-
ent’s baseline level of functioning in all areas of
communication in order to identify affected and pre-
served components, to plan for treatment, to establish
treatment effectiveness, or to track progress over time
through periodic re-evaluations. These types of assess-
ment require the clinician to consider all aspects
of communication, including the different areas of
speech (e.g., articulation, voice, resonance) and lan-
guage (e.g., lexical access, comprehension, written
spelling), but also important related abilities and com-
ponents such as pragmatics, cognitive functions (e.g.,
attention, memory, visual perception), emotions,
awareness of deficits, etc. The selection of evaluation
tools is also conditioned by the specific objectives of
assessments. Screening for a speech or language disor-
der is usually performed with standardized screening
measures whereas standardized norm-referenced tests
are used for diagnosis and differential diagnosis
Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders 439
assessments as well as for clinical treatment purposes
(baseline, effectiveness, progress).
Reference Models for the Assessment
of Speech and Language Impairment
The choice of a particular method of assessment, the
selection of evaluation tools as well as the inter-
pretation of results, is highly dependent not only
on the clinician’s own conception of speech and
language functioning but also on the reference to a
clinicopathological or cognitive model of assessment.
In the clinicopathological model, speech and lan-
guage problems are considered as essential character-
istics of clinical syndromes. These clinical syndromes
are organized and classified according to neurologi-
cal-neuropathological characteristics (e.g., deteriora-
tion of cortical tissue in a specific brain area) and
according to semiology (e.g., sensitive and motor def-
icits, visuospatial deficits, language deficits, etc.). For
the purpose of assessment, the emphasis is put on the
precise identification of the diagnostic label that best
corresponds to the observed deficits as well as to the
identification of the possible etiology. For example,
within this model, the general assessment process of
an aphasic person essentially consists of (1) gathering
case history data (e.g., cerebrovascular accident in
the left frontal area), (2) administrating a specific
test battery (e.g., the Boston Diagnostic Aphasia
Examination [BDAE]; Goodglass et al., 2000), (3)
confronting the results and description of behavior
(e.g., impaired fluency, impaired articulatory agility,
relatively good auditory comprehension, agramma-
tism) with the classification of neurogenic acquired
deficits of language, and (4) specifying the precise
aphasic label (Broca’s aphasia) that best fits these
characteristics. If screening or labeling is the
main goal of the assessment, the clinicopathological
model is probably the best option. It is, however,
certainly not so if the purpose of the evaluation is to
localize the functional origin of deficits or to guide
clinical practice. Knowing that a person presents with
a Broca’s aphasia may not be much help in identifying
the specific components of language that are totally
or partially affected or preserved. It also does not tell
the clinician what intervention goals are appropriate,
what treatment approaches will succeed best.
Instead of resorting to a medical assessment model,
clinicians may use cognitive neuropsychological
models, directly derived from information-processing
theories, to evaluate language. In these models, cog-
nitive functions, including language, are sustained by
specialized interconnected processing components,
440 Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders
represented in functional architecture models. For
example, as shown on Figure 1, the ability to orally
produce a word in picture naming is conceived as a
staged process in which the activation flow is initiated
in a conceptual-semantic component and ends with
the execution of articulation mechanisms.
An assessment process based on cognitive neuro-
psychological models consists in the localization of
the impaired and preserved processing components
for each language modality. This localization is per-
formed through the administration of specific tasks or
test batteries (e.g., Psycholinguistic Assessments of
Language Processing in Aphasia [PALPA]; Kay et al.,
1992) aiming at the evaluation of each component
and route of the model. For example, the evaluation
of naming abilities in an aphasic person could
be performed by the administration of tasks exploring
the conceptual-semantic (e.g., semantic questionnaire),
phonological output lexicon (e.g., picture-naming task
controlled for frequency, familiarity, etc), and phono-
logical output buffer (e.g., repetition of words and
nonwords controlled for length) components. Impor-
tant information regarding the level of impairments
also arises from error analysis. With the same example,
an anomic behavior could arise from distinct under-
lying deficits (e.g., in the activation of conceptual-
semantic representations or in retrieving phonological
forms of words in the output lexicon), leading to dis-
tinct types of errors (e.g., semantic substitutions, pho-
nemic errors). The complete cognitive assessment
process should allow the clinician to understand the
client’s deficits (i.e., surface manifestations, underlying
origins, affected components) as well as to identify
the strengths and weaknesses in his communication
Figure 1 Schematic depiction of the cognitive neuropsychologi-
cal model of spoken picture naming.
abilities. When recommended, the treatment may
focus on the impaired levels of processing (i.e., function
restoration) or on alternative processing routes (i.e.,
function reorganization) that will allow the client to
communicate successfully.
Classical Tests for the Assessment
of Aphasia
Aphasia is the most common disorder of communi-
cation resulting from brain damage (i.e., stroke,
brain tumor, head trauma, infections). This affection
mainly involves language problems of production and
comprehension as well as disturbances in reading and
spelling.
Bedside and Screening Tests
The patient’s symptoms change rapidly during the
first days and weeks following the brain damage.
Moreover, patients are often too ill to complete an
exhaustive aphasia examination and bedside or
screening instruments may be useful to advise rela-
tives and health care professionals about the global
communication profile and the best means to com-
municate in functional situations. These instruments
are also useful to help clinicians to determine the
necessity of performing a more thorough and exten-
sive assessment of language or to establish the priority
of patients on a waiting list. In addition to actual
screening tests (e.g., Aphasia Screening Test; Reitan,
1991; for an extensive list see Murray and Chapey,
2001 and Spreen and Risser, 2003), clinicians also
may administer shortened versions of comprehensive
tests of aphasia (e.g., short form of the Token Test;
Spellacy and Spreen, 1969; for an extensive list see
Murray and Chapey, 2001). As pointed out by Spreen
and Risser (2003), although bedside and screening
tests may be used to identify language impairments
in moderate and severe aphasics (language is obvious-
ly affected, even in simple and natural communica-
tion situations), they are inappropriate or of little use
to distinguish the responses of individuals with mild
deficits from those with normal language skills.
Comprehensive Examinations and
Aphasia Batteries
As compared to bedside and screening tests, the main
purpose of comprehensive examinations of aphasia is
to provide an extensive description of language skills
through the administration of tests designed to ex-
plore the different areas of language (i.e., spontaneous
speech, naming, oral expression, auditory and written
comprehension, repetition, reading, and writing).
According to the reference model of assessment, the

output of a comprehensive examination may consist
in the identification of a particular diagnostic of apha-
sia with the description of severity of deficits in each
language area (clinicopathological approach), or in
the localization of specific impairments affecting
functional processing components of language skills
(cognitive neuropsychological approach).
There are several classical comprehensive examina-
tions and aphasia batteries. The most widely used in
clinical and research settings in English are BDAE
(Goodglass et al., 2000), the Western Aphasia Battery
(Kertesz, 1982), and the Aphasia Diagnostic Profiles
(Helm-Estabrooks, 1992). All these standardized test
batteries comprise different subtests (e.g., BDAE has 27
subtests) that assess all the dimensions of language in
order to diagnose and classify aphasic syndromes
according to clinical localization-based classifications
(i.e., Broca’s, Wernicke’s aphasia, etc.). For a complete
description and a critical review of these instruments,
and others not reported here, see Spreen and Strauss
(1998), Murray and Chapey (2001), and Spreen and
Risser (2003). PALPA (Kay et al., 1992) is a compre-
hensive test battery directly derived from the cognitive
neuropsychology approach of assessment. This aphasia
battery, commonly used in the United Kingdom, con-
sists in a set of resource materials comprising 60 rigor-
ously controlled tests that enable the user to select tasks
‘‘that can be tailored to the investigation of an individ-
ual patient’s impaired and intact abilities.’’ The scoring
and analysis of errors give the clinician a detailed pro-
file of language abilities, including reading and written
spelling, which can be interpreted within current cog-
nitive models of language. As compared to classical
batteries of aphasia, the versatile and flexible nature
of PALPA is, however, lessened by the lack of standar-
dization and validity/reliability measures.
Tests for the Assessment of Specific
Aspects of Language
Specific aspects of language behavior can also be
assessed through the administration of several tests.
These are often used to complete aphasia batteries but
some of them also are used as screening tests. Clin-
icians may select these tests according to the different
aspects of language they want to explore in depth, but
also according to the underlying theoretical model of
assessment. For example, comprehension may be test-
ed through the administration of specific tests aiming
at the discrimination of phonemic sounds (Phoneme
Discrimination Test; Benton et al., 1994), seman-
tics (Pyramids and Palm Trees Test; Howard and
Patterson, 1992), sentence length and syntactic com-
plexity (Auditory Comprehension Test for Sentences;
Shewan, 1979), commands (Token Test; De Renzi
and Vignolo, 1962), or narrative discourse (Discourse
Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders 441
Comprehension Test; Brookshire and Nichols, 1993).
Other tests are available for measuring verbal expres-
sion, spoken and written naming, verbal fluency,
reading, writing, gestural abilities, etc. An extensive
list of specific language function tests can be found in
Spreen and Strauss (1998), Murray and Chapey
(2001), and Spreen and Risser (2003).
The Assessment of Functional Communication
Traditional tests provide useful information on lin-
guistic abilities and language impairments in aphasia.
However, performance on these tests does not neces-
sarily predict how a person will communicate in more
naturalistic settings and everyday life. Instead of
focusing on the importance and the nature of deficits,
the functional communication approach of ass-
essment aims at the impact of these deficits on the
person’s activities and participation in society. Func-
tional communication skills may be assessed with
specific structured tests or by rating scales and inven-
tories of communication profiles. Structured tests
such as Communication Activities of Daily Living 2
(Holland et al., 1999) and the Amsterdam–Nijmegen
Everyday Language Test (Blomert et al., 1994) have
been devised to explore functional communication
skills using role-play in daily life activities (shopping,
dealing with a receptionist, etc.) and have shown
themselves to be useful to track progress over time.
However, while they are certainly more ecological
than comprehensive examinations and tests for specific
aspects of language, structured tests of functional com-
munication do not necessarily give reliable views of the
communication skills of a person in real-life situations.
In this respect, rating scales and inventories of commu-
nication profiles are closer to functional situations. For
example, the Functional Assessment of Communica-
tion Skills for Adults (Frattali et al., 1995) is a rating
protocol of 43 items, on a seven-point scale, based on
the observations made by the speech-language pathol-
ogist or other significant person in the following four
domains: social communication (e.g., ‘refers to familiar
people by name’); communication of basic needs (e.g.,
‘makes needs to eat’; reading, writing, and number
concepts (e.g., ‘writes messages’); and daily planning
(e.g., ‘tells time’). For a more extensive description of
these functional communication tools, and others not
described here, see Murray and Chapey (2001) and
Spreen and Risser (2003).
Classical Tests for the Assessment
of Speech and Language Impairment
in Children
The assessment of language and communication
in children can take place from infancy through
442 Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders
adolescence, when cognitive abilities are developing.
Therefore, the language assessment process must not
only inform on current specific abilities, but has also
to capture changes over time in the level, sequence,
and rate of acquisition. The interrelationship between
language and other cognitive and social skills is also
of primary importance. As a part of a larger process,
usually performed by different professionals, the eval-
uation of language in children should be completed
by an assessment of nonverbal communication, play
and social skills, perception, attention and memory,
behavior, etc. Moreover, because of the major influ-
ence it has on child development, the evaluation also
has to consider the familial and social environment,
especially with respect to adult–child interaction. The
different components (e.g., sensitivity, promptness) as
well as the context (e.g., physical settings, types of
play, activities) in which this interaction takes place
should be analyzed through specific assessment tools
or through direct observation.
The assessment of preschool children (children
aged 2 to 5 years) and school-age children (5 to 10
or 12 years) is usually based upon a combination
of parent interviews, standardized tests, criterion-
referenced instruments, developmental scales, and
observations. All these tools and methods aim to
explore both receptive and expressive language abil-
ities in semantics, morphology, syntax, phonology,
and pragmatics. Collecting a communication sample
is also a frequently used method to analyze commu-
nication in terms of sentence length, intelligibility of
speech, vocabulary, and conversational strengths and
weaknesses. Similarly to tests for aphasia, preschool
and school-age tests can be divided into two major
categories: screening and diagnostic tests. The pur-
pose of screening tests is to determine if the child’s
communication should be explored more extensively
for the presence of a possible impairment. On the
other hand, the main purposes of diagnostic tests is
to establish the presence or absence of a deficit in one
or more areas of language, to identify a possible
difference in language development, to determine
the child’s eligibility for clinical services, and to iden-
tify the targets for intervention. These instruments are
devised to assess language development by reference
to the parameters of the normal range.
Screening Tests
Screening tests are usually inexpensive and require
minimal time for administration and interpretation of
results. Many norm-referenced standardized instru-
ments may be used to establish the child’s general
level of expressive and receptive language functioning
as well as other areas of functioning. For example, the
Denver Developmental Screening Test II (Frankenburg
et al., 1990), a standardized screening battery for
children from birth to age 6, is designed to test the
child’s abilities in the following four sectors: person-
al-social, fine motor, gross motor, and language (in-
cluding expressive-receptive vocabulary). Screening
tests may also consist in large batteries exploring
language and cognitive functions through tasks of
general verbal and nonverbal intellectual abilities.
For example, the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Chil-
dren IV (Wechsler, 2004) is the most widely used
measure of verbal and nonverbal intelligence in indi-
viduals from age 6 years 0 months to 16 years 11
months. As a screening tool, this battery consists in
16 subtests of verbal comprehension, perceptual
reasoning, working memory, and processing speed
skills.
For school-age children, some large screening bat-
teries specifically concern academic achievement.
That is, for example, the case with the Peabody Indi-
vidual Achievement Test – Revised (PIAT-R; Mark-
wardt, 1998), which provides a screening measure of
achievement in the areas of mathematics, reading
recognition and comprehension, spelling, and general
information. However, most of the tasks of these
large screening batteries are multifactorial and are
therefore not appropriate to assess specific language
or cognitive processes. For this purpose, clinicians
may select among various specific screening tests for
preschool and school-age children that focus only on
language. Most of these instruments are designed to
explore the different language components. That is
the case, for example, with the Fluharty Preschool
Speech and Language Screening Test II (Fluharty,
2001), which explores articulation, expressive and
receptive vocabulary, and composite language in
children from 2 to 6 years old. An exhaustive list
of norm-referenced standardized screening tests of
language can be found in Paul (2001).
Comprehensive Examinations and Batteries
As for screening, some diagnostic tools are designed
to explore language skills as well as other aspects of
development. That is the case, for example, with the
Communication and Symbolic Behavior Scales Devel-
opmental Profile (Wetherby and Prizant, 1998),
which includes tasks exploring expressive and recep-
tive language, symbolic play, and nonverbal commu-
nication in children from 6 to 24 months old. Another
example is the Rossetti Infant-Toddler Language
Scale (Rossetti, 1990), which is used to assess attach-
ment, play, gestures, and pragmatics, as well as lan-
guage comprehension and expression in children
from birth to 3 years old. There are also several

standardized comprehensive batteries of language
processing that comprise tests exploring exclusively
some or all of the language areas. That is the case,
for example, with the Preschool Language Scale 4
(Zimmerman et al., 2002), which is used to identify
specific strengths and weaknesses in receptive and
expressive language skills in children from birth to
6 years 11 months. The Clinical Evaluation of
Language Fundamentals 4 (Semel et al., 2003) is a
multidimensional battery that can be used in indivi-
duals between the ages of 5 and 21 years to explore
semantics, expressive and receptive language, and
syntax, as well as working memory. The Compre-
hensive Assessment of Spoken Language (Carrow-
Woolfolk, 1999), designed for children from age 3
to 21, is another comprehensive battery of language
skills, comprising 15 tests that provide an assessment
of expressive and receptive skills in four language
categories: lexical/semantic, syntactic, supralinguis-
tic, and pragmatics. An extensive list of avail-
able comprehensive examinations and batteries of
language for children can be found in McCauley
(2001), Paul (2001), Mattis and Luck (2002), and
Haynes and Pindzola (2003).
Tests for Specific Aspects of Language
Different components of language can be affected
with more or less intensity in children according to
the origin of developmental disorders. Therefore, the
in-depth assessment of language and communication
disorders in children is a critical component in the
clinical process. Core tests can be used to evaluate
each of the language areas in order to identify specific
impairments, establish baselines, and identify precise
therapeutic and intervention goals. For example,
there are several core tests and instruments for the
evaluation of word retrieval (e.g., naming and verbal
fluency tests), phonology (e.g., word and nonword
repetition tests), receptive and expressive vocabulary
(e.g., word definition tests), receptive and expressive
syntax and morphology (e.g., sentence-to-picture
matching tests), and pragmatic skills (e.g., narrative
production, story comprehension tests).
A combination of different tests, each focusing on
specific language components, may also be used to
establish such a language and communication profile.
For example, to assess vocabulary, clinicians may
select the following standardized norm-referenced
specific tests: the Expressive One-Word Picture
Vocabulary Test Revised (Gardner, 2000), to exclu-
sively explore expressive vocabulary in individuals
ages 2 years 0 months through 18 years 11 months;
or the Peabody Picture Vocabulary Test (Dunn
and Dunn, 1997), to exclusively explore receptive
Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders 443
vocabulary in individuals from age 2 years 6 months
to adult. A more complete description of available
diagnostic tests adapted to preschool and school-age
children can be found in McCauley (2001), Paul
(2001), Mattis and Luck (2002), and Haynes and
Pindzola (2003).
The Assessment of Reading and Writing
The relationship between language acquisition and
academic achievement is well established. Develop-
mental disorders of language in preschool children
are frequently associated with later difficulties in
learning to read and write. The most common referral
for a speech-language pathology assessment concerns
school-age children who encounter problems in pro-
gressing beyond the developing language phase and
present with difficulties in learning and acquiring
communicative and academic skills. As for other
populations, but especially at this stage of develop-
ment, a significant difficulty in assessing school-age
children arises because of important comorbidity
between language and learning disorders and other
cognitive and clinical pathological profiles, such as
attention deficit/hyperactivity or executive function
disorders. Therefore, the assessment process should
include specific tests of language and communication
but also instruments designed for exploring other
cognitive functions, such as attention, working mem-
ory, and executive functions. In addition to formal
tests, another important source of information also
comes from structured interviews of the child himself,
his parents and his teacher. With respect to language,
phonological processing deficits are considered as an
underlying cause of dyslexia and also play a role in
developmental disorders of spelling. For example,
dyslexic children often show problems with word
and nonword repetition tasks, phonological aware-
ness tasks (e.g., word and nonword segmentation
tasks, phoneme manipulation, etc.), and working
memory tasks for verbal material (i.e., word or digit
span tasks). The semantic processing is another cog-
nitive area highly related to reading and writing.
School-age children usually learn new words through
reading and writing. Those who encounter problems
in reading and writing often present with poor
vocabulary as well as with difficulty in word associa-
tion and comprehension. Therefore, the assessment
procedure for written language problems should be
part of a more exhaustive evaluation of language and
cognition. It should also include a close control of
psycholinguistic parameters (e.g., orthographic regu-
larity, lexical frequency) that are known to play an
important role in written and spoken word recogni-
tion, reading comprehension, phoneme–grapheme
444 Classical Tests for Speech and Language Disorders
conversion, decoding, etc. However, very few stan-
dardized assessment tools fulfill these conditions. As
an exception, French-speaking clinicians may use the
Batterie d’Évaluation du Langage Écrit et de Ses
Troubles (Mousty et al., 1994), a written-language-
testing battery based on current models of reading
and writing, to assess children between the ages of 7
and 12 years. In addition to experimental tasks, one
can resort to standardized achievement or specific
tests of reading and writing skills. Among the most
used of achievement tests are PIAT-R (Markwardt,
1998), which comprises subtests of reading compre-
hension, reading recognition, and spelling, and the
Wide Range Achievement Test (Wilkinson, 1993), a
brief test measuring reading recognition, spelling, and
arithmetic computation. For a description of specific
clinical tests of reading and writing, see Spreen and
Strauss (1998) and Bailet (2001).
Classical Tests for the Assessment
of Speech and Language Impairment
in Special Populations
Referral for speech-language assessment not only
concerns aphasia and developmental deficits of lan-
guage but also involves individuals of different age
groups presenting with various language and commu-
nication problems. In children and adolescents, these
references include language deficits in pervasive de-
velopmental disorders (e.g., autism, Asperger’s disor-
der), mental retardation, attention deficit/hyperactivity
disorder, specific language impairment, sensory deficits
(hearing loss, blindness), acquired disorders (e.g.,
traumatic brain injury), stuttering, etc. In adults, refer-
ral for a speech-language evaluation may be required
for language and communication deficits following
right hemisphere damage, traumatic brain injury,
Alzheimer’s disease and other forms of dementia (e.g.,
primary progressive aphasia, semantic dementia),
stuttering and other fluency problems, etc.
In children, adolescents, and adults, clinical assess-
ments may also concern such speech problems as dys-
arthria, following a stroke and neurodegenerative
illnesses or accompanying cerebral palsy, acquired or
developmental apraxia of speech, etc. In addition
to the conventional evaluation of basic language (or
speech) skills, the assessment procedure in all these
special populations involves specific aspects and par-
ticularities of speech and language. For example, be-
cause of the absence of biological markers or simple
diagnosis methods, the early detection of dementia
often depends on various assessment tools, including
language and cognitive tests performed to exclude
other possible disease processes or identify specific
forms of a given disease. In that particular domain,
the assessment of speech and language usually includes
tests allowing for differential diagnosis. For example,
tests that specifically tap either semantic processing
or written spelling can contribute to differentiating
common disease processes in the elderly population.
Semantic deficits are prominent characteristics of indi-
viduals diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and these
individuals usually differ from patients diagnosed with
vascular dementia or frontotemporal dementia because
of the presence of surface dysgraphia, a specific spelling
disorder.
It is obviously not possible to exhaustively describe
here the various tests adapted to special populations.
The reader will find a more complete description of
such tests in McCauley (2001), Paul (2001), Haynes
and Pindzola (2003), and Spreen and Risser (2003).
Conclusion
Language production and comprehension are com-
plex cognitive skills that should not be considered in
isolation in assessment procedures. The interrelation
between language and other cognitive functions has
to be captured, particularly with respect to the possi-
ble influence of attention, working memory, and
executive functions on linguistic abilities. If possible,
clinicians should always select valid and reliable
norm-referenced tests to assess language and commu-
nication. Resorting to theoretical models of language
functioning also appears of primary importance and
may sometimes condition the utilization of experi-
mental, well-controlled, assessment tasks. A compre-
hensive assessment of language and communication is
more than just an evaluation of specific skills in terms
of preservation or impairment of processing compo-
nents and surface structures. The scope of assessment
should be widened in order to provide informa-
tion about physical, social, and emotional contexts
of communication, cultural differences, and econo-
mic factors. The combination of these data, obtained
through assessment tools and direct observations,
should then allow the clinician to establish a complete
portrait of functional communication abilities.
See also: Dementia and Language; Impairments of Proper
and Common Names; Phonological Impairments, Sublexi-
cal; Phonological, Lexical, Syntactic, and Semantic Dis-
orders in Children; Primary Progressive Aphasia in
Nondementing Adults; Speech Impairments in Neuro-
degenerative Diseases/Psychiatric Illnesses.

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446 Classification of Languages
Classification of Languages
B J Blake, La Trobe University, Bundoora, VIC,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Classification of Languages
This article describes the principles underlying the
classification of languages in this encyclopedia. Clas-
sification may be based on genetics, diffusion, lexi-
costatistics, or other relationships. A map (Figure 1)
showing locations of major language groupings
worldwide is provided.
Genetic Classification
Both professional linguists and general readers find a
genetic classification the most satisfying way to group
languages. This approach is one in which languages
are classified into families on the basis of descent
from a common ancestor. A good example is the
Indo-European family of languages, which includes
most of the languages of Europe, Iran, Afghanistan,
and the northern part of South Asia. These languages
can be shown to descend from a common ancestor, a
common protolanguage. There are no records of the
ancestral language, but it can be reconstructed from
records of daughter languages such as Sanskrit, An-
cient Greek, and Latin by using what is known as the
‘comparative method’. Consider the following words
for ‘father’: Sanskrit pitár, Greek paté:r, and Latin
pater. It is possible to align the initial ps, the medial
ts, and the final rs and reconstruct a root with the
consonants p-t-r (the vowels require a little further
examination). English is also a related language, so
the word father should show the same consonants,
but in fact the expected p shows as an f and the
t shows up as a th (representing a voiced dental frica-
tive). However, a consideration of further words
shows that the f/p correspondence also appears in
many other words, such as English foot against San-
skrit pád-, Greek pod-, and Latin ped-, and the th/
t correspondence also shows up in other words, such
as English mother against Sanskrit ma:tá:r, Greek
má:te:r, and Latin ma:ter. We still reconstruct p-t-k
and conclude that English has systematically changed
the original stop consonants into fricatives. In fact, all
the Germanic languages have done so.
Inflections as well as roots can be reconstructed.
A common genitive ending in -s can be seen in Greek
pod-ós, Latin ped-is, and English foot’s. Proceed-
ing in this way, we can reconstruct a good deal
of the protolanguage and we can demonstrate
that these languages and a score or so others are
related as members of one family, which we call
Indo-European.
A language family can be represented by a tree
diagram, with the branches representing subgroups.
Subgroups are characterized by shared innovations,
which sets them apart from other languages in
the family. The Germanic branch of Indo-European
(English, German, Dutch, etc.) is characterized by
various consonant shifts such as p ! f and t ! th, as
just mentioned, and by a past tense marked by a dental
(or alveolar) stop, as in English answered or German
antwortete. Other branches of Indo-European that
can be reconstructed include Armenian, Anatolian,
Celtic, Tocharian, and Italic. The Italic branch
contained languages located in Italy, such as Oscan,
Umbrian, and Latin. Latin was spread by conquest
from Rome to a large area around the Mediterranean.
It is no longer a spoken language, but it survives
through its daughters, namely, French, Portuguese,
Spanish, Italian, and Romanian, to mention only na-
tional languages. These languages, collectively called
the Romance languages, form a sub-branch of the
Italic branch of the Indo-European family. In this
instance, we have records of Latin, which serves as a
check on what we might reconstruct as proto-Ro-
mance. All of the Indo-European languages treated
in this encyclopedia are included in the alphabetic
list of families and other large groupings in the last
section of this article (‘Status of the Groupings Used in
the Classification’).
It is common in studying languages to find among
them resemblances that are insufficient for the recon-
struction of a protolanguage. This can be because
there are insufficient data or because the lang-
uages have diverged so far that only a little evidence
remains of their genetic affiliation. Where there is
insufficient evidence for establishing a family or
grouping families into a wider family, so that they
become branches of the larger family, we can describe
the languages in question as belonging to a particular
stock. There can be degrees of resemblance among
languages. If languages are grouped into stocks on
the basis of sharing 10–20% of vocabulary, and
some stocks are found to share between 5 and 10%,
then these stocks can be said to belong to the one
phylum.
Diffusion
In the ideal case, a number of innovations will
coincide, as with the Germanic innovations men-
tioned previously, and a branch can be added to a
tree diagram. However, all innovations, whether they
 Classification of Languages 447
Figure 1 Locations of the major language groupings of the world, excluding the large-scale expansion of European languages such as English and Spanish over the past 500 years. The
approximate locations of major concentrations are shown. In the Americas, there are many families, often with discontinuous and interlocking distributions, so the labels, indicated by name,
are very approximately located.
448 Classification of Languages
are new pronunciations, new affixes, new words, or
new constructions, must start at a particular location
and then spread, and different innovations can have
different starting points, and the spreads can overlap.
This can happen within a particular language or be-
tween languages in contact, with the result that lin-
guists cannot always present a neat, noncontroversial
tree diagram.
The diffusion of language features can be massive
and widespread. Vocabulary can be borrowed from
one language to another. ‘Borrow’ is the conventional
term for the adoption of language features from an-
other language, but no paying back is implied. Words
to do with culture are most easily borrowed. English,
for instance, has borrowed almost the entire learned
stratum of its lexicon from French, Latin, and Greek.
Similarly, Thai, Lao, and Khmer (Cambodian) have
borrowed their learned stratum from Pali, a language
of the Indo-Aryan branch of Indo-European. Pali is
the language of Buddhism. In areas where Islam is
found, languages exhibit various degrees of borrow-
ing from Arabic. Common vocabulary is not immune
from borrowing. English, for example, has borrowed
very from French, and it has borrowed some
hundreds of fairly basic words from Old Norse, in-
cluding the pronominal forms they, their, and them.
The standard tree diagram shows English as part of
the West Germanic sub-branch of Germanic and Old
Norse (ancestral to the modern Scandinavian lan-
guages), as representing North Germanic, but it is
more realistic to think of English as a mixture, pre-
dominantly West Germanic, but with an admixture
of North Germanic. And there is also the learned
stratum of vocabulary already mentioned.
Though grammatical forms, particularly bound
forms such as plural markers or past tense markers,
are not normally borrowed, grammatical structure or
patterns are relatively diffusible. It is interesting to
note that most of the languages of South Asia have
subject-object-verb (SOV) word order even though
they belong to different language families: the Indo-
Aryan branch of Indo-European, Dravidian, and the
Munda branch of Austro-Asiatic. Burushaski, a
language isolate spoken in northern Pakistan, is also
SOV. In China, and in Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam
to the south, a number of genetically diverse lan-
guages have assimilated to Chinese in having mono-
syllabic roots and tones. When languages converge
in this way, we have a Sprachbund (German for
‘language union’), or linguistic area. If languages were
classified typologically, then various languages of
different genetic provenience would be classified to-
gether because of diffusion. Vietnamese is a good
example. Historically, it belongs to the Mon-Khmer
branch of Austro-Asiatic, but it has been so
influenced by Chinese that not only has it adopted
numerous Chinese words, but it has also reduced
its own roots to conform to Chinese patterns and it
has developed tones as in Chinese. Word order is
subject-verb-object, as in Chinese.
Lexicostatistics
Linguists are not always in a position to reconstruct
the relationship between languages as has been done
in the case of Indo-European. Where linguists have
been confronted with a number of languages that
have not been studied in detail, a common situation
outside Europe over the past century, they have
resorted to lexicostatistics. The method is very sim-
ple. The percentages of common roots are counted
using a list of ‘basic’ words. The theory is that basic
vocabulary is resistant to borrowing, so that the per-
centage will give a guide to how closely languages are
related. Although it is true that everyday words are
less easily borrowed compared to words to do with
culture (in the broadest sense), the difference is one of
degree. One of the 200-word lists of basic vocabulary
that has been used contains the numerals ‘one’, ‘two’,
‘three’, ‘four’, and ‘five’, but these can be borrowed,
as in the case of the Tai languages, which have bor-
rowed them from Chinese. The same list also contains
‘animal’, ‘lake’, and ‘mountain’, all of which are bor-
rowings in English, ultimately from Latin. The prob-
lem of distinguishing roots that have been borrowed
as opposed to those that have been inherited from a
protolanguage is even greater when dealing with lan-
guages for which no detailed descriptions are avail-
able. Nevertheless, lexicostatistics has been widely
used in the classification of the languages of various
areas, including Africa, the Americas, Australia, and
New Guinea. Lexicostatistics does give a good guide
to the degree of similarity between languages, and on
the basis of the percentages obtained it is possible to
draw a hierarchical tree diagram and classify lan-
guages in terms of phylum, stock, family, branch,
sub-branch, language, and dialect. However, there is
no guarantee that such a tree diagram reflects the
successive breaking up of protolanguages, and the
terms family, branch, and sub-branch do not have
the same meaning as these terms do when based on
the comparative method.
Greenberg classified the languages of Africa and the
Americas using a form of lexicostatistics. Although
his classification of African languages is widely ac-
cepted and in general use, his classification of the
languages of the Americas is rejected by most schol-
ars. In this classification, all of the languages of the
Americas are united in one vast Amerind family, ex-
cept for Na Dene (mainly in northwestern part of
 Classification of Languages 449

North America) and Eskimo-Aleut in the Arctic Pidgins and Creoles

(Greenberg, 1987).
Beyond the Language Family
As mentioned previously, there can be various degrees
of resemblance between language families and the
levels of relationship can be quantified lexicostatisti-
cally and described in terms of stock and phylum. But
besides hypotheses of wider relationships based pure-
ly on lexicostatistics, there are hypotheses about pos-
sible relationships between families using standard
techniques of reconstruction or mixtures of standard
methodology and lexicostatistics. The Nostratic hy-
pothesis is one of the boldest and most controversial
approaches; largely the work of Aharon Dolgopolsky
and Vladimir Illich-Svitych, the hypothesis claims
that there is a macrofamily consisting of Indo-Euro-
pean, Semitic, Berber, Kartvelian, Uralic, Altaic, Ko-
rean, Japanese, and Dravidian (Dolgopolsky, 1998).
Other work includes that of Paul Benedict, who pro-
posed an Austro-Tai family combining Hmong-Mien
(Miao-Yao), the Tai-Kadai (or Daic) family, and Aus-
tronesian. Joseph Greenberg considered that these
three recognized families plus Austroasiatic form an
Austric family (Ruhlen, 1991: 152–156).
Where people find themselves in contact but without a
common language, a ‘pidgin’ develops, which is a
simplified form of language. The pidgin usually com-
bines elements from more than one language, but in
most cases the bulk of the lexicon comes from one
particular language. A number of pidgins developed in
the context of European colonial expansion from the
15th to the 19th centuries in places where workers,
often slaves, from different language backgrounds
were faced with an unfamiliar European language
and in many cases unfamiliar languages of fellow
workers. Where later generations learned these pid-
gins as their native language, the pidgins expanded to
be full languages. Such languages are known as
‘creoles’. In terms of classification, pidgins and creoles
do not lend themselves to the hierarchical taxonomy
wherein each language has a single ancestor. However,
they tend to be identified in terms of which language
supplies most of the vocabulary. The list of the pidgins
and creoles included in this work, given in Table 1,
shows the main source of the lexicon and where the
pidgin or creole is, or was, spoken.

Isolates
Table 1 Pidgins and creoles
A number of languages appear to belong to no family,
though in many cases they are presumably remnants Language Main source of the Location
of families. The following languages are examples: lexicon

. Ainu (spoken in Japan) Bislama English Vanuatu

. Burushaski (spoken in northern Pakistan) Cape Portuguese Cape Verde
Verdean
. Basque (spoken in the Pyrenees) creole
. Elamite (an extinct language of southwestern Iran; Fanagolo Bantu languages (e.g., Southern Africa
it has been claimed to be related to the Dravidian Xhosa, Zulu)
languages of southern India) Gullah English Sea Islands of South
. Japanese and the Ryukyuan dialects (the latter spo- Carolina
Hawaiian English Hawaii, United States
ken in the Ryukyu Islands of Japan) creole
. Ket (spoken in the Yenisei Basin, Siberia) Krio English Sierra Leone
. Korean Louisiana French Lousiana, United
. Nivkh (spoken in eastern Siberia, including Sakha- creole States
lin Island) Mobilian Choctaw, Chickasaw Southeastern United
jargon States (extinct)
. Sumerian (extinct language of Mesopotamia with Palenquero Spanish Colombia
records from the 3rd millennium B.C.) Papamiento Portuguese, Spanish Aruba, Bonaire,
. Yukaghir (spoken in eastern Siberia). Curaçao
Russenorsk Russian, Norwegian Arctic (extinct)
For most of these languages, hypotheses are put Sango Ngbandi, French Central African
forward from time to time linking them with other Republic
languages. A number of scholars include Japanese or Sranan English Surinam
Korean, or both, in the Altaic family, and some would Tok Pisin English New Guinea
Yanito English, Spanish Gibraltar
include Yukaghir in the Uralic family.
450 Classification of Languages
Status of the Groupings Used in the
Classification
This section contains a list of language families and
other groupings in alphabetic order with an indica-
tion of the status of the groupings, i.e. whether the
labels represent generally accepted families, contro-
versial families or larger entities. It should be noted
that while the list covers most of the language families
of the world, it is not a complete catalogue of
the world’s languages, which total somewhere near
5000.
Afroasiatic Languages
There are various classifications of Afroasiatic lan-
guages. The one used here recognizes six families:
Ancient Egyptian and its successor, Coptic; Berber
(northwest corner of Africa); Chadic (Niger and
Chad); Cushitic (Somalia and eastern Sudan); Omotic
(southern Ethiopia); and Semitic. Semitic has three
branches. The eastern branch is represented by Akka-
dian, which was spoken in Mesopotamia from the
3rd to the 1st millennium B.C. The southern branch
is represented by the Ethiopian languages (Amharic,
Tigrinya, and the extinct Ge’ez). The central branch,
which is centered around the eastern end of the
Mediterranean, includes the dead languages
Phoenician, Syriac, and Ugaritic, plus Aramaic, a
language in which parts of the Bible are written and
which is still spoken; Hebrew, which has been
brought back to life as the language of Israel; and
Arabic, which, as the language of Islam, has spread
over northern Africa and the Middle East.
Altaic Languages
Altaic is a widely, though not universally, accepted
language family covering three branches: Turkic,
Mongolic, and Tungusic, represented in this work
by Evenki. The Turkic languages, which include
Turkish, extend across from the Balkans through Tur-
key across central Asia to Siberia. The Mongolic lan-
guages are centered on Mongolia and the Tungusic
languages in Siberia and northern China. If Altaic is
rejected as a family, then we have three separate
families rather than three branches of a family.
These languages are typologically similar in that
they are agglutinative, and they represent the classic
SOV word-order type with SOV word order, postpo-
sitions, and preposed genitives. Some linguists would
include Japanese and/or Korean in the Altaic family.
Australian Languages
The languages of the Australian mainland look as if
they are related, but no detailed reconstruction of a
protolanguage has been undertaken and it is unlikely
that such a reconstruction will be possible. These
languages have been classified lexicostatistically, i.e.,
by counting percentages of common vocabulary. This
classification currently recognizes about a score of
lexicostatistical families, with one of them, Pama-
Nyungan, covering most of the mainland. Some
genetic groupings are recognizable within Pama-
Nyungan, and some of the other lexicostatistical
families can be shown to be true families, such as
the Tangkic family, which includes Kayardild, and
West Barkly, which includes Wambaya. Tiwi is the
sole member of the Tiwian family. Dixon (2002: 674)
suggests that the similar-looking Daly group of lan-
guages (represented in this work by Ngan’gityemerri)
is an areal group rather than a genetic one. Records of
the extinct Tasmanian languages consist almost en-
tirely of amateur word lists. These show very few
resemblances to the languages of the mainland. Jo-
seph Greenberg classified the Tasmanian languages,
the Papuan languages, and the languages of the
Andaman Islands in an Indo-Pacific phylum (Ruhlen,
1991). This grouping has been disregarded by almost
all other linguists.
Austroasiatic Languages
The Austroasiatic classification comprises two bran-
ches: the Munda languages of northeast India, which
includes Santali, and the more scattered Mon-Khmer
branch, which includes Mon (southeastern Myanmar
(Burma)), Khmer (or Cambodian, the official language
of Cambodia), Khasi (northeast India), Wa (southwest
Yunnan, China), and Vietnamese. Vietnamese is inter-
esting from the point of view of classification. It has
been so influenced by Chinese that as well as borrowing
large numbers of Chinese words, it has reduced the
form of roots and developed tones so that the language
looks like a Chinese language.
Austronesian Languages
The Austronesian language family contains over
1000 languages. In the most widely used classifica-
tion, there are four branches, Paiwanic, Tsouic, Aya-
talic, and Malayo-Polynesian. The first three are the
indigenous languages of Taiwan and are collectively
known as the Formosan languages. The extra-Formo-
san languages, which are assumed to have emanated
from Taiwan, make up the Malayo-Polynesian
branch, which is spread from Madagascar in the
western Indian Ocean, where Malagasy is spoken,
to Easter Island in the eastern Pacific. Oversimplify-
ing somewhat, we can consider there are three sub-
branches: western, which takes in the languages of
the Philippines, Indonesia, and Malaysia as well as

Malagasy and Hawaiian; central, represented in this
work by the Flores languages and Malukan lan-
guages; and Oceanic, which covers languages such
as Fijian, Maori, Samoan, Tahitian, and Tongan.
Caucasian Languages
The languages of the Caucasus comprise a South
Caucasian or Kartvelian family, represented here
by Georgian, and the North Caucasian languages,
with a northwestern sub-branch, represented here
by Abkhaz, and a northeastern sub-branch, repre-
sented by Lak. It is not quite certain that the north-
western branch and northeastern Branch are branches
of a single family, and it is even more uncertain
that South Caucasian and North Caucasian families
form a genetic group, but the label ‘Caucasian lan-
guages’ is useful since the two groups share some
features and are all quite distinct from surrounding
languages.
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages
This is a small family of languages spoken on the
Chukotka and Kamchatka peninsulas of Siberia.
Dravidian Languages
This language family is concentrated in southern
India. Some branches are recognizable. Dravidian
proper includes Gondi, Kurukh, and Telegu; the south-
ern branch includes Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil,
and Toda, and the northwestern branch includes
Brahui.
Eskimo-Aleut
The Eskimo-Aleut language family has two primary
branches. The Aleut branch is spoken in the Aleutian
Islands and the Eskimo languages are found in
Siberia, Alaska, Canada, and Greenland. The latter
branch is represented here by Inupiaq and West
Greenlandic.
Indo-European
Indo-European is the most widely studied of all lan-
guage families and has a well-articulated sub-group-
ing based on the comparative method, though details
of the classification are subject to dispute from time
to time. This family of languages contains a number
of branches containing a single language (or group of
dialects), namely, Albanian, Armenian, Hellenic
(Greek), and two dead languages, records of which
came to light only in the 20th century. One dead
language is Hittite, which was spoken in Anatolia
(modern Turkey). There are records of Hittite from
the latter part of the second millennium B.C. The
other dead language, Tocharian, the easternmost
Classification of Languages 451
Indo-European language, was spoken in what is
now the Xinjiang province of western China. There
are records of Tocharian from the period 500–700
A.D.
Among other branches are the following Indo-
European languages:
. Baltic contains Lithuanian and Latvian, and Slavic,
the earliest records of which are in Old Church Sla-
vonic and date from the 11th and 12th centuries.
Modern Slavic languages include Polish, Sorbian,
Czech, and Slovak (western sub-branch); Bulgarian,
Macedonian, Slovene, and the ‘Serbian-Croatian-
Bosnian complex’ (southern sub-branch); and
Russian, Belorussian, and Ukrainian (eastern sub-
branch). Some linguists would classify Baltic and
Slavic as sub-branches of a Balto-Slavic branch.
. Celtic is usually divided into two sub-branches: the
Brythonic branch, which contains Breton, Cornish,
Welsh, and possibly Pictish, about which little is
known, and the Goidelic branch, which contains
Scots Gaelic.
. Germanic contains three sub-branches. The eastern
sub-branch is represented by the extinct Gothic; the
northern sub-branch, by the Scandinavian languages
(Danish, Icelandic, Norwegian, Swedish); and the
western sub-branch, by German (including High
German, Yiddish, and Low German), Frisian,
Dutch, and its South African derivative, Afrikaans,
and various forms of English, including Scots.
. Indo-Iranian is a large branch containing two large
sub-branches, Indo-Aryan (or Indic) and Iranian.
Indo-Aryan covers Sanskrit, the language of
the Hindu sacred texts; Pali, the language of the
Hinayana Buddhist canon; plus Bengalic, the Dar-
dic languages, Dhivehi, Domari, Gujerati, Hindi,
Hindustani, Kashmiri, Lahnda, Marathi, Nepali,
Punjabi, Sindhi, Sinhala, and Urdu, all of which
are spoken in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh,
plus Romani, the language of scattered Gypsy com-
munities. Iranian covers Avestan, the language of
the Zoroastrian scriptures, plus Bactrian, Baluchi,
Chorasmian, Khotanese, Kurdish, Ossetic, Pahlavi
(Middle Persian), Pashto, Persian, Sogdian, and
Tajik.
. Italic contains a number of extinct languages of
Italy, one of which, Latin, was spread via the polit-
ical dominance of Rome. The descendants of Latin,
known collectively as the Romance Languages, in-
clude several national languages (French, Italian,
Portuguese, Romanian, and Spanish) as well as
Catalan (northeastern Spain), Galician (northwest-
ern Spain), Jerriais (Jersey), Occitan (southern
France), Rhaeto-Romance (eastern Switzerland
and northeastern Italy), and Sardinian.
452 Classification of Languages
Khoesan Languages
The Khoesan group of languages is spoken by the
Khoekhoe and San peoples of southern Africa. The
group is often described as having three branches, but
the branches are probably separate families. Two
languages of northern Tanzania, Hadza and San-
dawe, are also included in the group in most reference
works, but it is not clear that they are genetically
related to any of the southern families.
Languages of the Americas
As mentioned in the preceding section on lexico-
statistics, Joseph Greenberg classified all of the lan-
guages of the Americas in one vast Amerind family,
except for Na-Dene (mainly in northwestern part
of North America) and Eskimo-Aleut in the Arctic.
This classification is generally rejected and most
scholars would recognize some scores of separate
families in Greenberg’s Amerind, though allowing
that some of these can be grouped into stocks.
We have followed a widespread convention of break-
ing up the languages of the Americas into three
geographical regions: North America, Central Amer-
ica, and South America. This is largely to reduce a
very large area to manageable chunks. We have con-
sidered Eskimo-Aleut separately from the languages
of the Americas since it is not confined to North
America.
Languages of North America
. The Algonquian languages are found in the eastern
part of North America and westward into Alberta
and Montana, and the Ritwan languages (Wiyot
and Yurok) are found in northern California.
Mithun (1999: 327) recognizes Eastern Algonqui-
an, Central and Plains Algonquian, and Ritwan as
branches of an Algic family. Algonquian is repre-
sented in this work by Cree and Mitchif. Mitchif is
a creole, but, unlike most creoles, it did not arise
from a pidgin. It retains the complex verbal mor-
phology of Cree, and noun phrases show distinc-
tions of number, gender, and definiteness, as in
French.
. The Caddoan language family belongs to the Great
Plains of the midwestern United States.
. The Hokan group of languages is centered in Cali-
fornia. It is not established that these languages
form a family. Among the Hokan languages is the
Pomoan family of northern California.
. The Iroquoian language family of southeastern
Canada and the eastern United States is represented
in this work by Oneida (Northern Iroquoian) and
Cherokee (Southern Iroquoian).
. The Keres language consists of a number of dialects
spoken in New Mexico.
. The Muskogean language family of the southeast-
ern United States includes Choctaw (Mississippi)
and Creek (Alabama and Georgia).
. The Na-Dene language family includes Tlingit,
Eyak, and the large Athapaskan branch. Most of
these languages belong to Alaska and western
Canada, but there is an enclave of Athapascan in the
southwest of the United States. Navajo (Navaho) is
spoken in Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah.
. The Penutian group of languages or stock
belongs to the west of North America, from British
Columbia to California.
. Languages of the Salishan family are spoken in
British Columbia and the northwest of the United
States.
. The Siouan family of languages covered a vast area
of the Great Plains and included Crow, Lakota, and
Omaha-Ponca.
. The Wakashan language family is mainly
from Vancouver Island, British Columbia, and is
represented by Nuuchahnulth (Nootka).
Languages of Central America
. Languages of the Chibchan family are spoken in
Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, western Colom-
bia, and Ecuador, and the Paezan languages are
spoken in Colombia.
. The Mayan family of languages is spoken in south-
eastern Mexico and Guatemala.
. The Misumalpan language family is found in west-
ern Honduras and western Nicaragua.
. The Mixe-Zoquean language family is found in
southern Mexico.
. The Oto-Manguean language, represented here by
Zapotecan, is found in Southern Mexico.
. The Uto-Aztecan language family is found mainly
in the southwest of the United States and Mexico,
but extends as far north as Idaho. This family
includes Cupeño, Hopi, Tohono O’odham, and
Nahuatl, the language of the Aztec civilization.
Languages of South America
. The most widely spoken native language of South
America is Quechua. It is spoken in Peru, Ecuador,
and Bolivia, extending north into Colombia and
extending south into northern Chile and north-
western Argentina. It shares similarities with Ay-
mará and the two are sometimes grouped in an
Andean family, but this is not generally accepted,
since it is not agreed whether the resemblances are
genetic or arise from contact.

. The large Arawak language family is widespread,
ranging from Honduras in Central America to Bra-
zil in South America, and formerly to Paraguay and
Argentina. The Arawak language in this work is
Tariana, of Brazil.
. The large Carib language family is found in Brazil
and the countries of South America north of Brazil.
. The Choco language family is found in Brazil.
. The languages of the Panoan family are found in
Peru and neighboring parts of Bolivia and Brazil.
. Macro-Jê is a grouping of languages that have been
considered to be related to the Jê family. These
languages are located in Brazil.
. The Mapudungan language is spoken in Chile and
Argentina. It has no clear genetic affiliation.
. The Tucanoan language family is found in western
Brazil and neighboring parts of Colombia, Ecua-
dor, and Brazil.
. The Tupian language family is located in Brazil. The
Tupı́-Guaranı́ sub-group is also found in Brazil,
but various members of the sub-group are
found in Bolivia, Paraguay, and Argentina. Guara-
nı́ is an official language of Paraguay, along with
Spanish.
Niger-Congo Languages
This is a very large language family, with about 1000
members. It is spread over southern Africa. There are
various classifications, including some that are hier-
archical with several levels. We have adopted a flat
classification with eight branches:
. The Kordofanian group of languages is spoken in
Sudan. In some classifications, a Niger-Kordofa-
nian family is recognized, with Kordofanian and
Niger-Congo as the primary branches.
. The Atlantic Congo language sub-group is located
in the far west of Africa from Liberia to Senegal. It
includes Fula and Wolof.
. Languages of the Kru sub-group are spoken in
Ivory Coast and Liberia.
. The Mande language sub-group is found from Sene-
gal to Burkina Faso (Upper Volta) and Ivory Coast.
. The Gur (Voltaic) language sub-group is spoken in
Mali, Burkina Faso, and Ghana, and extends east
into Nigeria. In some classifications, Dogon is not
assigned to any branch; in others, it is assigned to
the Gur sub-branch.
. The Kwa sub-group of languages extends from
Liberia to Nigeria.
. The Benue-Congo language sub-group covers a
very large part of southern Africa. This branch
includes Efik, Yukuben, and Mambila. The very
large Bantu language group, which includes
Classification of Languages 453
Kikuyu, Kinyarwanda, Nyanja, Shona, Swahili,
Xhosa, and Zulu, is a sub-group of Benue-Congo
and hence a sub-sub-group of Niger-Congo.
. The Adama-Ubangi language sub-group is spoken in
a band running across Africa from Nigeria to Sudan.
Nilo-Saharan
The languages of the Nilo-Saharan family are found
mainly in northeastern and north-central Africa.
They include Dinka, Kanuri, Luo, and the Songhay
languages.
Papuan Languages
The label ‘Papuan’ has no genetic significance. It is
defined negatively as the non-Austronesian languages
of New Guinea and surrounding islands. It covers
about 750 languages in New Guinea and another 50
or so on neighboring islands from Timor to the
Solomons. These languages can be classified into 23
families and 10 isolates. One very large family, the
Trans-New Guinea family, covers most of New Guin-
ea and is also found on some of the neighboring
islands. It contains a number of branches, including
the Madang languages. Other families include Sepik,
represented in this work by Manambu of the Ndu
subgroup, Skou, Torricelli, and West Papuan. Also
included in this work is an article on several of the
Papuan languages of the central Solomons.
Sino-Tibetan
The Sino-Tibetan languages include the Sinitic family
and Tibeto-Burman. Sinitic can be equated with
Chinese, but Chinese is popularly understood to be
a single language, whereas in fact it is more like a
family of languages, one of which, Mandarin Chi-
nese, is the standard, based largely on the Beijing
dialect. Tibeto-Burman takes in a number of ge-
netically related languages, including Tibetan and
Burmese, but there is no consensus about the details
of the classification. Whether Tibeto-Burman and
Sinitic are genetically related is not agreed, but there
are some apparent cognates.
Tai Languages
The Tai, or Daic, language family is centered in Laos
and Thailand and includes the national languages of
these two countries, Lao (or Laotian) and Thai. The
family is also represented in Burma, southern China,
northern Vietnam, and on Hainan Island in the Gulf
of Tonkin. Lao and Thai are mutually comprehensi-
ble. A purely linguistic classification would recognize
a chain of Tai dialects across the two countries that
included the national languages.
454 Classification of Languages

Uralic Languages Language Classification (cont.)

The Uralic languages are a family of languages spoken Tatar

Turkish
in northeastern Europe, extending across northern Turkmen
Russia into northwestern Siberia. There are two major Uygur
branches, the Samoyed branch, represented in this work Uzbek
by Nenets, spoken in northern Russia, and Finno-Ugric, Yakut
which includes Estonian, Finnish, and Saami (spoken in
northern Norway, Sweden, and Finland), as well as Australian Languages
Pama-Nyungan
Hungarian, the national language of Hungary, which is
Arrernte
separated from the rest of the family. Some would in- Gamilaraay
clude Yuhaghir in the Uralic family, others would Guugu Yimidhirr
combine Uralic and Altaic into a larger family. Jiwarli
Kalkutungu
Kaytetj
See also: There are separate articles on each of the lan- Morrobalama
guages and language families shown in the classification Pitjantjatjara
appended to this article. There is also an alphabetical list Warlpiri
of all the language articles in the classified index. Daly
Ngan’gityemerri
Tangkic
Language Classification Kayardild
Tiwian
Afroasiatic Languages Tiwi
Ancient Egyptian and Coptic West Barkly
Berber Languages Wambaya
Chadic Languages
Hausa
Austroasiatic Languages
Cushitic Languages
Mon-Khmer Languages
Highland East Cushitic Languages
Northern
Oromo
Khasi
Somali
Vietnamese
Omotic Languages
Wa
Wolaitta
Eastern
Semitic Languages
Khmer
Eblaite
Southern
Eastern
Mon
Akkadian
Munda Languages
Central
Santali
Arabic
Aramaic
Hebrew, Biblical and Jewish Austronesian Languages
Hebrew, Israeli Formosan Languages
Jewish languages Malayo-Polynesian Languages
Maltese Western
Phoenician and Punic Balinese
Syriac Bikol
Ugaritic Cebuano
Southern Hawaiian
Ethiopian Semitic Languages Hiligaynon
Amharic Ilocano
Ge’ez Javanese
Tigrinya Kapampangan
Madurese
Altaic Languages Malagasy
Mongolic Languages Malay (Malaysian and Indonesian)
Tungusic Languages Niuean
Evenki North Philippine Languages
Turkic Languages Riau Indonesian
Azerbaijanian Samar-Leyte
Bashkir South-Philippine Languages
Chuvash Central
Kazakh Flores Languages
Kirghiz Malukan Languages
 Classification of Languages 455

Language Classification (cont.) Language Classification (cont.)

Oceanic English: in the present day
Fijian English: Old English
Maori English, World
Tahitian German
Tamambo Germanic Languages
Tongan Gothic
Vures Luxembourgish
Norwegian
Caucasian Languages Old Icelandic
Abkhaz Scots
Georgian Swedish
Lak Yiddish
Hellenic
Chukotko-Kamchatkan Languages Greek, Ancient
Greek, Modern
Dravidian Languages Indo-Iranian Languages
Brahui Indo Aryan Languages
Kannada Bengali
Kurukh Dardic
Malayalam Kashmiri
Tamil Dhivehi
Telugu Domari
Toda Gujarati
Eskimo-Aleut Hindi
Inupiaq Hindustani
West Greenlandic Lahnda
Marathi
Indo-European Languages Nepali
Albanian Pali
Anatolian Languages Punjabi
Hittite Romani
Armenian Sanskrit
Balto-Slavic Languages Sindhi
Baltic Languages Sinhala
Latvian Urdu
Lithuanian Iranian Languages
Slavic Languages Avestan
Belorussian Bactrian
Bulgarian Baluchi
Church Slavonic Chorasmian
Czech Khotanese
Macedonian Kurdish
Old Church Slavonic Ossetic
Polish Pahlavi
Russian Pashto
‘Serbian-Croatian-Bosnian Linguistic Complex’ Persian, Modern
Slovak Persian, Old
Slovene Sogdian
Sorbian Tajik
Ukrainian Italic Languages
Celtic Languages Latin
Breton Romance Languages
Cornish Catalan
Pictish Franglais
Scots Gaelic French
Welsh Galician
Germanic Languages Italian
Afrikaans Jerriais
Danish Occitan
Dutch Portuguese
English, Early Modern Rhaeto-Romance
English: African American Vernacular Romanian
English: Middle English Spanish
English, Later Modern Tocharian
456 Classification of Languages

Language Classification (cont.) Language Classification (cont.)

Khoesan Languages Atlantic Congo Languages
Khoesan Languages Fula
Wolof
Languages of the Americas Dogon
Gur Languages
Languages of North America Kru Languages
Algonquian and Ritwan Languages Adamawa-Ubangi
Cree Kwa Languages
Mitchif Akan
Caddoan Languages Ewe
Hokan Languages Yoruba
Pomoan Languages Benue-Congo Languages
Iroquoian Languages Efik
Oneida Mambila
Cherokee Bantu Languages
Keres Gikuyu
Muskogean Languages Kinyarwanda
Choctaw Luganda
Creek Nyanja
Na-Dene Languages Shona
Navaho Swahili
Penutian Languages Xhosa
Salishan Languages Zulu
Siouan Languages Southern Bantu Languages
Crow
Lakota Nilo-Saharan Languages
Omaha-Ponca Dinka
Wakashan Languages Kanuri
Nuuchahnulth Luo

Languages of Central America Papuan Languages

Chibchan and Paezan Languages
Central Solomon Languages
Mayan Languages Sepik Languages
Misumalpan Manumbu
Mize-Zoquean Languages Skou Languages
Oto-Manguean Languages
Torricelli Languages
Zapotecan Trans New Guinea Languages
Totonacan Languages Madang Languages
Uto-Aztecan Languages West Papuan Languages
Cupeño
Hopi
Pidgins and Creoles
Nahuatl
Tohono O’odham Bislama
Cape Verdean Creole
Languages of South America Fanagolo
Gullah
Andean Languages
Aymará Hawaiian Creole
Quechua Krio
Arawak Languages Louisiana Creole
Mobilian Jargon
Tariana
Cariban Languages Palenquero
Choco Languages Papamiento
Russenorsk
Chibchan (see Central America)
Macro-Jê Languages Sango
Mapudungan Tok Pisin
Panoan Tsotsi Taal
Yanito
Piraha
Tucanoan Languages
Tupian Languages Sino-Tibetan Languages
Guarani Sinitic Languages
Chinese
Niger-Congo Languages Tibeto-Burman Languages
Kordofanian Languages Burmese
Mande Languages Tibetan
 Classification of Text, Automatic 457

Language Classification (cont.) Bibliography

Tai Languages
Comrie B (ed.) (1987). The world’s major languages.
Lao
Thai London: Croom Helm.
Comrie B (1981). The languages of the Soviet Union.
Uralic Languages Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Estonian
Dixon R M W (2002). The languages of Australia.
Finnish
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hungarian
Nenets Dixon R M W & Aikhenvald A Y (eds.) (1999). The
Saami Amazonian languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Language isolates and Languages of disputed affiliation
Dolgopolsky A (1998). The Nostratic macrofamily and
Ainu
linguistic paleontology. Cambridge: McDonald Institute
Basque
Burushaski for Archaeological Research.
Elamite Greenberg J H (1987). Language in the Americas. Stanford:
Japanese Stanford University Press.
Ryukyuan Grimes B F (2000). Ethnologue: languages of the world
Ket (14th edn.). Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics
Korean (http://www.ethnologue.com).
Nivkh Mithun M (1999). The languages of native North America.
Sumerian Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Yukaghir
Ruhlen M (1991). A guide to the world’s languages. Volume
Artifical Languages 1: classification (rev. edn.). Stanford: Stanford University
Esperanto Press.
Language Classification Suárez J A (1983). The Mesoamerican Indian languages.
The Languages of the World Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Austric hypothesis
Austro-Tai hypothesis
Ethnologue
SIL

Classification of Text, Automatic

F Sebastiani, Università di Padova, Padova, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
In the last two decades, the production of textual
documents in digital form has increased exponen-
tially, due to the increased availability of inexpensive
hardware and software for generating digital text
(e.g., personal computers, word processors) and for
digitizing textual data not in digital form (e.g., scan-
ners, optical character recognition software). As a
consequence, there is an ever-increasing need for
mechanized solutions for organizing the vast quantity
of digital texts that are being produced, with an
eye toward their future use. The design of such solu-
tions has traditionally been the object of study of
information retrieval (IR), the discipline that, broadly
speaking, is concerned with the computer-mediated
access to data with poorly specified semantics.
There are two main directions for providing con-
venient access to a large, unstructured repository of
text:
. Providing powerful tools for searching relevant
documents within this repository. This is the aim
of text search (see Document Retrieval, Automatic),
a subdiscipline of IR concerned with building
systems that take as input a natural language query
and return, as a result, a list of documents ranked
according to their estimated degree of relevance to
the user’s information need. Nowadays the tip of the
iceberg of text search is represented by Web search
engines (see Web Searching), but commercial solu-
tions for the text search problem were being deliv-
ered decades before the very birth of the Web.
. Providing powerful tools for turning this unstruc-
tured repository into a structured one, thereby easing
storage, search, and browsing. This is the aim
of text classification (TC), a discipline at the cross-
roads of IR, machine learning (ML), and (statistical)
 Classification of Text, Automatic 457

Language Classification (cont.) Bibliography

Tai Languages
Comrie B (ed.) (1987). The world’s major languages.
Lao
Thai London: Croom Helm.
Comrie B (1981). The languages of the Soviet Union.
Uralic Languages Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Estonian
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SIL

Classification of Text, Automatic

F Sebastiani, Università di Padova, Padova, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
In the last two decades, the production of textual
documents in digital form has increased exponen-
tially, due to the increased availability of inexpensive
hardware and software for generating digital text
(e.g., personal computers, word processors) and for
digitizing textual data not in digital form (e.g., scan-
ners, optical character recognition software). As a
consequence, there is an ever-increasing need for
mechanized solutions for organizing the vast quantity
of digital texts that are being produced, with an
eye toward their future use. The design of such solu-
tions has traditionally been the object of study of
information retrieval (IR), the discipline that, broadly
speaking, is concerned with the computer-mediated
access to data with poorly specified semantics.
There are two main directions for providing con-
venient access to a large, unstructured repository of
text:
. Providing powerful tools for searching relevant
documents within this repository. This is the aim
of text search (see Document Retrieval, Automatic),
a subdiscipline of IR concerned with building
systems that take as input a natural language query
and return, as a result, a list of documents ranked
according to their estimated degree of relevance to
the user’s information need. Nowadays the tip of the
iceberg of text search is represented by Web search
engines (see Web Searching), but commercial solu-
tions for the text search problem were being deliv-
ered decades before the very birth of the Web.
. Providing powerful tools for turning this unstruc-
tured repository into a structured one, thereby easing
storage, search, and browsing. This is the aim
of text classification (TC), a discipline at the cross-
roads of IR, machine learning (ML), and (statistical)
458 Classification of Text, Automatic
natural language processing, concerned with build-
ing systems that partition an unstructured collection
of documents into meaningful groups (Sebastiani,
2002).
Text Clustering and Text Categorization
There are two main variants of TC. The first is text
clustering, which is characterized by the fact that only
the desired number of groups (or clusters) is known in
advance: no indication as to the semantics of these
groups is instead given as input. The second variant is
text categorization, whereby the input to the system
consists not only of the number of categories (or
classes), but also of some specification of their se-
mantics. In the most frequent case, this specification
consists in a set of labels, one for each category and
usually consisting of a noun or other short natural
language expression, and in a set of example labeled
texts, i.e., texts whose membership or nonmember-
ship in each of the categories is known. Clustering
may thus be seen as the task of finding a latent but as
yet undetected group structure in the repository,
while categorization can be seen as the task of struc-
turing the repository according to a group structure
known in advance. In logical-philosophical terms, we
can see clustering as the task of determining both the
extensional and intensional level (see Extensionality
and Intensionality) of a previously unknown group
structure, and categorization as determining the ex-
tensional level only of a group structure whose inten-
sional level is known.
It is the latter task that will be the focus of this
article (text clustering is covered elsewhere in this
volume – see Text Mining). From now on we will
thus use the expressions ‘text classification’ and ‘text
categorization’ interchangeably (abbreviated as TC),
and the expression ‘(text) classifier’ to denote a system
capable of performing automatic TC.
Note that the central notion of TC, that of mem-
bership of a document dj in a class ci based on the
semantics of dj and ci, is an inherently subjective
notion, since the semantics of dj and ci cannot be
formally specified. Different classifiers (be they
humans or machines) might thus disagree on whether
dj belongs to ci. This means that membership cannot
be determined with certainty, which in turn means
that any classifier (be it human or machine) will be
prone to misclassification errors. As a consequence, it
is customary to evaluate automatic text classifiers by
applying them to a set of labeled (i.e., preclassified)
documents (a set that here plays the role of a gold
standard), so that the accuracy (or effectiveness)
of the classifier can be measured by the degree of
coincidence between its classification decisions and
the labels originally attached to the preclassified
documents.
Single-Label and Multi-Label Text Categorization
TC itself admits of two important variants: single-
label TC and multi-label TC. Given as input the set
of categorories C ¼ {c1 ,. . ., cm}, single-label TC is
the task of attributing, to each document dj in the
repository, the category to which it belongs. Multi-
label TC, instead, deals with the case in which each
document dj may in principle belong to zero, one,
or more than one category; it thus comes down to
deciding, for each category ci in C, whether a given
document dj belongs or does not belong to ci.
The technologies for coping with either single-label
or multi-label TCs are slightly different (the former
problem often being somehow more challenging), es-
pecially concerning the phases of feature selection,
classifier learning, and classifier evaluation (see
below). In a real application, it is thus of fundamental
importance to identify whether the application requires
single-label or multi-label TC from the beginning.
Hard or Soft Text Categorization
Taking a binary decision, yes or no, as to whether a
document dj belongs to a category ci, is sometimes
referred to as a ‘hard’ categorization decision. This is
the kind of decisions that are taken by autonomous
text classifiers, i.e., software systems that need to
decide and act accordingly without human supervi-
sion. A different type of decision, sometimes referred
to as a ‘soft’ categorization decision, is one which
consists of attributing a numeric score (e.g., between
0 and 1) to the pair (dj,ci), reflecting the degree of
confidence of the classifier in the fact that dj belongs
to ci. This allows, for instance, ranking a set of docu-
ments in terms of their estimated appropriateness for
category ci, or ranking a set of categories in terms of
their estimated appropriateness for dj. Such rankings
are often useful for nonautonomous, interactive classi-
fiers, i.e., systems whose goal is to recommend a cate-
gorization decision to a human expert, who is
responsible for making the final decision. For instance,
in a single-label TC task a human expert in charge of
the final classification decision may take advantage of a
system that preranks the categories in terms of their
estimated appropriateness to a given document dj.
Again, the technologies for coping with either
soft or hard categorization decisions are slightly dif-
ferent, especially concerning the phases of classifier
learning and classifier evaluation (see below). In any
real-world application, it is thus important to estab-
lish whether the task is one requiring soft or hard
decisions from the beginning.
 Classification of Text, Automatic 459

Applications Techniques
Maron’s seminal paper (Maron, 1961) is usually Approaches
taken to mark the official birth date of TC, which at
In the 1980s, the most popular approach to TC was
the time was called automatic indexing; this name
one based on knowledge engineering, whereby a
reflected that the main (or only) application that
knowledge engineer and a domain expert working
was then envisaged for TC was automatically
together would build an expert system capable of
indexing (i.e., generating internal representations
automatically classifying text. Typically, such an ex-
for) scientific articles for Boolean IR systems (see
pert system would consist of a set of ‘if . . . then . . .’
Indexing, Automatic). In fact, since index terms for
rules, to the effect that a document was assigned to
these representations were drawn from a fixed, pre-
the class specified in the ‘then’ clause only if the
defined set of such terms, we can regard this type of
linguistic expressions (typically: words) specified in
indexing as an instance of TC (where index terms
the ‘if’ part occurred in the document. The drawback
play the role of categories). The importance of TC
of this approach was the high cost in terms of human-
increased in the late 1980s and early 1990s with the
power required for (i) defining the rule set, and (ii)
need to organize the increasingly larger quantities of
for maintaining it, i.e., for updating the rule set as a
digital text being handled in organizations at all
result of possible subsequent additions or deletions of
levels. Since then, frequently pursued applications of
classes or as a result of shifts in the meaning of the
TC technology have been newswire filtering, i.e., the
existing classes.
grouping, according to thematic classes of interest, of
In the 1990s, this approach was superseded by the
news stories produced by news agencies, thus allow-
machine-learning approach, whereby a general in-
ing personalized delivery of information to customers
ductive process (the learner) is fed with a set of exam-
according to their profiles of interest (Hayes and
ple (training) documents preclassified according to
Weinstein, 1990); patent classification, i.e., the orga-
the categories of interest. By observing the character-
nization of patents and patent applications into
istics of the training documents, the learner may gen-
specialized taxonomies, so as to ease the detection
erate a model (the classifier) of the conditions that are
of existing patents related to a new patent application
satisfied by the documents belonging to the categories
(Fall et al., 2003); and Web page classification, i.e.,
considered. This model can subsequently be applied
the grouping of Web pages (or sites) according to the
to new, unlabeled documents for classifying them
taxonomic classification schemes typical of Web por-
according to these categories.
tals (Dumais and Chen, 2000).
This approach has several advantages over the
The applications above all have a certain thematic
knowledge engineering approach. First of all, a higher
flavor, in the sense that categories tend to coincide
degree of automation is introduced: the engineer
with topics, or themes. However, TC technology has
needs to build not a text classifier, but an automatic
been applied to real-world problems that are not
builder of text classifiers (the learner). Once built, the
thematic in nature, among which spam filtering, i.e.,
learner can then be applied to generating many differ-
the grouping of personal e-mail messages into the two
ent classifiers, for many different domains and appli-
classes LEGITIMATE and SPAM, so as to provide effective
cations: one only needs to feed it with the appropriate
user shields against unsolicited bulk mailings
sets of training documents. By the same token, the
(Drucker et al., 1999); authorship attribution, i.e.,
above-mentioned problem of maintaining a classifier
the automatic identification of the author of a text
is solved by feeding new training documents appro-
among a predefined set of candidates (Diederich et al.,
priate for the revised set of classes. Many inductive
2003) (see Authorship Attribution: Statistical and
learners are available off the shelf; if one of these is
Computational Methods); author gender detection,
used, the only human power needed in setting up a TC
i.e., a special case of the previous task in which the
system is that for manually classifying the documents
issue is deciding whether the author of the text is a
to be used for training. For performing this latter
MALE or a FEMALE (Koppel et al., 2002); genre classi-
task, less skilled human power than for building an
fication, i.e., the identification of the nontopical com-
expert system is needed, which is also advantageous.
municative goal of the text (such as determining if a
It should also be noted that if an organization has
product description is a PRODUCTREVIEW or an ADVER-
previously relied on manual work for classifying docu-
TISEMENT) (Stamatatos et al., 2000); survey coding, i.e.,
ments, then many preclassified documents are already
the classification of respondents to a survey based on
available to be used as training documents when the
the textual answers they have returned to an open-
organization decides to automate the process.
ended question (Giorgetti and Sebastiani, 2003); or
Most importantly, one of the advantages of the ML
even sentiment classification, as in deciding if a prod-
approach is that the accuracy of classifiers built
uct review is a THUMBSUP or a THUMBSDOWN (Turney
by these techniques now often rivals that of human
and Littman, 2003).
460 Classification of Text, Automatic
professionals, and usually exceeds that of classifiers
built by knowledge engineering methods. This has
brought about a wider and wider acceptance of
learning methods even outside academia. While for
certain applications such as spam filtering a combina-
tion of ML and knowledge engineering still lies at the
basis of several commercial systems, it is fair to say
that in most other TC applications (especially of the
thematic type), the adoption of ML technology has
been widespread.
Note that the ML approach is especially suited to the
case in which no additional knowledge (of a procedural
or declarative nature) of the meaning of the categories
is available, since in this case the classification rules can
be determined only on the basis of knowledge extracted
from the training documents. This case is the most
frequent one, and is thus the usual focus of TC research.
Solutions devised for the case in which no additional
knowledge is available are extremely general, since
they do not presuppose the existence of e.g., addition-
al lexicosemantic resources that, in real-life situations,
might be either unavailable or expensive to create
(see Computational Lexicons and Dictionaries).
A further reason why TC research rarely tackles the
case of additionally available external knowledge is
that these sources of knowledge may vary widely in
type and format, thereby making each instance of
their application to TC a case in its own, from which
any lesson learned can hardly be exported to different
application contexts. When in a given application
external knowledge of some kind is available, heuris-
tic techniques of any nature may be adopted in order
to leverage on these data, either in combination or in
isolation from the IR and ML techniques we will
discuss here. However, it should be noted that past
research has not been able to show any substantial
benefit from the use of external resources (such as
lexicons, thesauri, or ontologies) in TC.
As previously noted, the meaning of categories is
subjective. The ML techniques used for TC, rather
than trying to learn a supposedly perfect classifier (a
gold standard of dubious existence), strive to repro-
duce the subjective judgment of the expert who has
labeled the training documents, and do this by exam-
ining the manifestations of this judgment, i.e., the
documents that the expert has manually classified.
The kind of learning that these ML techniques engage
in is usually called supervised learning, since it is
supervised, or facilitated, by the knowledge of the
preclassified data.
Learning Text Classifiers
Many different types of supervised learners have
been used in TC (Sebastiani, 2002), including probabi-
listic ‘naive Bayesian’ methods, Bayesian networks,
regression methods, decision trees, Boolean decision
rules, neural networks, incremental or batch methods
for learning linear classifiers, example-based methods,
classifier ensembles (including boosting methods), and
support vector machines. While all of these techniques
still retain their popularity, it is fair to say that in recent
years support vector machines (Joachims, 1998) and
boosting (Schapire and Singer, 2000) have been the two
dominant learning methods in TC. This seems attribut-
able to a combination of two factors: (i) these two
methods have strong justifications in terms of compu-
tational learning theory, and (ii) in comparative experi-
ments on widely accepted benchmarks, they have
outperformed all other competing approaches. An ad-
ditional factor that has determined their success is the
free availability, at least for research purposes, of well-
known software packages based on these methods,
such as SVMlight and BoosTexter.
Building Internal Representations for Documents
The learners discussed above cannot operate on the
documents as they are, but require the documents to
be given internal representations that the learners can
make sense of. The same is true of the classifiers, once
they have been built by learners. It is thus customary
to transform all the documents (i.e., those that are
used in the training phase, the testing phase, or the
operational phase of the classifier) into internal repre-
sentations by means of methods used in text search,
where the same need is also present (see Indexing,
Automatic). Accordingly, a document is usually
represented by a vector lying in a vector space
whose dimensions correspond to the terms that
occur in the training set, and the value of each
individual entry corresponds to the weight that the
term in question has for the document.
In TC applications of the thematic kind, the set
of terms is usually made to coincide with the set of
content-bearing words (which means all words but
topic-neutral ones such as articles, prepositions, etc.),
possibly reduced to their morphological roots (stems
– see Stemming) so as to avoid excessive stochastic
dependence among different dimensions of the vector.
Weights for these words are meant to reflect the im-
portance that the word has in determining the seman-
tics of the document it occurs in, and are
automatically computed by weighting functions.
These functions usually rely on intuitions of a statis-
tical kind, such as (i) the more often a term occurs in a
document, the more important it is for that docu-
ment; and (ii) the more documents a term appears
in, the less important it is in characterizing the seman-
tics of a document it occurs in.
In TC applications of a nonthematic nature, the
opposite is often true. For instance, it is the frequency

of use of articles, prepositions, and punctuation
(together with many other stylistic features) that
may be a helpful clue in authorship attribution,
while it is more unlikely that the frequencies of use
of content-bearing words can be of help (see Compu-
tational Stylistics). This shows that choosing the right
dimensions of the vector space for the right classifica-
tion task requires a deep understanding, on the part of
the engineer, of the nature of the task.
It is fairly evident from the above discussion that
internal representations used in TC applications are,
from the standpoint of linguistic analysis, extremely
primitive: with the possible exception of applications
in sentiment classification (Turney and Littman, 2003),
hardly any sophisticated linguistic analysis is usually
attempted in order to provide a more faithful rendition
of the semantics of the text. This is because previous
attempts at applying state-of-the-art natural language
processing techniques (including techniques for parsing
text robustly (Moschitti and Basili, 2004), extracting
collocations (Koster and Seutter, 2003), performing
word sense disambiguation (Kehagias et al., 2003),
etc.) have not shown any substantial benefit with
respect to the basic representations outlined above.
Reducing the Dimensionality of the Vectors
The techniques described in the previous section tend
to generate very large vectors, with sizes in the tens of
thousands. This situation is problematic in TC, since
the efficiency of many learning devices (e.g., neural
networks) tends to degrade rapidly with the size of
the vectors. In TC applications, it is thus customary to
run a dimensionality reduction pass before starting to
build the internal representations of the documents.
Basically, this means identifying a new vector space in
which to represent the documents, with a much smal-
ler number of dimensions than the original one. Sev-
eral techniques for dimensionality reduction have
been devised within TC (or, more often, borrowed
from the fields of ML and pattern recognition).
An important class of such techniques is that of
feature extraction methods (examples of which are
term clustering methods and latent semantic indexing
– see Latent Semantic Analysis). Feature extraction
methods define a new vector space in which each
dimension is a combination of some (or all) of the
original dimensions; their effect is usually a reduction
of both the dimensionality of the vectors and the
overall stochastic dependence among dimensions.
An even more important class of dimensionality
reduction techniques is that of feature selection meth-
ods, which do not attempt to generate new terms, but
try to select the best ones from the original set. The
measure of quality for a term is its expected impact on
the accuracy of the resulting classifier. To measure
Classification of Text, Automatic 461
this, feature selection functions are employed for
scoring each term according to this expected impact,
so that the highest scoring ones can be retained for the
new vector space. These functions mostly come from
statistics (e.g., Chi-square) or information theory
(e.g., mutual information, also known as information
gain), and tend to encode (each one in their own way)
the intuition that the best terms for classifica-
tion purposes are the ones that are distributed most
differently across the different categories.
Challenges
TC, especially in its ML incarnation, is today a fairly
mature technology that has delivered working solu-
tions in a number of applicative contexts. Interest in
TC has grown exponentially in the last 10 years, from
researchers and developers alike.
For IR researchers, this interest is one particular
aspect of a general movement toward leveraging user
data for taming the inherent subjectivity of the IR
task, i.e., taming the fact that it is the user, and only
the user, who can say whether a given item of infor-
mation is relevant to a query she has issued to a Web
search engine, or relevant to a private folder of hers in
which documents should be filed according to con-
tent. Wherever there are predefined classes, docu-
ments previously (and manually) classified by the
user are often available; as a consequence, these latter
data can be exploited for automatically learning the
(extensional) meaning that the user attributes to the
categories, thereby reaching accuracy levels that
would be unthinkable if these data were unavailable.
For ML researchers, this interest is because TC appli-
cations prove a challenging benchmark for their newly
developed techniques, since these applications usually
feature extremely high-dimensional vector spaces and
provide large quantities of test data. In the last 5 years,
this has resulted in more and more ML researchers
adopting TC as one of their benchmark applications
of choice, which means that cutting-edge ML techni-
ques are being applied to TC with minimal delay since
their original invention.
For application developers, this interest is mainly
due to the enormously increased need to handle
larger and larger quantities of documents, a need
emphasized by increased connectivity and availability
of document bases of all types at all levels in the
information chain. But this interest also results from
TC techniques having reached accuracy levels that
often rival the performance of trained professionals,
levels that can be achieved with high efficiency on
standard hardware and software resources. This
means that more and more organizations are auto-
mating all their activities that can be cast as TC tasks.
Still, a number of challenges remain for TC research.
462 Classification of Text, Automatic
The first and foremost challenge is to deliver high
accuracy in all applicative contexts. While highly
effective classifiers have been produced for applica-
tive domains such as the thematic classification of
professionally authored text (such as newswire
stories), in other domains reported accuracies are far
from satisfying. Such applicative contexts include the
classification of Web pages (where the use of text is
more varied and obeys rules different from the ones of
linear verbal communication), spam filtering (a task
which has an adversarial nature, in that spammers
adapt their spamming strategies so as to circumvent
the latest spam filtering technologies), authorship
attribution (where current technology is not yet able
to tackle the inherent stylistic variability among
texts written by the same author), and sentiment clas-
sification (which requires much more sophisticated
linguistic analysis than classification by topic).
A second important challenge is to bypass the
document labeling bottleneck, i.e., tackling the facts
that labeled documents for use in the training phase
are not always available, and that labeling (i.e., man-
ually classifying) documents is costly. To this end,
semisupervised methods have been proposed that
allow building classifiers from a small sample of la-
beled documents and a (usually larger) sample of
unlabeled documents (Nigam and Ghani, 2000;
Nigam et al., 2000). However, the problem of
learning text classifiers mainly from unlabeled data
unfortunately is still open.
See also: Authorship Attribution: Statistical and Computa-
tional Methods; Computational Lexicons and Dictionaries;
Computational Stylistics; Document Retrieval, Automatic;
Extensionality and Intensionality; Indexing, Automatic;
Latent Semantic Analysis; Stemming; Text Mining; Web
Searching.
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http://www.math.unipd.it/!fabseb60 – F. Sebastiani’s website.

Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics
A Y Aikhenvald, La Trobe University, Bundoora,
Australia
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Almost all languages have some grammatical means
for the linguistic categorization of nouns and nomi-
nals. The continuum of noun categorization devices
covers a range of devices, from the lexical numeral
classifiers of Southeast Asia to the highly grammati-
calized gender agreement classes of Indo-European
languages. They have a similar semantic basis, and
one can develop from the other. They provide a
unique insight into how people categorize the world
through their language in terms of universal semantic
parameters involving humanness, animacy, sex,
shape, form, consistency, and functional properties.
Noun categorization devices are morphemes that
occur in surface structures under specifiable condi-
tions, and denote some salient perceived or imputed
characteristics of the entity to which an associated
noun refers (Allan, 1977: 285). They are restricted
to classifier constructions, morphosyntactic units
(e.g., noun phrases of different kinds, verb phrases,
or clauses) that require the presence of a particular
kind of morpheme, the choice of which is dictated by
the semantic characteristics of the referent of the
nominal head of a noun phrase.
Noun categorization devices come in various
guises. We distinguish noun classes, noun classifiers,
numeral classifiers, classifiers in possessive construc-
tions, and verbal classifiers. Two relatively rare types
are locative and deictic classifiers. They share a com-
mon semantic core and differ in the morphosyntactic
contexts of their use and in their preferred semantic
features.
Noun Classes
Some languages have grammatical agreement classes
based on such core semantic properties as animacy,
sex, and humanness, and sometimes also shape. The
number of noun classes (also known as genders, or
gender classes) varies – from two, as in Portuguese or
French, to 10 or so, as in Bantu, or even to several
dozen, as in some languages of South America. Noun
classes can to a greater or lesser extent be semanti-
cally transparent, and their assignment can be based
on semantic, morphological, and/or phonological
criteria. They are realized through agreement with a
modifier or the predicate outside the noun itself.
Examples (1) and (2), from Portuguese, illustrate
masculine and feminine genders, which are marked
Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics 463
on the noun itself and on the accompanying article
and adjective.
(1) o menin-o bonit-o
ARTICLE: child- beautiful-
MASC.SG MASC.SG MASC.SG
‘the beautiful boy’
(2) a menin-a bonit-a
ARTICLE: child-FEM.SG beautiful-FEM.SG
FEM.SG
‘the beautiful girl’
The cross-linguistic properties of noun classes are
the following:
1. There is a limited, countable number of classes.
2. Each noun in the language belongs to one (or
sometimes more than one) class.
3. There is always some semantic basis to the group-
ing of nouns into gender classes, but languages
vary in how much semantic basis there is. This
usually includes animacy, humanness and sex,
and sometimes also shape and size.
4. Some constituent outside the noun itself must
agree in gender with a noun. Agreement can be
with other words in the noun phrase (adjectives,
numbers, demonstratives, articles, etc.) and/or
with the predicate of the clause, or an adverb.
In some languages there is a marker of noun class
on every noun; in some languages nouns bear no
marker. Noun class systems are typically found in
languages with a fusional or agglutinating (not an
isolating) profile. Languages often have portmanteau
morphemes combining information about noun class
with number, person, case, etc.
The semantics of noun classes in the languages of
the world involves the following parameters:
. Sex: feminine vs. masculine, as in many Afroasiatic
languages, in East-Nilotic, and in Central Khoisan
. Human vs. nonhuman, as in some Dravidian lan-
guages of India
. Rational (humans, gods, demons) vs. nonrational,
as in Tamil and other Dravidian languages
. Animate vs. inanimate, as in Siouan, from North
America
The term neuter is often used to refer to irrational,
inanimate gender or to a residue gender with no clear
semantic basis.
Languages can combine these parameters. Zande
and Ma (Ubangi, Niger-Congo) distinguish mascu-
line, feminine, nonhuman animate, and inanimate.
Godoberi (Ghodoberi) (Northeast-Caucasian) has
feminine, masculine, and nonrational genders.
464 Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics
Primarily sex-based genders can have additional
shape- and size-related meanings. In languages of
the Sepik region of New Guinea, feminine is asso-
ciated with short, wide, and round, and masculine
with long, tall, and narrow objects (e.g., Ndu family;
Alamblak). Feminine is associated with small size
and diminutives in Afroasiatic and East-Nilotic lan-
guages; masculine includes long, thick, solid objects.
Hollow, round, deep, flat, and thin objects are femi-
nine in Kordofanian and Central Khoisan languages
(Heine, 1982: 190–191). Unusually large objects are
feminine in Dumo, a Sko language from New Guinea
(see the summary in Aikhenvald, 2000: 277).
In some languages, most nouns are assigned to just
one noun class; in other languages, different noun
classes can be chosen to highlight a particular prop-
erty of a referent. Manambu, a Ndu language from
the Sepik area, has two genders. The masculine gen-
der includes male referents, and feminine gender
includes females. But the gender choice depends on
other factors and can vary: if the referent is excep-
tionally long, or large, it is assigned masculine gender;
if it is small and round, it is feminine.
Rules for the semantic assignment of noun classes
can be more complex. The Australian language
Dyirbal (Dixon, 1972: 308–312) has four noun clas-
ses. Three are associated with one or more basic
concepts: Class I – male humans, nonhuman anima-
tes; Class II – female humans, water, fire, fighting;
Class III – nonflesh food. Class IV is a residue class
covering everything else. There are also two rules
for transferring gender membership. By the first, an
object can be assigned to a gender by its mythological
association rather than by its actual semantics. Birds
are classed as feminine by mythological association,
since women’s souls are believed to enter birds after
death. The second transfer rule is that if a subset of a
certain group of objects has a particular important
property, e.g., being dangerous, it can be assigned to a
different class from the other nouns in that group.
Most trees without edible parts belong to Class IV,
but stinging trees are placed in Class II.
A typical gender system in Australian languages
contains four terms that can be broadly labeled as
masculine, feminine, vegetable, and residual (Dixon,
2002: 449–514). Andian (Northeast Caucasian) lan-
guages have a special noun class for insects, and
Bantu languages for places (also see Corbett, 1991).
The degree of semantic motivation for noun classes
varies from language to language. Noun classes in
Bantu languages constitute an example of a semanti-
cally opaque system. Table 1 summarizes a basic
semantic grid common to Bantu noun class systems
(Spitulnik, 1989: 207) based on the interaction of
shape, size, and humanness. However, these
Table 1 Noun classes in Bantu
Class Semantics
1/2 Humans, a few other animates
3/4 Plants, plant parts, foods, nonpaired body parts,
miscellaneous
5/6 Fruits, paired body parts, miscellaneous inanimates
7/8 Miscellaneous inanimates
9/10 Animals, miscellaneous inanimates, a few humans
11/10 Long objects, abstract entities, miscellaneous
inanimates
12/13 Small objects, birds
6 Masses
14 Abstract qualities, states, masses, collectives
15 Infinitives
parameters provide only a partial semantic motivation
for the noun classes in individual Bantu languages. (In
the Bantuist tradition, every countable noun is
assigned to two classes: one singular and one plural.)
In modern Bantu languages, however, noun class
assignment is often much less semantically motivated,
though the semantic nucleus is still discernible. Thus,
in Babungo, Class 1/2 is basically human; however, it
is a much bigger class than it was in Proto-Bantu, and
also contains many animals, some birds and insects,
body parts, plants, and household and other objects,
e.g., necklace, pot, book, rainbow (Schaub, 1985:
175). Shape and size also appear as semantic para-
meters: in ChiBemba, class 7/8 is associated with
large size and carries pejorative overtones, while
class 12/13 includes small objects and has overtones
of endearment (also see Denny, 1976; Aikhenvald,
2000: 281–283).
In a seminal study, Zubin and Köpcke (1986)
provided a semantic rationale for the gender as-
signment of nouns of different semantic groups in
German. Masculine and feminine genders mark the
terms for male and female adults of each species of
domestic and game animals (following the natural sex
principle), and neuter is assigned to non-sex-specific
generic and juvenile terms. Masculine gender is used
for types of cloth, for precipitation and wind, and for
minerals. Disciplines and types of knowledge have
feminine gender, and games and types of metal –
with the exception of alloys – have neuter gender.
This is contrary to a common assumption that there
is no real semantic basis for gender assignment in the
well-known Indo-European languages.
Noun class assignment is typically more opaque
for inanimates and for nonhuman animates than
for humans and high animates. In the Australian
language Bininj Gun-Wok (Evans, 2003: 185–199)
masculine class includes male humans, the names
of certain malevolent beings mostly associated with

the sky, items associated with painting (a male activi-
ty), and also some mammals, some snakes, and some
birds and fish. Feminine class includes female
humans, and also some reptiles, fish, and birds. Vege-
table class includes all terms for nonflesh foods, but
also a few bird names. Finally, the neuter, or residue,
class is the most semantically heterogenous – it
includes items that do not fit into other classes, e.g.,
most body parts, generic terms for plants, and terms
for various inanimate objects.
In Jingulu (Pensalfini, 2003: 159–168) nouns di-
vide into four classes, only some of which are more
or less semantically transparent. The vegetable class
mostly includes objects that are long, thin, or pointed.
This class happens to include most vegetables, as well
as body parts such as the colon, penis, and neck;
instruments such as spears, fire drills, and barbed
wire; natural phenomena such as lightning and rain-
bows; and roads and trenches. The feminine class
includes female humans and higher animates, and
also words for axes, the sun, and most smaller song-
birds. The semantic content of the remaining
two classes, masculine and neuter, is much harder
to define: masculine is mostly used for the rest of
animates and neuter for the rest of inanimates, except
that flat and/or rounded inanimates – such as most
trees and eggs, and body parts such as the liver and
the brow – are masculine.
Noun Classifiers
Noun classifiers categorize the noun with which they
co-occur and are independent of any other element in
a noun phrase or in a clause. They are often indepen-
dent words with generic semantics. Thus, in Yidiny,
an Australian language, one would not generally say:
‘the girl dug up the yam’; it is more felicitous to
include generics and say ‘the person girl dug up
the vegetable yam’ (Dixon, 1982: 185), as in (3).
Classifier constructions are in square brackets.
(3) [mayi jimirr] [bama-al
vegetableþABS yamþABS CL:PERSON-ERG
yaburu-Ngu] julaal
girl-ERG dig-PAST
‘The person girl dug up the vegetable yam’
Every noun in a language does not necessarily
take a noun classifier. And a noun may occur with
more than one classifier. In Minangkabau, a Western
Austronesian language from Sumatra, different noun
classifiers may be used with the same noun to express
different meanings, e.g., batang limau (CL:TREE
lemon) ‘lemon-tree’, buah limau (CL:FRUIT lemon)
‘lemon-fruit.’ They are similar to derivational-
like devices. The choice of a noun classifier is
Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics 465
predominantly semantic, based on social status,
function, and nature, and also on physical properties,
e.g., shape. But in some cases the semantic link
between a noun classifier and a noun is not obvious.
In most languages of the Daly area in Australia,
honey takes the noun classifier for flesh food. The
choice of noun classifier in Jacaltec, a Mayan lan-
guage from Guatemala, is often obscured by exten-
sion through perceptual analogy; for instance, ice is
assigned to the rock class (see Craig, 1986: 275–276).
Noun classifiers are found in numerous Australian
languages, in Western Austronesian languages, in Tai
languages, and in Mayan languages (Aikhenvald,
2000). In Yidiny (Australian) (Dixon, 1977: 480 ff.;
1982: 192 ff.), a language with 20 noun classifiers,
these are of two kinds:
. Inherent nature classifiers divide into humans
(waguja ‘man,’ bunya ‘woman,’ and a superordi-
nate bama ‘person,’ as in [3]); fauna (jarruy ‘bird,’
man gum ‘frog,’ munyimunyi ‘ant’); flora (jugi
‘tree,’ narra ‘vine’); natural objects (buri ‘fire,’
walba ‘stone,’ jabu ‘earth’); and artefacts (gala
‘spear,’ bundu ‘bag,’ baji ‘canoe’).
. Function classifiers are minya ‘edible flesh food,’
mayi ‘edible nonflesh food,’ bulmba ‘habitable,’
bana ‘drinkable,’ wirra ‘movable,’ gugu ‘purpose-
ful noise.’
A distinction between flesh and nonflesh food is
typical for Australian languages with noun classifiers
(Dixon, 2002: 454–459).
Noun classfiers for humans often involve social
functions. In Mayan languages of the Kanjobalan
branch, as in Jacaltec, humans are classified accord-
ing to their social status, kinship relation, or age.
Mam has classifiers for men and women; for young
and old men and women; for old men and women to
whom respect is due; and for someone of the same
status as the speaker. There is also a classifier for
babies, and just one nonhuman classifier. In Austra-
lian languages, noun classifiers that refer to social
status include such distinctions as initiated man.
Murinhpatha (Australian) (Walsh, 1997: 256) has a
classifier for Aboriginal people (which also covers
human spirits) and another for non-Aboriginal
people, which includes all other animates.
Nouns with nonhuman, or inanimate, referents
are classified in terms of inherent nature-based
properties from the natural domains of human
interaction: animals, birds, fish, plants, water, fire,
minerals, and artefacts. Individual systems may vary.
There is often a general term for birds and fish, as in
Minangkabau (Western Austronesian); while Ngan"-
gityemerri (Australian) and Akatek (Mayan) have
a generic noun classifier for animals. Classifiers in
466 Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics
Murrinh-Patha, from Australia, cover fresh water
and associated concepts, flowers and fruits of plants,
spears, offensive weapons, fire and things associated
with fire, time and space, and speech and language,
and there is a residue classifier.
There is usually a noun classifier for culturally im-
portant concepts. Mayan languages have a noun clas-
sifier for corn, a traditionally important crop, and for
domesticated dogs, while Daly languages, in northern
Australia, have classifiers for spears, diggings sticks,
and spear throwers.
Noun classifiers often have to be distinguished
from generic nouns. In Yidiny, a test for what can be
used as a classifier is provided by the way interroga-
tive-indefinite pronouns are used: there is one that
means ‘what generic?’ and another meaning ‘generic
being known, what specific?’ Another decisive crite-
rion is how obligatory the classifiers are, and whether
it is possible to formulate explicit rules for their
omission. Incipient structures superficially similar
to noun classifiers can be found in Indo-European
languages. In English it is possible to use a proper
name together with a descriptive noun phrase, such
as that evil man Adolf Hitler, but this type of apposi-
tion is rather marked and used to achieve rhetorical
effect. Lexicosyntactic mechanisms of this kind may
well be a historical source of noun categorization
devices. Noun classifiers should be distinguished
from derivational components in class nouns, such
as berry in English strawberry, blackberry, etc., with
their limited productivity, high degree of lexicaliza-
tion, and the fact that they are restricted to a closed
subclass of noun roots.
Numeral Classifiers
Numeral classifiers are morphemes that only appear
next to a numeral, or a quantifier; they may catego-
rize the referent of a noun in terms of its animacy,
shape, and other inherent properties. Uzbek, a Turkic
language, has 14 numeral classifiers. A classifier for
humans is shown in (4). Inanimate objects are classi-
fied by their form, as shown in (5) (Beckwith, 1998).
(4) bir nafar âdam
one CL:HUMAN person
‘one person’
(5) bir bâs karâm
one CL:HEAD.SHAPED cabbage
‘one (head of) cabbage’
Numeral classifiers are relatively frequent in isolat-
ing languages of Southeast Asia; in the agglutinating
North Amazonian languages of South America; in
Japanese, Korean, and Turkic; and in the fusional
Dravidian and Indic languages.
In a language with a large set of numeral classifiers,
the way they are used often varies from speaker to
speaker, depending on the speaker’s social status and
competence (Adams, 1989). In this (and in the ways
they are acquired by children), they are much more
similar to the use of lexical items than to a limited
set of noun classes. Each noun in the language does
not have to be associated with a numeral classifier.
Some nouns take no classifier at all; and some nouns
take more than one classifier, depending on which
property of the noun’s referent is in focus.
Numeral classifiers are always determined by the
semantics of the noun referent. Typical semantic
parameters are animacy, physical properties (such
as dimensionality, shape, consistency, nature), func-
tional properties (e.g., object with a handle), and
arrangement (e.g., bunch). There can also be specific
classifiers for culturally important items, e.g., canoe,
house. A few languages (e.g., Kana, a Cross-River
language from Nigeria, and a number of New Guinea
languages) (Aikhenvald, 2000: 287–288) have no
classifier for animates or humans: when counted,
these are classified by shape or by function. For in-
stance, a human is assigned to a class of vertically
positioned or elongated objects.
A typical problem with numeral classifiers con-
cerns differentiating between sortal classifiers,
which just characterize a referent, and mensural
classifiers, which contain information about how
the referent is measured. As Ahrens (1994: 204)
put it, classifiers can classify only a limited and
specific group of nouns, while measure words can
be used as a measure for a wide variety of nouns.
Almost every language, whether it has numeral clas-
sifiers or not, has quantifiers, the choice of which
may depend on the semantics of the noun. This often
depends on whether the noun referent is countable
or not. For instance, in English much is used with
noncountable nouns, and many with countable
nouns; other languages have just one word covering
‘much’ and ‘many.’ The choice of quantifying
expressions may also depend on the properties of
the referent noun; for instance, in English we include
head in five head of cattle, stack in three stacks of
books, flock in two flocks of birds, and so on. These
quantifying expressions are not numeral classifiers,
because they do not fill an obligatory slot in the
numeral-noun construction, but are instead used in
a type of construction that is also employed for other
purposes. For instance, quantifier constructions in
English three head of cattle are in fact a subtype of
genitive constructions. This is the main reason
that English is not a numeral classifier language.
The quantifiers also have a lexical meaning of their
own.

Classifiers in Possessive Constructions
Classifiers in possessive constructions are of three
kinds. Relational classifiers categorize the ways in
which noun referents relate to, or can be manipulated
by, the possessor – whether they are to be eaten,
drunk, worn, etc. They tend to occur in languages
that distinguish alienable and inalienable possession.
In Fijian (Lichtenberk, 1983: 157–158), different
classifiers are used to categorize kava as something
one is going to drink, as in (6), or as something one
has grown or is going to sell, as in (7).
(6) na me-qu yaqona
ARTICLE CL:DRINKABLE-my kava
‘my kava (which I intend to drink)’
(7) na no-qu yaqona
ARTICLE CL:GENERAL-my kava
‘my kava (that I grew, or that I will sell)’
Oceanic languages typically have from two to
five relational classifiers, while Kipeá-Karirı́, an ex-
tinct Macro-Jê language from Brazil, had 12. Catego-
rization of the possessive relationship via a relational
classifier is based on functional interaction between
possessor and possessed. The primary semantic divi-
sion of referents is into consumable and nonconsum-
able, as in Fijian, or general and alimentary, as in
Manam (Lichtenberk, 1983; Dixon, 1988: 136).
Consumable objects can be further classified accord-
ing to the way in which they are consumed (eaten,
drunk, chewed), or prepared (e.g., cooked or roasted).
Nonconsumable objects are classified according to
how they have been acquired (e.g., found, or received
as a gift, as in Kipeá-Karirı́). Value is a semantic
parameter used in relational classifiers in Oceanic
languages. Humans can be classified by their social
function, that is, social status or kinship relationship,
as in Ponapean, a Micronesian language.
Possessed classifiers characterize a possessed noun
itself, based on the physical properties (shape, form,
consistency, function) or animacy of its referent, as in
Panare (a South American language from the Carib
family) (Aikhenvald, 2000: 128), shown in (8).
(8) y-uku-n wanë
1sg-CL:LIQUID-GENITIVE honey
‘my honey (mixed with water for drinking)’
Possessed classifiers can also be in a generic-specific
relationship with the noun they categorize (this is
similar to noun classifiers mentioned in this article).
In some Carib languages, ‘my papaya’ can only be
phrased as ‘my fruit papaya,’ as in (9), from Macushı́:
(9) u-yekkari ma"pı̂ya
1sg-CL:FRUIT.FOOD papaya
‘my papaya’
Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics 467
Table 2 Examples of the use of ‘give’ in Mescalero Apache
1. Nát 0 uhı́ shán"aa ‘Give me (a plug of) tobacco’
2. Nát 0 uhı́ shánkaa ‘Give me (a can, box, pack) of tobacco’
3. Nát 0 uhı́ shán t)i)i ‘Give me (a bag) of tobacco’
4. Nát 0 uhı́ shánt)i)i ‘Give me (a stick) of tobacco’
5. Nát 0 uhı́ shánjaash ‘Give me (loose, plural) tobacco’
Generic possessed classifiers are often function-
based. Uto-Aztecan languages have possessed classi-
fiers for pets and domesticated plants.
Only one language, Dâw (from the Makú family in
South America), has possessor classifiers characteriz-
ing the possessor in possessive constructions in terms
of animacy.
Verbal Classifiers
Also called verb-incorporated classifiers, they appear
on the verb, categorizing a noun, which is typically in
S (intransitive subject) or O (direct object) function,
in terms of its animacy, shape, size, structure, and
position. Example (10), from Waris, a Papuan lan-
guage of the Border family (Brown, 1981: 96), shows
how the classifier-put-‘round object’ is used with the
verb ‘get’ to characterize its O argument, coconut, as
a round object.
(10) sa ka-m put-ra-ho-o
coconut 1sg-toVERBAL.CL:ROUND-get-
BENEFACTIVE-
IMPERATIVE
‘Give me a coconut (literally coconut to-me
round.one-give)’
Suppletive (or partly analyzable) classificatory
verbs are a subtype of verbal classifiers. Classificatory
verbs can categorize the S/O argument in terms of its
inherent properties (e.g., animacy, shape, form, and
consistency), as in Athapascan languages of
North America, such as Mescalero Apache, shown
in Table 2. Different arrangements of tobacco are
reflected in the form of a classificatory verb whose
basic meaning is ‘give’ (in bold) (Rushforth, 1991):
Alternatively, classificatory existential verbs can
categorize the S/O argument in terms of its orienta-
tion or stance in space, and also to its inherent proper-
ties, as in Dakota and Nevome, from North America,
and in Papuan languages of the Engan family in the
Highlands of New Guinea. In Enga, a verb meaning
‘stand’ is used with referents judged to be tall, large,
strong, powerful, standing, or supporting, e.g., men,
houses, trees; and ‘sit’ is used with referents judged to
be small, squat, horizontal, or weak, e.g., women,
possums, ponds.
468 Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics
Cross-linguistically, classificatory verbs tend to
belong to the semantic groups of handling, motion,
and existence/location. That classificatory verbs
should combine reference to inherent properties of
referents, and to their orientation, is not surprising.
Shape, form, and other inherent properties of objects
correlate with their stance in space. Certain positions
and states are only applicable for objects of particular
kinds; for instance, a tree usually stands, and only
liquids can flow. However, classificatory verbs differ
from the lexical selection of a verb in terms of physi-
cal properties or the position of an object. Most lan-
guages have lexical items similar to English drink
(which implies a liquid O), or chew (which implies
an O of chewable consistency). Unlike these verbs,
classificatory verbs make consistent paradigmatic
distinctions in the choice of semantic features for
their S/O argument throughout the verbal lexicon.
In other words, while English distinguishes liquid
and nonliquid objects only for verbs of drinking,
classificatory verbs provide a set of paradigmatic
oppositions for the choice of verb sets depending on
the physical properties of all kinds of S/O. Similarly,
posture verbs in many languages tend to occur with
objects of a certain shape. For instance, in Russian,
long, vertical objects usually stand, and long, hori-
zontal ones lie. However, the correlations between
the choice of the verb and the physical properties of
the object are not paradigmatic; these verbs cannot
be considered classificatory.
Locative Classifiers
Locative classifiers occur with locative prepositions
and postpositions, and categorize the head noun in
terms of its animacy or physical properties, including
form and shape. These are found in South American
Indian languages of the Carib family, and in Palikur,
an Arawak language from Brazil: e.g., pi-wan min
(2sg-arm LOC.CL þVERTICAL) ‘on your (vertical)
arm’; ah peu (tree LOC.CL þ BRANCH LIKE) ‘on
(branchlike) tree’.
Deictic Classifiers
Deictic classifiers occur on deictics within a noun
phrase and categorize the noun referent in terms of
its inherent properties and position in space, such
as horizontal or vertical. They are found in Siouan
languages from North America, e.g., Mandan
dE-mãk ‘this one (lying)’; dE-nak ‘this one (sitting).’
Nouns are typically classified by their canonical
position, which correlates with their shape and
extendedness; for instance, in Pilagá (a Guaicuruan
language, from Argentina), fire and stones are
classified as horizontal, and buildings and animals
as sitting.
All noun categorization devices use the same set of
core parameters, which include:
. animacy;
. physical properties covering shape and dimensional-
ity (one-, two-, or three-dimensional objects, includ-
ing long, flat, and round referents) and direction;
size; consistency (flexible, hard or rigid, liquid); ma-
terial (what the object is made of, e.g., clothlike);
. functional properties (to do with specific uses
of objects or kinds of action typically performed
on them), including social status, which can be
considered a subtype of functional categorization;
. arrangement (that is, configuration of objects, e.g.,
a coil of rope or a bunch).
Various kinds of noun categorization devices opt
for different preferred semantic parameters: animacy
and humanness are predominant in noun classes,
while noun classifiers often categorize referents in
terms of their function and social status. Numeral
classifiers typically categorize referents by shape
(e.g., round or vertical), while verbal classifiers may
also involve orientation (vertical or horizontal). Se-
mantic parameters employed in noun categorization
systems follow some tendencies. If a language has
classifiers for three-dimensional objects, it is likely
to also have classifiers for two-dimensional ones.
A summary of preferred semantic parameters depend-
ing on a type of noun categorization device is in
Table 3 (for their cognitive correlates, see also Bisang,
2002). These preferences represent only tendencies.
Generic-specific relations are characteristic of noun
classifiers, verbal classifiers, and sometimes possessed
classifiers, but not of other types (they are rare in
numeral classifiers).
The semantic complexity of an individual noun
class or classifier varies. Some are semantically sim-
ple, e.g., the classifier ‘person’ in Malay and Minang-
kabau used with all humans. Others undergo semantic
extensions, and their choice is less straightforward.
Consider the semantic structure of the classifier -hon
in Japanese (Matsumoto, 1993: 676–681). In its most
common use, it covers saliently one-dimensional
objects, e.g., long, thin, rigid objects such as sticks,
canes, pencils, candles, trees, dead snakes, and dried
fish. It also covers martial arts contests with swords
(which are long and rigid), hits in baseball, shots in
basketball, Judo matches, rolls of tape, telephone
calls, radio and TV programs, letters, movies, medical
injections, bananas, carrots, pants, guitars, and teeth.
This heterogeneity results from various processes
of semantic extension and metonymy. Extensions
can be based on certain rules for transferring class

Table 3 Preferred semantic parameters in classifiers
Classifier Typical semantics
Noun classes Animacy, humanness, physical properties, rarely nature or function
Numeral classifiers Animacy, humanness, physical properties, nature, rarely functional properties
Noun classifiers Social status, functional properties, nature
Verbal classifiers Physical properties, rarely animacy, nature
Relational classifiers Functional properties
Possessed Physical properties, nature, animacy
Classifiers Functional properties
Locative classifiers Physical properties, rarely animacy
Deictic classifiers Directionality, physical properties
membership, as in Dyirbal (see the section ‘‘Noun
Classes’’).
According to these principles, idealized models
of the world – for instance, myths and beliefs – can
account for other chaining links within the structure
of a class. In Dyirbal, birds belong to feminine Class
II, because they are believed to be the spirits of dead
human females.
A further type of extension is the Domain of Expe-
rience Principle, which links members thought to be
associated with the same experience domain. Thus,
fish in Dyirbal belong to Class 1, since they are
animate, and so do fishing implements, because they
are associated with the same activity. These domains
are often culture-specific, and subject to change with
sociocultural changes. The numeral classifier tay in
Korean was originally used with reference to tradi-
tional vehicles, and then was extended to introduced
European artifacts with wheels. It was further extend-
ed to any electric machinery, and to other kinds of
machines or instruments, including even the piano.
In Austroasiatic languages, shape parameters in in-
animate categorization account for typical semantic
extensions of terms for plants and their component
parts when employed as classifiers, such as small
and roundish (from the word for ‘seed’), round (from
‘fruit’), bulky (from ‘tuber’), flat and sheetlike
(from ‘flower,’ ‘leaf,’ ‘fiber’), and long (from ‘stalk,’
‘stick,’ ‘sprout’) (Conklin, 1981: 341).
An instructive example of prototype-and-extenson
in a multiple classifier system comes from classifier
tua in Thai (used with numerals, demonstratives, and
adjectives). The structure of the category is shown in
Figure 1. Arrows indicate extensions from a proto-
typical member to a less prototypical one (Carpenter,
1987: 45–46).
The prototypical referent classified with tua is a
four-legged animal, such as a dog or a water buffalo.
The classifier extends to include trousers and shirts,
due to their shape: trousers are leglike, and shirts have
armlike sleeves. Because of shared function, and the
bodylike shape, this classifier also applies to jackets
Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics 469
Generic-specific relation
No
Rare
Yes
Yes
No
Yes
No
No
Figure 1 Structure of the tua category in Thai.
and skirts and even to dresses, underwear, and bath-
ing suits. The general four-legged shape of items of
furniture, such as tables and chairs, accounts for their
inclusion in the category covered by the classifier tua.
Other kinds of furniture were then added because of
their shared function with tables and chairs. ‘Letter
(of the alphabet)’ in Thai is a compound tua nangseu
‘body book’, so a combination of shape and repeti-
tion of the generic compound head caused letters to
be classified with tua. Numbers were included either
on the basis of shape or by their shared function with
letters. Ghosts were included because of their similar-
ity with the two-limbed shape of a human body.
Semantic extensions of classifiers can be manipulated
by language planners. Following an order of King
Mongkut issued in 1854, ‘noble’ animals, such as
elephants and horses, should be counted without
any classifier; the classifier tua could be used only
for animals of a ‘lower’ status. In Setswana, a Bantu
language with a large set of noun classes, it is now
considered politically incorrect to refer to ethnic
minorities, such as the Chinese or the Bushmen,
using noun class 5/6 (which includes substances,
such as dirt or clay, and abstract nouns); all humans
have to be referred to with the ‘human’ class 1/2 (see
Table 1).
Noun categorization devices are hardly ever seman-
tically redundant. They are often used to distinguish
what can be encoded with different lexemes in some
languages. For instance, in Burmese a river can be
viewed as a place, as a line (on a map), as a section,
as a sacred object, or as a connection. These mean-
ings are distinguished through the use of different
470 Classifiers and Noun Classes: Semantics

Table 4 Categorization of an inanimate noun in Burmese of inanimate and nonhuman objects is directly related
with a classifier to cultural notions. Animacy and sex, when extended
Noun Numeral Classifier Translation metaphorically, are influenced by social stereotypes
and beliefs.
miyi te ya river one place (e.g., destination Correlations between the choice of physical proper-
for a picnic)
miyi te tan river one line (e.g., on a map)
ties encoded in classifiers and nonlinguistic para-
miyi te hmwa river one section (e.g., a fishing meters are much less obvious. They may relate to
area) the cultural salience of certain shapes or forms, and
miyi te sin river one distant arc (e.g., a path they may ultimately be based on typical metaphorical
to the sea) extensions.
miyi te ywE river one connection (e.g.,
connecting two villages)
miyi te pa river one sacred object (e.g., in
mythology) See also: Cognitive Semantics; Gender, Grammatical;
miyi te khu river one conceptual unit (e.g., in Metaphor and Conceptual Blending; Metaphor: Psycho-
a discussion of rivers in logical Aspects; Possession, Adnominal.
general)
miyi te miyi river one river (the unmarked
case)

numeral classifiers – this is shown in Table 4 (Becker,
1975: 113).
In Apache, a plug, a box, a stick, and a bag of
tobacco are distinguished through the use of different
classificatory verbs. In languages with overt noun
class marking, variability in marking noun class on
the same root is a way of creating new words. In
Bantu languages, such as Swahili, most stems usually
occur with a prefix of one class. Prefixes can be
substituted to mark a characteristic of an object.
M-zee means ‘old person’ and has the human class
prefix m-. It can be replaced by ki-(inanimate class) to
yield ki-zee ‘scruffy old person’. In Dyirbal, the word
‘man’ can be used with the feminine class marker,
instead of masculine, to point out the female charac-
teristics of a hermaphrodite. In Manambu, ‘head’ is
usually feminine because of its round shape, but it is
treated as masculine when a person has a headache,
since then the head feels heavy and unusually big.
We have seen that semantically noun categoriza-
tion devices are heterogenous, nonhierarchically
organized systems that employ both universal and
culture-specific parameters. The ways these para-
meters work are conditioned and restricted by
cognitive mechanisms and the sociocultural environ-
ment. Among universal parameters are animacy,
humanness, and physical properties, e.g., shape, di-
mensionality, consistency. Culture-specific para-
meters can cover certain functional properties and
social organization.
Classificatory parameters associated with function
rather than physical properties are more sensitive
to cultural and other nonlinguistic factors. Human
categorization, as a sort of ‘social’ function, depends
entirely on social structure. Functional categorization
Bibliography
Adams K L (1989). Systems of numeral classification in
the Mon-Khmer, Nicobarese and Asian subfamilies of
Austroasiatic. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics.
Ahrens K (1994). ‘Classifier production in normals and
aphasics.’ Journal of Chinese Linguistics 22, 203–246.
Aikhenvald A Y (2000). Classifiers: a typology of noun
categorization devices. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Allan K (1977). ‘Classifiers.’ Language 53, 284–310.
Becker A J (1975). ‘A linguistic image of nature: the
Burmese numerative classifier system.’ Linguistics 165,
109–121.
Beckwith C I (1998). ‘Noun specification and classification
in Uzbek.’ Anthropological Linguistics 40, 124–140.
Bisang W (2002). ‘Classification and the evolution of
grammatical structures: a universal perspective.’ Sprach-
typologie und Universalienforschung 55, 289–308.
Brown R (1981). ‘Semantic aspects of some Waris predica-
tions.’ In Franklin K (ed.) Syntax and semantics in Papua
New Guinea languages. Ukarumpa: Summer Institute of
Linguistics. 93–123.
Carpenter K (1987). How children learn to classify nouns in
Thai. Ph.D. diss., Stanford University.
Conklin N F (1981). The semantics and syntax in
numeral classification in Tai and Austronesian. Ph.D.
diss., University of Michigan.
Corbett G (1991). Gender. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Craig C G (1986). ‘Jacaltec noun classifiers: a study
in language and culture.’ In Craig C G (ed.) Noun
classes and categorization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
263–294.
Denny J P (1976). ‘What are noun classifiers good for?’
Papers from the annual regional meeting of the Chicago
Linguistic Society. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society.
12, 122–132.
Dixon R M W (1972). The Dyirbal language of North
Queensland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Dixon R M W (1977). A grammar of Yidiny. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.

Dixon R M W (1982). Where have all the adjectives gone?
and other essays in semantics and syntax. Berlin: Mouton.
Dixon R M W (1988). A grammar of Boumaa Fijian.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Dixon R M W (2002). Australian languages: their nature
and development. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Evans N (2003). Bininj Gun-Wok: a pan-dialectal grammar
of Mayali, Kunwinjku and Kune. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
Heine B (1982). ‘African noun class systems.’ In Seiler H &
Lehmann C (eds.) Apprehension: Das sprachliche Erfas-
sen von Gegenständen, Teil I: Bereich und Ordnung der
Phänomene. Tübingen: Narr Language Universals Series
1/I. 189–216.
Lichtenberk F (1983). ‘Relational classifiers.’ Lingua 60,
147–176.
Matsumoto Y (1993). ‘Japanese numeral classifiers: a
study on semantic categories and lexical organisation.’
Linguistics 31, 667–713.
Classroom Talk
E Hinkel, Seattle University, Seattle, WA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Much classroom activity takes the form of talk. In
recent decades, studies of teacher and student spoken
language in the classroom have been undertaken
from a variety of perspectives in applied linguistics,
education, ethnography, and ethnomethodology. In
particular, the analyses of talk between the teacher
and the students, as well as among students, seek to
understand how the spoken language and the dis-
course of the classroom affect learning (including
language learning) and the development of socio-
cultural affiliation and identity (e.g., Watson-Gegeo,
1997).
To a great extent, spoken language and face-to-
face interaction constitute the foundational aspects
of both teaching and learning at school. Although
specialists in education and teaching first became
interested in the impact of classroom discourse and
interaction on students’ learning and the development
of cognitive skills in the 1930s and 1940s, since that
time, research on classroom talk has moved forward
in a number of directions. In the study of language
and applied linguistics, classroom talk has been the
subject of considerable exploration in discourse, con-
versation, and text analyses, as well as sociolinguistic
and sociocultural features of interaction.
The linguistic features of classroom talk were
studied intensively in the 1970s and 1980s, when
Classroom Talk 471
Pensalfini R (2003). A grammar of Jingulu, an Aboriginal
language of the Northern Territory. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
Rushforth S (1991). ‘Uses of Bearlake and Mescalero
(Athapaskan) classificatory verbs.’ International Journal
of American Linguistics 57, 251–266.
Schaub W (1985). Babungo. London: Croom Helm.
Spitulnik D (1989). ‘Levels of semantic restructuring in
Bantu noun classification.’ In Newman P & Botne R D
(eds.) Current approaches to African linguistics, vol. 5.
Dordrecht: Foris. 207–220.
Walsh M (1997). ‘Nominal classification and generics in
Murrinhpatha.’ In Harvey M & Reed N (eds.) Nominal
classification in Aboriginal Australia. Amsterdam: John
Benjamins. 255–292.
Zubin D & Köpcke K M (1986). ‘Gender and folk taxono-
my: the indexical relation between grammatical and
lexical categorization.’ In Craig C G (ed.) Noun classes
and categorization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
139–180.
the uses of language and forms of interaction at
school became an important venue in discourse, prag-
matic, and literacy studies. Many of the early dis-
course analyses focused on the linguistic features of
talk, narrative structure, common speech acts, their
sequences, and the contexts in which they occurred,
as well as the flow of classroom speech (e.g., Sinclair
and Coulthard, 1975; Stubbs, 1983). As a matter of
course, these studies approached classroom talk as
occurrences of conversational discourse, without
attempting to discern the effect of the language
spoken in the classroom on student learning and the
educational processes. The analyses of the discourse
flow and the language of interaction revealed that
classroom talk is highly structured and routinized.
Building on the discourse-analytic foundation, the
influential work of such sociolinguists and cognitive
linguists as Cazden (2001), Gumperz (1982, 1986),
Edwards and Mercer (1987), and Edwards and
Westgate (1994) employed a combination of method-
ological perspectives in their explorations of the
spoken discourse, language, and the structure of
interaction in schooling. In general terms, sociolin-
guistics takes into account the social contexts and
the structure of interaction to determine how they
shape the spoken language. Sociolinguistic research
methods in the classroom are usually complemented
by ethnographic and pragmatic perspectives. Taken
together, the findings of these studies have brought to
the foreground issues of power, socioeconomic class,
culture, and the social construction of experience in

Dixon R M W (1982). Where have all the adjectives gone?
and other essays in semantics and syntax. Berlin: Mouton.
Dixon R M W (1988). A grammar of Boumaa Fijian.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Dixon R M W (2002). Australian languages: their nature
and development. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Evans N (2003). Bininj Gun-Wok: a pan-dialectal grammar
of Mayali, Kunwinjku and Kune. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
Heine B (1982). ‘African noun class systems.’ In Seiler H &
Lehmann C (eds.) Apprehension: Das sprachliche Erfas-
sen von Gegenständen, Teil I: Bereich und Ordnung der
Phänomene. Tübingen: Narr Language Universals Series
1/I. 189–216.
Lichtenberk F (1983). ‘Relational classifiers.’ Lingua 60,
147–176.
Matsumoto Y (1993). ‘Japanese numeral classifiers: a
study on semantic categories and lexical organisation.’
Linguistics 31, 667–713.
Classroom Talk
E Hinkel, Seattle University, Seattle, WA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Much classroom activity takes the form of talk. In
recent decades, studies of teacher and student spoken
language in the classroom have been undertaken
from a variety of perspectives in applied linguistics,
education, ethnography, and ethnomethodology. In
particular, the analyses of talk between the teacher
and the students, as well as among students, seek to
understand how the spoken language and the dis-
course of the classroom affect learning (including
language learning) and the development of socio-
cultural affiliation and identity (e.g., Watson-Gegeo,
1997).
To a great extent, spoken language and face-to-
face interaction constitute the foundational aspects
of both teaching and learning at school. Although
specialists in education and teaching first became
interested in the impact of classroom discourse and
interaction on students’ learning and the development
of cognitive skills in the 1930s and 1940s, since that
time, research on classroom talk has moved forward
in a number of directions. In the study of language
and applied linguistics, classroom talk has been the
subject of considerable exploration in discourse, con-
versation, and text analyses, as well as sociolinguistic
and sociocultural features of interaction.
The linguistic features of classroom talk were
studied intensively in the 1970s and 1980s, when
Classroom Talk 471
Pensalfini R (2003). A grammar of Jingulu, an Aboriginal
language of the Northern Territory. Canberra: Pacific
Linguistics.
Rushforth S (1991). ‘Uses of Bearlake and Mescalero
(Athapaskan) classificatory verbs.’ International Journal
of American Linguistics 57, 251–266.
Schaub W (1985). Babungo. London: Croom Helm.
Spitulnik D (1989). ‘Levels of semantic restructuring in
Bantu noun classification.’ In Newman P & Botne R D
(eds.) Current approaches to African linguistics, vol. 5.
Dordrecht: Foris. 207–220.
Walsh M (1997). ‘Nominal classification and generics in
Murrinhpatha.’ In Harvey M & Reed N (eds.) Nominal
classification in Aboriginal Australia. Amsterdam: John
Benjamins. 255–292.
Zubin D & Köpcke K M (1986). ‘Gender and folk taxono-
my: the indexical relation between grammatical and
lexical categorization.’ In Craig C G (ed.) Noun classes
and categorization. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
139–180.
the uses of language and forms of interaction at
school became an important venue in discourse, prag-
matic, and literacy studies. Many of the early dis-
course analyses focused on the linguistic features of
talk, narrative structure, common speech acts, their
sequences, and the contexts in which they occurred,
as well as the flow of classroom speech (e.g., Sinclair
and Coulthard, 1975; Stubbs, 1983). As a matter of
course, these studies approached classroom talk as
occurrences of conversational discourse, without
attempting to discern the effect of the language
spoken in the classroom on student learning and the
educational processes. The analyses of the discourse
flow and the language of interaction revealed that
classroom talk is highly structured and routinized.
Building on the discourse-analytic foundation, the
influential work of such sociolinguists and cognitive
linguists as Cazden (2001), Gumperz (1982, 1986),
Edwards and Mercer (1987), and Edwards and
Westgate (1994) employed a combination of method-
ological perspectives in their explorations of the
spoken discourse, language, and the structure of
interaction in schooling. In general terms, sociolin-
guistics takes into account the social contexts and
the structure of interaction to determine how they
shape the spoken language. Sociolinguistic research
methods in the classroom are usually complemented
by ethnographic and pragmatic perspectives. Taken
together, the findings of these studies have brought to
the foreground issues of power, socioeconomic class,
culture, and the social construction of experience in
472 Classroom Talk
the classroom. Many, if not most, of these investiga-
tions point to the common and frequent mismatches
between the normative properties of the school lan-
guage and the language used in students’ families.
A number of important and congruent findings
have emerged from the study of classroom discourse
and spoken language. One prominent thread in re-
search is that a large majority of classroom interac-
tions occur between the teacher and the students,
individually or in groups, although some student–
student interactions also take place during group or
collaborative activities. Investigations carried out in
different locations and countries around the world
have shown that in classroom interactions, teachers
talk approximately 75% of the time, with the remain-
der divided among the students. This pattern of
talk seems to be comparatively consistent and, on
the whole, resistant to change, despite the calls for
its modification or attempted educational reforms
(e.g., van Lier, 1988, 1996; Dysthe, 1996; Nystrand,
1997).
Another strand that runs through practically all
studies is that classroom talk includes a number of
predictable and observable sequences. Much of the
classroom spoken language centers around knowl-
edge and information elicitation turns between the
teacher and the students, cohesive topical stretches
of talk, or exchanges motivated by instructional activ-
ity in the classroom. In general terms, teacher–student
exchanges reflect the unequal and hierarchical rela-
tionship of their participants in teacher-fronted class-
rooms (Edwards and Westgate, 1994).
The typical conversational patterns in such dy-
adic exchanges proceed along the lines of what
has become known as Initiation-Response-Feedback
(IRF) (also called Initiation-Response-Evaluation or
Question-Answer-Comment), e.g.:
Teacher: So, why did Peter run to the village?
Student: For a joke.
Teacher: Right!
In such routine classroom sequences, the teacher
initiates the interaction or asks a question, the student
responds or answers the question, and the teacher
takes the concluding turn that provides a commen-
tary (e.g., So, Peter was bored) or an evaluation
(e.g., Good/Great answer).
Spoken language in the classroom is fundamentally
different from many other types of talk, such as con-
versations among peers, coworkers, or family mem-
bers. Some researchers, such as, for example, Mehan
(1979) and van Lier (1996), have pointed out that
IRF interactions are, by their nature, artificial and
constrained and, for this reason, they cannot be
analyzed as ordinary conversational discourse that
follows ordinary interactional conventions. In their
view, the institutionalized structure of classroom talk
is crucially distinct when the teacher nominates topics
and speakers, and controls turn-taking and the
amount of participant talk.
The decades of investigating talk in the classroom
have also identified the social, cultural, and behavior-
al practices that predominate in classroom discourse.
Numerous studies carried out in such locations as the
United States, the United Kingdom, and Scandinavia
have demonstrated that complex systems of socio-
cultural prescriptions and expectations that exist
in the wider society are strongly reflected in the
norms of speaking and behaving in the classroom.
Influential works by, for example, Heath (1983) and
Gee (1990), highlight the pervasive discontinuities
between the middle-class linguistic and interactional
practices widely adopted in schooling and those in
children’s homes. The disparities between the rigidly
prescribed and traditional rules of the classroom talk
extend to the learning, socialization, and literacy de-
velopment of the children in racially and linguistically
diverse schools. Examples of language and interac-
tion mismatches abound (e.g., Scollon and Scollon,
1981; Brock et al., 1998):
. Spanish-speaking students in the United States are
not always familiar with the predominant norms of
classroom behavior when students are expected to
be quiet while the teacher or another student is
speaking.
. Native American students often participate in class
conversations collectively, but not individually, as
is usually expected in U.S. and Canadian schools.
. Ethnic Chinese students in U.K. and Australian
schools rarely speak during requisite classroom
activities and strongly prefer to work alone instead
of working in groups, where much conversation is
required.
In all, a large number of sociolinguistic and ethno-
graphic studies have shown conclusively that the
practice of classroom talk and the rigid norms of
interaction in schooling represent culturally bound
contexts for learning. As an outcome, the learning
and literacy development of racial and linguistic
minority students can be constrained in the class-
rooms where the structure of talk and discourse
follows sociocultural prescriptions different from
those in the students’ communities outside the school.
From a different vantage point, research in dis-
course and conversation analysis, as well as language
acquisition, has also shown that classroom talk has
numerous important learning, cognitive, and social
functions. The most common of these include expo-
sure to language and linguistic input in the form

of, for example, direct instruction, questions and
answers, orientations to topics, information elicita-
tions, explanations, hypothesis-making, and using
evidence. In the following example of a story-circle
discussion, the teacher attempts to elicit more elabo-
rate explanations and evidential support for the
students’ in effect accurate appraisal of the story
events:
Teacher: Ok, so Laura got a pretty new dress ... . A very nice
dress. She must have liked it. So, did she like it?
Several students together: Nooooooo.
Teacher: She didn’t? Well, no, she didn’t ... . Eh, ok, ... so
how do we know that she didn’t?
Sam: She said ... I ... I don’t need it ... it ... the new one.
So, she didn’t.
Teacher: Good job, Sam, good thinking ... . Laura really
didn’t need this dress? Ok, or maybe, she didn’t
like it? Can we tell? How can we tell?
In addition to guiding the students to support
their conclusion by means of the information in the
story, the teacher also uses relatively advanced syn-
tactic constructions, such as must have liked it and a
number of complex sentences with noun clauses and
negation.
More recently, with the increased understanding
of learners’ cognitive and linguistic development,
investigations of classroom talk have continued to
gain importance in language teaching and education
of second language and minority students. In many
cases, discourse and conversation analyses of class-
room talk have also shown that language uses and
interactions in educational contexts play an impor-
tant role in learner language and cognitive develop-
ment (see, e.g., Edwards and Westgate, 1994; Dysthe,
1996; Seedhouse, 2004). For instance, the uses of
lexical and grammatical features in classroom talk
have allowed researchers to assess the value of class-
room language exposure and input in language learn-
ing and the growth of first and second language
literacy skills.
Among other venues, for example, the uses of dis-
play and referential questions in classroom talk have
been extensively researched. The purpose of display
questions is to elicit information already known to
the interaction participant, who asks the question to
lead to the display of knowledge or familiarity with
information, e.g., ‘‘What do we call this thing?’’ On
the other hand, referential questions elicit informa-
tion that is not known to the speaker, e.g., ‘‘Why did
you and Mary put this picture before that one?’’
Studies of referential questions have shown that
their educational uses lead to different classroom
exchanges that result in significantly longer speech
events, higher rates of lexically and syntactically com-
plex responses, and greater opportunities for learner
Classroom Talk 473
language use (e.g., Edwards and Mercer, 1987; van
Lier, 1996).
In-depth investigations of classroom talk have
undertaken to gain insight into a large number of
sociocultural and linguistic properties of interaction,
such as equal and unequal power relationships, some
aspects of turn-taking, talk management, and the
timing and length of speech events (e.g., Markee,
2000). From the perspective of conversation analy-
sis, classroom interactions have provided a fertile
ground for examinations of repair, correction, self-
correction, discourse, and face-saving markers in
equal and unequal power educational contexts.
At present, sociologists, educators, and linguists
almost universally recognize that social and cultural
institutions of schooling are inseparable from how
language and discourse are employed to transmit
knowledge and socialize learners (e.g., Watson-
Gegeo, 1997; Cazden, 2001).
See also: Conversation Analysis; Identity and Language;
Institutional Talk; Language Education: Teacher Prepara-
tion; Socialization.
Bibliography
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(1998). ‘No habla inglés: Exploring a bilingual child’s
literacy learning opportunities in a predominantly
English-speaking classroom.’ Bilingual Research Journal
22, 175–200.
Cazden C (2001). Classroom discourse: The language of
teaching and learning (2nd edn.). Portsmouth, NH:
Heinemann.
Dysthe O (1996). ‘The multivoiced classroom: interaction
of writing and classroom discourse.’ Written Communi-
cation 13(3), 385–425.
Edwards A & Westgate D (1994). Investigating classroom
talk (2nd edn.). London: Falmer Press.
Edwards D & Mercer N (1987). Common knowledge: The
development of understanding in the classroom. London:
Methuen.
Gee J (1990). Social linguistics and literacies: ideology in
discourses. New York: Falmer Press.
Gumperz J (1982). Language and social identity. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Gumperz J (1986). ‘Interactional sociolinguistics in the
study of schooling.’ In Cook-Gumperz J (ed.) The social
construction of literacy. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press. 229–252.
Heath S B (1983). Ways with words: language, life, and
work in communities and classrooms. New York:
McGraw-Hill.
Markee N (2000). Conversation analysis. Mahwah, NJ:
Erlbaum.
Mehan H (1979). Learning lessons. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
474 Classroom Talk
Nystrand M, Gamoran A, Kachur R & Prendergast C
(1997). Opening dialogue: understanding the dynamics
of language and learning in the English classroom.
New York: Teachers College Press.
Scollon R & Scollon S (1981). Narrative, literacy and
face in interethnic communication. Norwood, NJ:
Ablex.
Seedhouse P (2004). The interactional architecture of the
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Clause Relations
M Hoey, University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The concept of the ‘clause relation’ grew up in a
number of places at the same time at the end of the
1960s and at the beginning of the 1970s. Given that
there was limited contact between the linguists re-
sponsible for the notion, it is unsurprising that each
linguist or group of linguists labeled and defined it
slightly differently, but a basic shared element in the
definitions was that a clause relation was a regularly
recurring semantic relationship holding between
parts of a text, minimally clauses, that helped account
for the organization of the text.
One of the places where the concept of the clause
relation was developed was at Hatfield Polytechnic,
Hatfield, England, where Eugene Winter headed a
small group of researchers interested in the ways in
which written text may be organized. Winter had
worked with M. A. K. Halliday, Richard Hudson,
Rodney Huddleston, and Alec Henrici on a corpus-
based study of scientific writing, funded by the Office
of Scientific and Technical Information and com-
pleted in 1968, and it had become apparent to him
that some aspects of the ways clauses and sentences
interconnected in scientific text could not be
explained in terms of the scale-and-category model
(an early version of systemic grammar) which they
were using. He therefore posited that clauses were
systematically related to each other (Huddleston
et al., 1968; Winter, 1971) in ways that could be de-
scribed independently of the grammar (though he was
always insistent on the close relationship between
grammar and clause relations, and felt that grammars
needed to be adapted to take account of this relation-
ship). He defined clause relations as follows:
Stubbs M (1983). Discourse analysis: the sociolinguistic
analysis of natural language. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
van Lier L (1988). The classroom and the language learner:
ethnography and second-language classroom research.
London: Longman.
van Lier L (1996). Interaction in the language curriculum:
awareness, autonomy, and authenticity. London: Longman.
Watson-Gegeo K A (1997). ‘Classroom ethnography.’ In
Hornberger N H & Corson D (eds.) Encyclopedia of
language and education: Research methods in language
and education, vol. 8. Dordrecht, The Netherlands:
Kluwer Academic. 135–144.
A clause relation is the cognitive process whereby we
interpret the meaning of a sentence or group of sentences
in the light of its adjoining sentence or group of
sentences. (Winter, 1971 and elsewhere)
It will be noted that, despite its label, a clause relation
may hold between sentences and groups of clauses as
well as, of course, between clauses. It will also be
noted that the definition treats the clause relation as
a property of the reader’s processing of the text rather
than a property of the text itself, an important differ-
ence from the position adopted by others working
with the notion. These points will be returned to later.
Winter quickly moved to the position that there
are two basic kinds of clause relation (Winter, 1971
et seq.): matching relations and logical sequence rela-
tions (relabeled sequence relations in Hoey, 1983, in
order to accommodate spatial and temporal sequence
relationships). Matching relations are characterized
by two clauses or groups of clauses being matched
for points of similarity and difference in the content.
Such relations include compatibility (e.g., I like
Mozart and so does my wife), contrast (e.g., I
like Mozart but my wife does not), generalization –
exemplification (e.g., My wife doesn’t like classical
music. For example, she hates Mozart), and preview–
detail (e.g., There are three composers I especially
like. I really enjoy Mozart, I love Bach and I adore
Sibelius) The simplest kind of matching relation is
topic maintenance (e.g., Mozart is one of my favorite
composers. He was born in Salzburg).
Authentic examples of matching relations can be
found in the following passage from a 1907 biology
primer (A primer of biology and nature study by
Randal Mundy):
2.1 A Simple Classification of Plants. – Plants may be
divided into two great groups:
474 Classroom Talk
Nystrand M, Gamoran A, Kachur R & Prendergast C
(1997). Opening dialogue: understanding the dynamics
of language and learning in the English classroom.
New York: Teachers College Press.
Scollon R & Scollon S (1981). Narrative, literacy and
face in interethnic communication. Norwood, NJ:
Ablex.
Seedhouse P (2004). The interactional architecture of the
language classroom: a conversation analysis perspective.
Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Sinclair J & Coulthard R M (1975). Towards an analysis
of discourse: the English used by teachers and pupils.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Clause Relations
M Hoey, University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The concept of the ‘clause relation’ grew up in a
number of places at the same time at the end of the
1960s and at the beginning of the 1970s. Given that
there was limited contact between the linguists re-
sponsible for the notion, it is unsurprising that each
linguist or group of linguists labeled and defined it
slightly differently, but a basic shared element in the
definitions was that a clause relation was a regularly
recurring semantic relationship holding between
parts of a text, minimally clauses, that helped account
for the organization of the text.
One of the places where the concept of the clause
relation was developed was at Hatfield Polytechnic,
Hatfield, England, where Eugene Winter headed a
small group of researchers interested in the ways in
which written text may be organized. Winter had
worked with M. A. K. Halliday, Richard Hudson,
Rodney Huddleston, and Alec Henrici on a corpus-
based study of scientific writing, funded by the Office
of Scientific and Technical Information and com-
pleted in 1968, and it had become apparent to him
that some aspects of the ways clauses and sentences
interconnected in scientific text could not be
explained in terms of the scale-and-category model
(an early version of systemic grammar) which they
were using. He therefore posited that clauses were
systematically related to each other (Huddleston
et al., 1968; Winter, 1971) in ways that could be de-
scribed independently of the grammar (though he was
always insistent on the close relationship between
grammar and clause relations, and felt that grammars
needed to be adapted to take account of this relation-
ship). He defined clause relations as follows:
Stubbs M (1983). Discourse analysis: the sociolinguistic
analysis of natural language. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
van Lier L (1988). The classroom and the language learner:
ethnography and second-language classroom research.
London: Longman.
van Lier L (1996). Interaction in the language curriculum:
awareness, autonomy, and authenticity. London: Longman.
Watson-Gegeo K A (1997). ‘Classroom ethnography.’ In
Hornberger N H & Corson D (eds.) Encyclopedia of
language and education: Research methods in language
and education, vol. 8. Dordrecht, The Netherlands:
Kluwer Academic. 135–144.
A clause relation is the cognitive process whereby we
interpret the meaning of a sentence or group of sentences
in the light of its adjoining sentence or group of
sentences. (Winter, 1971 and elsewhere)
It will be noted that, despite its label, a clause relation
may hold between sentences and groups of clauses as
well as, of course, between clauses. It will also be
noted that the definition treats the clause relation as
a property of the reader’s processing of the text rather
than a property of the text itself, an important differ-
ence from the position adopted by others working
with the notion. These points will be returned to later.
Winter quickly moved to the position that there
are two basic kinds of clause relation (Winter, 1971
et seq.): matching relations and logical sequence rela-
tions (relabeled sequence relations in Hoey, 1983, in
order to accommodate spatial and temporal sequence
relationships). Matching relations are characterized
by two clauses or groups of clauses being matched
for points of similarity and difference in the content.
Such relations include compatibility (e.g., I like
Mozart and so does my wife), contrast (e.g., I
like Mozart but my wife does not), generalization –
exemplification (e.g., My wife doesn’t like classical
music. For example, she hates Mozart), and preview–
detail (e.g., There are three composers I especially
like. I really enjoy Mozart, I love Bach and I adore
Sibelius) The simplest kind of matching relation is
topic maintenance (e.g., Mozart is one of my favorite
composers. He was born in Salzburg).
Authentic examples of matching relations can be
found in the following passage from a 1907 biology
primer (A primer of biology and nature study by
Randal Mundy):
2.1 A Simple Classification of Plants. – Plants may be
divided into two great groups:

Figure 1 A simple analysis of the repetition/replacement pattern in a contrast relation between two pieces of text.
I. Flowerless Plants (Cryptogams).
II. Flowering Plants (Phanerogams).
I. Flowerless Plants comprise the Thallophytes,
Bryophytes and Pteridophytes.
1. THALLOPHYTES have a body commonly in the
form of a flattened shoot, termed a
thallus. They have no true roots and are
reproduced by spores. They are thus sub-
divided:-
(a) Algae, e.g., sea-weeds and many fresh
water plants, such as Chara.
(b) Funghi, e.g., moulds and mushrooms.
No chlorophyll is present.
(c) Lichens, peculiar plants each consisting
of an alga and a fungus, living
together for their mutual advantage.
2. BRYOPHYTES or moss-like plants consist of a
stem and leaves, but have no true roots
or fibro-vascular bundles. They are
reproduced by spores. Bryophytes are
sub-divided into:-
(a) Hepatics or Liverworts, e.g.,
Marchantia and Jungermannia.
(b) Mosses. (See Chapter XXII)
3. PTERIDOPHYTES or fern-like plants possess
stem, leaves, roots and fibro-vascular
bundles, and are reproduced by spores.
They comprise :-
(a) Ferns.
(b) Equisetums (Horsetails).
(c) Lycopodiums (Club mosses).
II. Flowering Plants have root, stem, leaves,
flowers and fibro-vascular bundles, and are
reproduced by seed. They are sub-divided
into:-
(a) GYMNOSPERMS, with seeds naked,
i.e., not enclosed in a cavity (ovary);
e.g., Cycads, and Conifers such as the
pine, fir and yew.
(b) ANGIOSPERMS, with seeds enclosed
in an ovary. They comprise:-
i. Monocotyledons (one seed-leaf or
lobe), e.g., grasses, rushes, palms
and lilies.
ii. Dicotyledons (two seed-lobes), e.g.,
most trees, shrubs and herbs.
Clause Relations 475
This passage is more or less entirely made up
of different kinds of Matching relations. At the up-
permost level, the whole passage is organized by a
preview-detail relation, with
2.1 A Simple Classification of Plants. – Plants may be
divided into two great groups:- I Flowerless Plants
(Cryptogams). II Flowering Plants (Phanerogams)
functioning as the preview and the remainder of the
passage serving as the detail. Within the paragraphs
there are also instances of generalization–example,
such as:
Algae, e.g., sea-weeds and many fresh water plants, such
as Chara.
In this case neither the generalization nor the exam-
ples are expressed as full clauses. The contrast rela-
tion can be illustrated in the following two pieces of
text:
BRYOPHYTES or moss-like plants consist of a stem and
leaves, but have no true roots or fibro-vascular bundles.
PTERIDOPHYTES or fern-like plants possess stem,
leaves, roots and fibro-vascular bundles . . .
Winter (1979) noted that pieces of text such as these
can be analyzed in terms of what is repeated and what
is replaced (see Figure 1). The focus here is on what is
replaced rather than on what is repeated, because it
is the differences that provide the basis for the
classification. In the two pieces of text in Figure 2,
however, the focus is on the sameness; this, then,
is an instance of a compatibility relation, and it
will be seen that the only replacement here is of the
topic.
Clause relations may function between large
chunks of text (the preview–detail relation) or be-
tween bits of clauses (the generalization–example re-
lation) or between one or more clauses (the contrast
and compatibility relations). In this respect, the name
is misleading, implying as it does that the relation-
ships are only or primarily between clauses. Relations
may be inferred by the reader or can be signaled by
476 Clause Relations
Figure 2 A simple analysis of the repetition/replacement pattern in a compatibility relation between two pieces of text.
the writer, either by parallel structures and repetition
as in the compatibility example or by a special vocab-
ulary of signals (signals in the passage include sub-
divided, e.g., thus, but, comprise, consist of, i.e., such
as), which serve to label both prospectively and retro-
spectively the relations the writer sees between the
chunks of text, as well as by typographical features
such as listing and capitalization.
As noted above, the other great class of clause
relations, according to Winter, is that of the se-
quence relations. Sequence relations include time
sequence (e.g., she washed her face and then put
her coat on), cause–effect (e.g., it was cold, so she
put her coat on), instrument–purpose (e.g., she put
her coat on to protect herself from the cold), instru-
ment–achievement (e.g., she put her coat on and pro-
tected herself against the cold), and spatial sequence
(e.g., Her coat hung on a clothes-stand in the hall. An
old umbrella lay on a table next to it). It will be
noticed from the fabricated examples that, as with
the matching relations, the relationship may be
between clauses that are syntactically integrated, be-
tween clauses that are loosely coordinated or between
self-standing sentences. Some of the sequence rela-
tions are illustrated in the following extract from a
biography of Shakespeare published in 1908 (A life of
William Shakespeare by Sidney Lee).
At the beginning of 1616 Shakespeare’s health was fail-
ing. He directed Francis Collins, a solicitor of Warwick,
to draft his will, but, though it was prepared for signa-
ture on January 25, it was for the time laid aside. On
February 10, 1616, Shakespeare’s younger daughter,
Judith, married, at Stratford parish church, Thomas
Quiney, four years her junior, a son of an old friend of
the poet. The ceremony took place apparently without
public asking of the banns and before a license was
procured. The irregularity led to the summons of the
bride and bridegroom to the ecclesiastical court at
Worcester and the imposition of a fine.
This passage contains a number of sequence rela-
tions. First, we can identify a cause–effect (or cause–
consequence) relation between the first sentence and
the first clause of the second. Likewise we can see a time
sequence relation between the second and third sen-
tence, and another between the third sentence, sum-
marized in the first clause of the fourth (the ceremony
took place), and the final clause of the fourth (a license
was procured). The fourth sentence, summarized as the
noun phrase the irregularity, is the cause and the sum-
mons . . . to the ecclesiastical court and the imposition
of a fine are its effects (or consequences), themselves in
a time sequence relation. As before, relations may be
inferred by the reader or can be signaled by the writer;
the special vocabulary of signals used in this passage
comprises before and led to, as well as the use of dates
in the second and third sentences.
Winter’s work was picked up and developed by a
number of linguists, including Winifred Crombie (see
below), Michael Hoey, and Michael Jordan (1983,
1985, 1988, 1990, 1992); Jordan’s work seeks to in-
tegrate clause relational theory with cohesive analysis
in interesting ways. Although Winter himself never
attempted to itemize or classify clause relations (in-
deed, in his later work such as Winter, 1982, 1986,
1992, and 1994 he retreated from classificatory sys-
tems), they quickly turned into a classificatory system,
and here the second place where the idea turned
up was influential. Working in conjunction with the
Summer Institute of Linguistics, John Beekman and
John and Katherine Callow were involved in efforts
to translate the Bible into languages in which it had
hitherto been unknown. They found that transla-
tions that only concerned themselves with the trans-
ference of sentence meanings from one language to
the other resulted often in stilted and even unintelli-
gible translations. Only if a textual dimension was
built in was there a chance of a translation being
accepted in the community for which it was intended.
More specifically, they argued in a series of articles
(Beekman, 1970a, etc.) and a book (Beekman and
Callow, 1974) that texts are organized in terms of
regular semantic relations the world over and that
the first step in undertaking any translation is to
analyze the source text into its component relations;
the translation may need to configure these relations
differently in accordance with the expectations of
the target language community but the relations
themselves would not be altered. A similar position
was argued by Robert Longacre and his colleagues
in a range of papers and books (Ballard et al.,
1971; Longacre, 1972, 1976 [substantially revised
as Longacre, 1983], 1979, et seq.), though the

attention in the earlier of these works was on the
relationship of clauses only.
The Callows (Callow and Callow, 1992: 6) empha-
sized the perspective of the writer or speaker rather
than that of the reader or listener (in contrast to
Winter, see above): ‘‘The speaker is central.’’ My
own adaptation of Winter’s definition (Hoey, 1983)
also foregrounded the writer/speaker, though not at
the expense of the reader/listener.
Despite the sender/receiver focus of both these per-
spectives, the practice of clause relation analysts in
both the United States and the United Kingdom was
message centered. Beekman and the Callows argued
that messages are structured. For them, the largest
unit of communication is the message, roughly
equivalent to the text, and the smallest unit is the
proposition, roughly equivalent to the content of a
clause. A message consists of ‘units-in-relation’ and
their term for the relation holding between units is
‘coherence relation’:
Related propositions constitute a configuration. The
clauses Mary blushed and Simon laughed do not, as
they stand, realize a configuration, because their rela-
tionship is not clear. But Mary blushed because Simon
laughed does realize a configuration. When Mary
blushed Simon laughed realizes a different configura-
tion: the units are the same but the coherence relation
is different. (Callow and Callow, 1992: 9)
This analysis is, it will be noted, text centered. The
writer is only here in the connectives that make the
configuration interpretable. The reader is nowhere.
Despite the fact that Beekman and the Callows
appear to be talking about the same things as Winter,
their starting point was at the other end of the inter-
action, which is unsurprising, given that their back-
ground was in translation. The terms and concepts,
though, are very similar. They did not divide relations
into matching and sequence relations, but they did
have relations such as purpose, reason, result, and
identification and they showed how such relations
can account for the organization of one of the shorter
Epistles, that of Jude (Beekman, 1970b).
Like Beekman and the Callows, Winifred Crombie
(1985a, 1985b) had a practical goal – the improve-
ment of ELT materials. Drawing on Winter’s work,
with a knowledge also of the work of Beekman and his
colleagues, she provided one of the fullest classifica-
tions of clause relations, which she termed ‘semantic
relations.’ She grouped these relations in a more com-
plex way than Winter or Hoey, her broad categories
being temporal, matching, cause–effect, truth and va-
lidity, alternation, bonding, paraphrase, amplifica-
tion, and setting/conduct. It would go beyond the
Clause Relations 477
scope of an article such as this to give details of all of
these, but bonding, for example, subdivides into:
1. Coupling (two or more juxtaposed members,
without comparison or sequence being in focus,
e.g., Achilles wore a robe and carried a shield)
2. Contrast
3. Statement–exemplification
4. Statement–exception.
Crombie’s categories are perceptive and thorough
and as a starting point for analysis they comprise the
best classification within the British tradition (and
arguably elsewhere as well). They are, however,
even more text centered than those of Beekman and
the Callows, and Crombie sought to represent them
formally in quasi-logical and partly abstract fashion.
Winter’s focus on the reader is not lost, though – she
introduced the notion of semantic relations in terms
of the questions that might be asked by a reader to
elicit particular relations – and she also picked up
from Winter an attention to the way relations are
signaled, a facet of clause relation analysis that will
be returned to later in the article.
Crombie is not the only linguist to have attempted
to classify clause relations, though she is probably
the only one to have linked such a classification to
the ways in which writers may signal to the reader the
semantic relations they intend between pieces of text.
One pair of linguists who went further down the
classificatory road and at the same time further
from the interactive starting point is William Mann
and Sandra Thompson (1986, 1987; Mann et al.,
1992), whose rhetorical structure theory (RST) grew
explicitly out of the work of Winter, Jordan (1984),
Hoey, and Beekman and the Callows. Like Crombie,
Mann and Thompson took great care to formalize
and categorize relations and in common with all the
linguists so far mentioned, they were driven by a
practical goal, in this case the automatic generation
of text as well as the automatic processing of text
within a systemic-functional tradition.
One of the major features of Mann and Thompson’s
adaptation of clause relations is that relations are
typically asymmetric, with one member being central
(the nucleus) and the other being more marginal (the
satellite). The relation operates between spans of text
and within spans of text. White’s (1998) account of
the orbital structure of newspaper texts would at first
sight be supportive of their position, in that he argued
that news stories are organized in terms of a series of
satellites all relating back to an initial sentence or
sentences that report the core news. White’s analysis
was not, however, apparently compatible with RST in
another respect, as will be explained below.
478 Clause Relations
Mann and Thompson, with Matthiessen, argued
for a hierarchical analysis of texts:
Texts are organized such that elementary parts are com-
posed into larger parts, which in turn are composed into
yet larger parts up to the scale of the whole text. (Mann
et al., 1992)
This assumption, which they noted is not the only
possible assumption one might make, is helpful
because it reminds us that chunks of text may relate
to other chunks. It also forces a fuller and more
systematic examination of the relations in a text.
A hierarchical view of clause relations is present also
in the work of Gottfried Graustein and Wolfgang
Thiele (1981, 1987, etc.), East German linguists
who independently developed the notion of configu-
rations of clause relations but were apparently un-
known in the American tradition, though in contact
from the late 1970s with Winter and his colleagues.
Like Mann and Thompson, Graustein and Thiele saw
text as hierarchically organized, but they made great-
er, and more clearly separate, use than Mann and
Thompson of culturally popular patterns such as
the problem–solution pattern (see Problem-Solution
Patterns).
To show the way a hierarchical analysis can work
(though without representing it in accordance with
the terms and diagrammatic style of either Mann and
Thompson or Graustein and Thiele), it is worth con-
sidering again the biology extract we analyzed earlier,
which, though it has an apparently straightforward
hierarchical organization, permits demonstration of
the problems that a strict hierarchical view of the
organization of text brings.
The first division into flowerless and flowering
plants seems to license a first analysis into two blocks,
the first block corresponding to the account of the
flowerless plants, i.e., the thallophytes, bryophytes,
and pteridophytes, and the second of course the
account of the flowering plants (see Figure 3).
What Figure 3 claims is that the passage is divisible
into two uneven chunks, the first comprising a gener-
al overview of the topic (the preview), the second the
particulars of the topic (the details); Winter would
have labeled this relation the general–particular rela-
tion. The details in turn are divisible into two (again
uneven) chunks in a matching contrast relation be-
tween the three chunks of text concerned with the
description of thallophytes, bryophytes, and pterido-
phytes and the block of text concerned with the de-
scription of flowering plants. As already intimated,
the first chunk is further divisible into three subsec-
tions relating to three types of flowerless plants, in
which the focus is equally on what they share (their
compatibility) and where they differ (contrast). Each
of these subsections is analyzable on similar lines
until all the clauses are accounted for.
All these relations are justifiable in terms of the
signals that the writer has incorporated into his text.
The initial division into preview and details is estab-
lished by the repetition of the headings with their
Roman numerals and typographical distinctiveness.
The contrast is explicitly signaled in advance by the
word divided and the phrase two great groups, and
also in the chunks themselves by two parallel
questions being answered: what subclasses of
flowerless/flowering plants are there, and how do
they reproduce? The compatibility relations amongst
the three sections on the flowerless plants are signaled
by the kinds of repetition patterning that were being
illustrated earlier. In short, such an analysis works
and indicates both the way a text may be hierarchi-
cally organized and the way in which relations may
occur between blocks of language.
The problem that the strictly hierarchical position
has is that Figure 3 does not reflect all the relations in
the text. While the flowering plants section undoubt-
edly stands in a contrast relation with the preceding
three flowerless plants sections, it is also stands in a
separate relation of compatibility with the last of the
three flowerless plants sections, the pteridophytes.
This can be shown in a similar fashion as previously
in Figure 4.
The relations of compatibility and contrast in
Figure 4 are no different from those we find between
the sections devoted to the thallophytes and bryo-
phytes, and indeed it would be possible to argue on
linguistic evidence for a hierarchical analysis that
represented the second stage as in Figure 5.
Figure 3 A partial hierarchical analysis of a passage of text.

Figure 4 Patterns of repetition and replacement in two sentences from the botany passage.
Figure 5 An alternative (partial) hierarchical analysis of the
botany passage.
The hierarchical model of clause relations also
assumes that all texts conform to a particular mono-
logue model. White’s work on news stories, referred
to above, would seem fundamentally incompatible
with the hierarchical assumption of RST; my account
of colony texts such as dictionaries and encyclopedias
(Hoey, 1986, 2001) also challenged the assumption,
though it is possible to represent such texts as a
shallow hierarchy.
All of this work has been influential and RST in
particular still has many adherents, but the study of
clause relations, and their use in analysis (as opposed
to the use of culturally popular patterns, which are
related to clause relations in a variety of ways [see
Problem-Solution Patterns]), is perhaps no longer
central to text linguistics. Except in a crude and lim-
ited fashion, they are not part of the armory of tools
used in systemic-functional linguistics despite RST’s
close relationship to that model, which has after all a
textual dimension. Nor are they used in critical dis-
course analysis, perhaps the most productive branch
of written discourse analysis at the present time;
Fairclough (1989) provided a helpful list of analytical
tools that might be brought to bear upon a text, and
clause relational analysis is not among them. Clause
relations are not much used in contemporary stylis-
tics, although Winter, Hoey (e.g., Hoey and Winter,
1982), Coulthard (1990), and other linguists have
made effective use of the concept in the past. It is
not that the concept has been rejected but that it has
slipped out of use.
Clause Relations 479
The reasons for this relative current neglect are
probably fourfold. In the first place, clause relational
analysis is time consuming. Secondly, it is often hard
to allocate a particular pair of clauses (or groups of
clauses) to a particular category of relationship with
confidence. Thirdly, it is often sufficient to know that
an analysis can be done without needing to do it; a
detailed analysis of a text may be true but unrevealing.
Finally, and most importantly, clause relational analysis
is, as currently normally conceived, text centered rather
than writer/reader centered. As we have seen, Winter’s
original definition placed clause relations in the inter-
pretation of text by a reader, not in the text itself,
though a later definition by Hoey and Winter (1986:
188) tried, perhaps unsuccessfully (and certainly clum-
sily), to define clause relations both in terms of the
reader and in terms of the textual product:
A clause relation is the cognitive process, and the products
of that process, whereby the reader interprets the meaning
of a clause, sentence, or group of sentences in the context
of one or more preceding clauses, sentences, or groups of
sentences in the same discourse. It is also the cognitive
process, and the product of that process, whereby the
choices the writer makes from grammar, lexis, and into-
nation in the creation of a clause, sentence or group of
sentences are made in the context of the other clauses,
sentences, or groups of sentences in the discourse.
Widdowson (2004) emphasized that text does not
have meaning on its own but that readers find mean-
ing in texts on the basis of context and what they bring
to the text. In such terms, any attempt to find the
semantic structure of a text is inherently misguided.
This is not to say that a text never contains clause
relations independently of the reader’s interpretation –
the writer may have chosen to signal explicitly the
relation that he or she perceived between two pieces
of text – but it is to say that there is no single analysis
possible of any text unless, improbably, every possible
semantic relation has been explicitly signaled within
it. Readers may differ both in the relations they find in
a text and in the inventory of relations they have
available to them for processing the text. Consider
480 Clause Relations
again the first two sentences of the passage about
Shakespeare’s final year: ‘‘At the beginning of 1616
Shakespeare’s health was failing. He directed Francis
Collins, a solicitor of Warwick, to draft his will, but,
though it was prepared for signature on January 25,
it was for the time laid aside.’’ They were represented
as standing in a cause–consequence relation. But that
is one reader’s interpretation and is not explicitly
signaled in the text. It would be open to another reader
to read these as in the relation of simultaneity (a special
sequence relation in which time sequence is denied), in
which Shakespeare’s decision to draft a will may have
been unconnected with his failing health. I prefer my
reading but the other reading has to be accounted
for. The future of clause relational analysis must there-
fore lie in a closer integration with reading theory.
Attempts to determine a single semantic structure
may be misguided but attempts to find possible se-
mantic structures are not. It would be unfortunate if
the insights clause relational analysis offers were lost
for lack of any attempt to bring it up to date.
See also: Causatives: Semantics; Coherence: Psycholin-
guistic Approach; Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic
Approaches; Connectives in Text; Discourse Markers;
Discourse Processing; Discourse Semantics; Functional
Discourse Grammar; Macrostructure; Popularizations;
Problem-Solution Patterns; Reading Processes in Adults;
Rhetorical Structure Theory; Systemic Theory; Tagmemics;
Text and Text Analysis; Text World Theory.
Bibliography
Ballard D L, Conrad R J & Longacre R E (1971). ‘The deep
and surface grammar of interclausal relations.’ Founda-
tions of Language 7, 70–118.
Beekman J (1970a). ‘Propositions and their relations within
a discourse.’ Notes on Translation 37, 6–23.
Beekman J (1970b). ‘A structural display of propositions in
Jude.’ Notes on Translation 37, 27–31.
Beekman J & Callow J (1974). Translating the Word of
God. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.
Callow K & Callow J (1992). ‘Text as purposive communi-
cation: a meaning-based analysis.’ In Mann & Thompson
(eds.). 5–37.
Coulthard M (ed.) (1986). Talking about text: studies pre-
sented to David Brazil on his retirement. Birmingham:
English Language Research.
Coulthard M (1990). ‘Matching relations in Borges’ ‘‘La
Muerte y la Brujula’’: an exercise in literary stylistics.’
Lenguas Modernas 17, 57–62.
Crombie W (1985a). Discourse and language learning: a
relational approach to syllabus design. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Crombie W (1985b). Process and relation in discourse and
language learning. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Fairclough N (1989). Language and power. London:
Longman.
Graustein G & Thiele W (1981). ‘Principles of text analy-
sis.’ Linguistische Arbeitsberichte 31, 3–29.
Graustein G & Thiele W (1987). Properties of English
texts. Leipzig: VEB Verlag.
Hoey M (1983). On the surface of discourse. London:
George Allen & Unwin.
Hoey M (1986). ‘The discourse colony: a preliminary study
of a neglected discourse type.’ In Coulthard (ed.). 1–26.
Hoey M (2001). Textual interaction. London: Routledge.
Hoey M & Winter E O (1982). ‘Believe me for mine
honour: a stylistic analysis of the speeches of Brutus and
Mark Antony at Caesar’s funeral in Julius Caesar, Act III,
Scene 2, from the point of view of discourse construc-
tion.’ Language & Style 14(4), 315–339.
Hoey M & Winter E O (1986). ‘Clause relations and the
writer’s communicative task.’ In Couture B (ed.) Func-
tional approaches to writing: research perspectives.
London: Frances Pinter. 120–141.
Huddleston R, Hudson R, Winter E & Henrici A (1968).
Sentence and clause in scientific English, report of the
research project ‘The Linguistic Properties of Scientific
English.’ Unpublished report, Department of General
Linguistics, University College London.
Jordan M P (1983). ‘Complex lexical cohesion in the Eng-
lish clause and sentence.’ In Manning A, Martin P &
McCalla K (eds.) The tenth LACUS forum. Columbia,
SC: Hornbeam Press. 224–234.
Jordan M P (1984). Rhetoric of everyday English texts.
London: George Allen & Unwin.
Jordan M P (1985). ‘Some relations of surprise and expec-
tation in English.’ In Hall B (ed.) The eleventh LACUS
forum. Columbia, SC: Hornbeam Press. 263–273.
Jordan M P (1988). ‘Some advances in clause relational
theory.’ In Benson J D & Greaves W S (eds.) Systemic
functional approaches to discourse. Norwood, NJ:
Ablex. 282–301.
Jordan M P (1990). ‘Clause relations within the anaphoric
nominal group.’ In Jordan M P (ed.) The 16th LACUS
forum. Lake Bluff, IL: LACUS. 409–419.
Jordan M P (1992). ‘An integrated three-pronged analysis of
a fund-raising letter.’ In Mann & Thompson (ed.). 171–226.
Longacre R (1972). Hierarchy and universality of discourse
constituents in New Guinea languages: discussion and
texts. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press.
Longacre R (1976). An anatomy of speech notions. Lisse,
Belgium: Peter de Ridder Press.
Longacre R (1979). ‘The paragraph as a grammatical unit.’
In Givón T (ed.) Syntax and semantics 12: Discourse and
syntax. New York: Academic Press. 115–134.
Longacre R (1983). The grammar of discourse. New York:
Plenum Press.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (1986). ‘Relational proposi-
tions in discourse.’ Discourse Processes 9(1), 57–90.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (1987). Rhetorical structure
theory: a theory of text organization. Technical report,
Information Sciences Institute, University of Southern
California.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (eds.) (1992). Discourse
description: diverse linguistic analyses of a fund-raising
text. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

Mann W C, Matthiessen C M I M & Thompson S A (1992).
‘Rhetorical structure theory and text analysis.’ In Mann
& Thompson (eds.). 39–78.
White P (1998). Telling media tales: the news story as
rhetoric. Unpublished Ph. D., University of Sydney.
Widdowson H (2004). Text, context, pretext. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Winter E (1971). ‘Connection in science material: a
proposition about the semantics of clause relations.’ In
Science and technology in a second language:
papers from a seminar held at the University of
Birmingham from 27th to 29th March 1971. Lon-
don: Centre for Information on Language Teaching.
41–52.
Clause Structure in Spoken Discourse
J Miller, University of Auckland, Auckland,
New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Clauses in unplanned speech are simpler than clauses
in planned writing, which can be edited. The differ-
ences lie in the simplicity of noun phrases (NPs) and
in where less-than-simple NPs are positioned in
clauses; in the lack of to-clauses, ing-clauses, and
complement clauses in subject position and their
abundance at the end of clauses; in the absence of
sentences; and in constructions that are typical of
unplanned speech or planned writing (although a
good number of constructions are typical of both).
The constructions typical of unplanned speech are
regarded as reflecting its general characteristics,
especially the lack of editing time, the limitations of
short-term memory, and the fact that information
is signaled not just by the verbal component of lan-
guage but also by nonverbal components such as
gesture, pitch and amplitude, and voice quality.
Not all analysts agree that unplanned speech has
simpler clause structure (e.g., Halliday, 1989), but the
disagreements can be explained in terms of formality
(setting, topic, and participants). Greater formality
generally leads to more complex language. Speakers
also differ from one another. Speakers with long ex-
posure to written texts produce complex language in
unplanned speech. And the more experience speakers
have of unplanned speaking in formal situations, the
more likely they are to produce complex language.
NPs as a Measure of Complexity
Complexity is measured by two properties: the num-
ber of words in a phrase and of phrases in a clause,
Clause Structure in Spoken Discourse 481
Winter E (1979). ‘Replacement as a fundamental function of
the sentence in context.’ Forum Linguisticum 4, 95–133.
Winter E (1982). Towards a contextual grammar of En-
glish. London: George Allen & Unwin.
Winter E (1986). ‘Clause relations as information structure:
two basic text structures in English.’ In Coulthard (eds.).
88–108.
Winter E (1992). ‘The notion of unspecific versus specific as
one way of analysing the information of a fund-raising
letter.’ In Mann & Thompson (eds.). 131–170.
Winter E (1994). ‘Clause relations as information structure:
two basic text structures in English’ (revised reprint). In
Coulthard M (ed.) Advances in written text analysis.
London: Routledge. 46–68.
and the depth of embedding. NPs provide a good
illustration. Miller and Weinert (1998: 146) found
that in a sample of monologue, 50% of the NPs
consisted of a pronoun and another 7% consisted of
a single nonpronominal word. When NPs consisting
only of a numeral (give me two please) or a quantifier
(I’d like more) were counted, the percentage of one-
word NPs rose to 64. Few NPs contained other con-
stituents: 5.6% of the NPs contained an adjective,
6% contained a prepositional phrase (the car outside
the house), and 3.2% contained a relative clause.
There were no complex NPs, that is, NPs containing
a combination of these constituents, as in a new pro-
posal from the agency, which is likely to be rejected.
In contrast, an analysis of the NPs in the letters to
a newspaper (see Miller and Weinert 1998: 154)
showed that 19.7% contained adjectives and 18.8%
contained prepositional phrases (every telephone ex-
change in the country). Only 3% contained relative
clauses, but 3% were complex, as in a rigorous and
valid examination on applied economics that consists
of three papers.
Counting alone is not sufficient; where types of
NPs occur in clauses is also important. The main
tendency is clear: in subject position speakers use
simple NPs. In Thompson’s data (1988), the subject
NPs of transitive clauses did not have adjectives, al-
though some subject NPs of intransitive clauses did.
(Transitive clauses have object NPs and are more
complex; intransitive clauses do not have object
NPs.) In Miller and Weinert’s spoken data (1998),
no adjectives occurred in subject NPs; Crystal
(1979: 164) found that in the conversations in the
London-Lund Corpus, 77% of the clauses had as
subject a pronoun or an ‘empty’ word such as it
or there. The pattern is confirmed in Biber et al.
(1999: 235–237).

Mann W C, Matthiessen C M I M & Thompson S A (1992).
‘Rhetorical structure theory and text analysis.’ In Mann
& Thompson (eds.). 39–78.
White P (1998). Telling media tales: the news story as
rhetoric. Unpublished Ph. D., University of Sydney.
Widdowson H (2004). Text, context, pretext. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Winter E (1971). ‘Connection in science material: a
proposition about the semantics of clause relations.’ In
Science and technology in a second language:
papers from a seminar held at the University of
Birmingham from 27th to 29th March 1971. Lon-
don: Centre for Information on Language Teaching.
41–52.
Clause Structure in Spoken Discourse
J Miller, University of Auckland, Auckland,
New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Clauses in unplanned speech are simpler than clauses
in planned writing, which can be edited. The differ-
ences lie in the simplicity of noun phrases (NPs) and
in where less-than-simple NPs are positioned in
clauses; in the lack of to-clauses, ing-clauses, and
complement clauses in subject position and their
abundance at the end of clauses; in the absence of
sentences; and in constructions that are typical of
unplanned speech or planned writing (although a
good number of constructions are typical of both).
The constructions typical of unplanned speech are
regarded as reflecting its general characteristics,
especially the lack of editing time, the limitations of
short-term memory, and the fact that information
is signaled not just by the verbal component of lan-
guage but also by nonverbal components such as
gesture, pitch and amplitude, and voice quality.
Not all analysts agree that unplanned speech has
simpler clause structure (e.g., Halliday, 1989), but the
disagreements can be explained in terms of formality
(setting, topic, and participants). Greater formality
generally leads to more complex language. Speakers
also differ from one another. Speakers with long ex-
posure to written texts produce complex language in
unplanned speech. And the more experience speakers
have of unplanned speaking in formal situations, the
more likely they are to produce complex language.
NPs as a Measure of Complexity
Complexity is measured by two properties: the num-
ber of words in a phrase and of phrases in a clause,
Clause Structure in Spoken Discourse 481
Winter E (1979). ‘Replacement as a fundamental function of
the sentence in context.’ Forum Linguisticum 4, 95–133.
Winter E (1982). Towards a contextual grammar of En-
glish. London: George Allen & Unwin.
Winter E (1986). ‘Clause relations as information structure:
two basic text structures in English.’ In Coulthard (eds.).
88–108.
Winter E (1992). ‘The notion of unspecific versus specific as
one way of analysing the information of a fund-raising
letter.’ In Mann & Thompson (eds.). 131–170.
Winter E (1994). ‘Clause relations as information structure:
two basic text structures in English’ (revised reprint). In
Coulthard M (ed.) Advances in written text analysis.
London: Routledge. 46–68.
and the depth of embedding. NPs provide a good
illustration. Miller and Weinert (1998: 146) found
that in a sample of monologue, 50% of the NPs
consisted of a pronoun and another 7% consisted of
a single nonpronominal word. When NPs consisting
only of a numeral (give me two please) or a quantifier
(I’d like more) were counted, the percentage of one-
word NPs rose to 64. Few NPs contained other con-
stituents: 5.6% of the NPs contained an adjective,
6% contained a prepositional phrase (the car outside
the house), and 3.2% contained a relative clause.
There were no complex NPs, that is, NPs containing
a combination of these constituents, as in a new pro-
posal from the agency, which is likely to be rejected.
In contrast, an analysis of the NPs in the letters to
a newspaper (see Miller and Weinert 1998: 154)
showed that 19.7% contained adjectives and 18.8%
contained prepositional phrases (every telephone ex-
change in the country). Only 3% contained relative
clauses, but 3% were complex, as in a rigorous and
valid examination on applied economics that consists
of three papers.
Counting alone is not sufficient; where types of
NPs occur in clauses is also important. The main
tendency is clear: in subject position speakers use
simple NPs. In Thompson’s data (1988), the subject
NPs of transitive clauses did not have adjectives, al-
though some subject NPs of intransitive clauses did.
(Transitive clauses have object NPs and are more
complex; intransitive clauses do not have object
NPs.) In Miller and Weinert’s spoken data (1998),
no adjectives occurred in subject NPs; Crystal
(1979: 164) found that in the conversations in the
London-Lund Corpus, 77% of the clauses had as
subject a pronoun or an ‘empty’ word such as it
or there. The pattern is confirmed in Biber et al.
(1999: 235–237).
482 Clause Structure in Spoken Discourse
In unplanned speech subject NPs do not normally
contain infinitives (e.g., to see Naples and die would
be idiotic) or gerunds, whether simple gerunds such as
seeing Vesuvius erupting was the highlight of the trip
or complex gerunds such as their missing the eruption
of Vesuvius was unfortunate. Biber et al. (1999: 754)
found that to-clauses and ing-clauses (infinitives and
gerunds) are relatively rare in conversation.
Complement clauses occur in unplanned speech,
but not in subject NPs; examples such as that she
was leaving the company came as a surprise to every-
one are rare. Instead, in spoken English we find the
construction called extraposition, which allows
speakers to place infinitives, gerunds, and comple-
ment clauses at the end of clauses. It is called extra-
position, the name reflecting the idea that the
infinitives, gerunds, and complement clauses are real-
ly the subject but are out of position, as in it would
be idiotic to see Naples and die, the highlight of the
trip was seeing Vesuvius erupt, it came as a surprise
to everyone that she was leaving the company. The
construction allows speakers to produce the main
predication, as in it would be idiotic and it came as
a surprise, and to add the phrase specifying what it
refers to. It is often analyzed as a dummy or empty
subject pronoun; for unplanned speech it is tempting
to analyze it as having a referent, one which has to be
specified by the infinitive, and so on.
In many languages speakers avoid complex subject
NPs by means of a construction consisting of an NP
followed by a clause, as in the guy that tried to lift
it he nearly dropped it on his foot. The speaker prod-
uces a complex NP which is not part of a clause – the
guy that tried to lift it – and then produces the clause
conveying information about the referent of the NP –
he nearly dropped it. The initial NP need not be very
complex; compare the driver you get a laugh with him,
from the Edinburgh Corpus of Spoken Scottish English.
A very common construction in unplanned speech
is it’s unfair what they’re doing to the union and it
is unreasonable what she suggests. This construction
allows the speaker to produce a clause containing
the information that something is unfair or unreason-
able and then to produce an NP specifying the some-
thing. As in the examples above, the complex NP is
not integrated into a clause.
Number of Modifiers in Clauses
In unplanned speech there are severe limitations on
the number of phrases modifying a verb in a single
clause. Highly literate speakers can produce clauses
such as the duckling was killed by the farmer for
his wife at dawn near the duck pond with a .357
Magnum. In fact, clauses in unplanned spoken
English typically contain just one or two NPs, subject
and direct object, with at most three NPs: he killed
the duckling and he killed the duckling with his
.357 Magnum. An account of the event in unplanned
spoken English will be along the lines of the farmer
went to the duck pond at dawn; he took his .357
Magnum and shot a duckling for his wife.
The number of modifiers in clauses is affected by
the distinction between given and new information.
The constituents conveying given information (that
is, information handled as being available to the
listener) are regularly ellipted. Consider the following
sequence from the Edinburgh Corpus of Spoken
Scottish English. One participant asks what’s he going
to do anyway that boy? The reply is play golf; both
he and ‘s going to have been ellipted.
What is merely typical in unplanned spoken
English is obligatory in some languages that are spo-
ken only. Munro and Gordon (1982: 111) suggested
that in the Native American language Chickasaw,
clauses can have only two modifiers per verb, and
Lichtenberk made a similar comment with respect
to the Austronesian language Toqabaqita (To’abaita)
(Solomon Islands).
The number of modifiers is relevant to construc-
tions expressing different perspectives on transitivity.
Most clauses in unplanned speech and in formal
writing are active, although the proportion of passive
clauses increases in dense informative texts such as
academic monographs and textbooks. Such texts do
contain long passives such as this scientist was criti-
cized by theologians; unplanned speech contains very
few long passives but does offer short passives, such
as this scientist was criticized.
Clause Structures (Un)Typical of
Unplanned Speech
Certain clause constructions are quite untypical
of spontaneous speech. These include gapping (Jim
washed and Margaret dried the dishes), accusative
and infinitive (we consider her to be the best candi-
date), possessive gerunds (his having resigned before
he even took up the post astonished everyone), free
participles (browsing in the bookshop, I came across a
book on Peter the Great), and participial phrases/
reduced relative clauses (the book rejected by the pub-
lisher, the plane sitting on the runway at Heathrow).
In general there are fewer finite subordinate clauses
in unplanned speech than in planned writing. Miller
and Weinert (1998: 90–93) found that 25% of all
the finite clauses in their conversational data were
subordinate. Almost the same percentage occurred
in fiction (26%), but a broadsheet newspaper had
41%, and a semiacademic journal 45%.

Finite adverbial clauses present a complex pattern.
Thompson (1988) found the highest proportion of
finite adverbial clauses in informal speech but looked
only at monologues. Greenbaum and Nelson (1995:
186) found a low percentage of finite adverbial
clauses in spoken English, a higher percentage in
informal written texts, and the highest in formal
written texts, but analyzed monologues, broadcast
discussions, and conversation.
Adverbial clauses of condition, reason, and time
are most frequent in speech, but what appear to be
clauses of condition and reason are regularly used
as main clauses. Commands are issued via ‘condi-
tional’ clauses: if you just put the parcel on the
table. Reason clauses behave like main clauses, even
allowing tag questions, which are excluded from
subordinate clauses: cos it’s too dear, isn’t it. In
Miller and Weinert’s data, concessions are expressed
by means of main clauses ending in though: you won’t
find many dogs here though. Another construction
currently in regular use in unplanned speech looks
like an adverbial clause of concession, e.g., although
you won’t find many dogs here. Such clauses may be
separated from surrounding clauses by a very long
pause and do not combine with a main clause to
form a ‘sentence’ or clause combination. The essential
property of the construction is that although is
uttered with a separate intonation and separated by
a long pause from the main part of the clause. These
occurrences of although look more like discourse
particles than subordinating conjunctions.
Clefting in Spoken Discourse
Á Di Tullio, Universidad del Comahve, Neuquén,
Argentina
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Syntactic Structure of Cleft Constructions
Among sentences that overtly exhibit the informa-
tional functions of their constituents, cleft construc-
tions are special in that they achieve this effect by
means of syntactic devices: the copula and a subordi-
nator. As the informational functions of a constituent
are concerned with its contribution to the insertion of
the sentence in a given discourse, the information
supplied by the context may be considered from two
different angles: ground/focus and presupposition/
assertion. The information that the speaker regards
as active in the mental world of the listener is distin-
guished from the one introduced as new, on the one
Clefting in Spoken Discourse 483
See also: Coordination; Influence of Literacy on Language
Development; Relative Clauses; Sentence Fragmenta-
tion: Stylistic Aspects; Subordination.
Bibliography
Beaman K (1984). ‘Coordination and subordination revis-
ited: syntactic complexity in spoken and written narra-
tive discourse.’ In Tannen D (ed.) Coherence in spoken
and written discourse. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. 45–80.
Biber D, Johansson S, Leech G et al. (1999). Longman gram-
mar of spoken and written English. London: Longman.
Crystal D (1979). ‘Neglected grammatical factors in
conversational English.’ In Greenbaum S, Leech G &
Svartvik J (eds.) Studies in English linguistics. London:
Longman. 153–166.
Greenbaum S & Nelson G (1995). ‘Nuclear and peripheral
clauses in speech and writing.’ In Melchers G & Warren B
(eds.) Studies in Anglistics. Stockholm: Almqvist and
Wiksell International. 181–190.
Halliday M A K (1989). Spoken and written language.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Huddleston C D & Pullum G (2002). The Cambridge gram-
mar of the English language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Miller J & Weinert W (1998). Spontaneous spoken lan-
guage: syntax and discourse. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Munro P & Gordon L (1982). ‘Syntactic relations in Western
Muskogean: a typological perspective’ Language 58, 81–115.
Thompson S A (1988). ‘A discourse approach to the cross-
linguistic category ‘‘adjective.’’’ In Hawkins J A (ed.)
Explaining linguistic universals. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
167–185.
hand, and what is presented as granted or assumed
from what is presented as prominent, on the other. In
cleft constructions, the copula be and the subordina-
tor are employed to focus a constituent, while placing
the others in the background. Although the focused
constituent is syntactically highlighted, it does not
always provide new information.
‘Cleft’ is a polysemous word: as a cover term it
will be used to refer to all constructions that in-
volve clefting; they will be called ‘cleft constructions.’
It is also used to refer to a specific type of construc-
tion, ‘it-cleft sentence.’ The following are samples
of cleft constructions:
(1a) It was the paper that Jeremy left on the desk
yesterday.
(1b) What Jeremy left on the desk yesterday was
the paper.
(1c) The paper was what Jeremy left on the desk
yesterday.

Finite adverbial clauses present a complex pattern.
Thompson (1988) found the highest proportion of
finite adverbial clauses in informal speech but looked
only at monologues. Greenbaum and Nelson (1995:
186) found a low percentage of finite adverbial
clauses in spoken English, a higher percentage in
informal written texts, and the highest in formal
written texts, but analyzed monologues, broadcast
discussions, and conversation.
Adverbial clauses of condition, reason, and time
are most frequent in speech, but what appear to be
clauses of condition and reason are regularly used
as main clauses. Commands are issued via ‘condi-
tional’ clauses: if you just put the parcel on the
table. Reason clauses behave like main clauses, even
allowing tag questions, which are excluded from
subordinate clauses: cos it’s too dear, isn’t it. In
Miller and Weinert’s data, concessions are expressed
by means of main clauses ending in though: you won’t
find many dogs here though. Another construction
currently in regular use in unplanned speech looks
like an adverbial clause of concession, e.g., although
you won’t find many dogs here. Such clauses may be
separated from surrounding clauses by a very long
pause and do not combine with a main clause to
form a ‘sentence’ or clause combination. The essential
property of the construction is that although is
uttered with a separate intonation and separated by
a long pause from the main part of the clause. These
occurrences of although look more like discourse
particles than subordinating conjunctions.
Clefting in Spoken Discourse
Á Di Tullio, Universidad del Comahve, Neuquén,
Argentina
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Syntactic Structure of Cleft Constructions
Among sentences that overtly exhibit the informa-
tional functions of their constituents, cleft construc-
tions are special in that they achieve this effect by
means of syntactic devices: the copula and a subordi-
nator. As the informational functions of a constituent
are concerned with its contribution to the insertion of
the sentence in a given discourse, the information
supplied by the context may be considered from two
different angles: ground/focus and presupposition/
assertion. The information that the speaker regards
as active in the mental world of the listener is distin-
guished from the one introduced as new, on the one
Clefting in Spoken Discourse 483
See also: Coordination; Influence of Literacy on Language
Development; Relative Clauses; Sentence Fragmenta-
tion: Stylistic Aspects; Subordination.
Bibliography
Beaman K (1984). ‘Coordination and subordination revis-
ited: syntactic complexity in spoken and written narra-
tive discourse.’ In Tannen D (ed.) Coherence in spoken
and written discourse. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. 45–80.
Biber D, Johansson S, Leech G et al. (1999). Longman gram-
mar of spoken and written English. London: Longman.
Crystal D (1979). ‘Neglected grammatical factors in
conversational English.’ In Greenbaum S, Leech G &
Svartvik J (eds.) Studies in English linguistics. London:
Longman. 153–166.
Greenbaum S & Nelson G (1995). ‘Nuclear and peripheral
clauses in speech and writing.’ In Melchers G & Warren B
(eds.) Studies in Anglistics. Stockholm: Almqvist and
Wiksell International. 181–190.
Halliday M A K (1989). Spoken and written language.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Huddleston C D & Pullum G (2002). The Cambridge gram-
mar of the English language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Miller J & Weinert W (1998). Spontaneous spoken lan-
guage: syntax and discourse. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Munro P & Gordon L (1982). ‘Syntactic relations in Western
Muskogean: a typological perspective’ Language 58, 81–115.
Thompson S A (1988). ‘A discourse approach to the cross-
linguistic category ‘‘adjective.’’’ In Hawkins J A (ed.)
Explaining linguistic universals. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
167–185.
hand, and what is presented as granted or assumed
from what is presented as prominent, on the other. In
cleft constructions, the copula be and the subordina-
tor are employed to focus a constituent, while placing
the others in the background. Although the focused
constituent is syntactically highlighted, it does not
always provide new information.
‘Cleft’ is a polysemous word: as a cover term it
will be used to refer to all constructions that in-
volve clefting; they will be called ‘cleft constructions.’
It is also used to refer to a specific type of construc-
tion, ‘it-cleft sentence.’ The following are samples
of cleft constructions:
(1a) It was the paper that Jeremy left on the desk
yesterday.
(1b) What Jeremy left on the desk yesterday was
the paper.
(1c) The paper was what Jeremy left on the desk
yesterday.
484 Clefting in Spoken Discourse
The sentences in (1) exemplify the two main types of
cleft constructions: (1a) is a cleft sentence (also
named ‘it-cleft’ or ‘true cleft’), and (1b) and (1c) are
pseudocleft sentences (also called ‘wh-cleft’), in their
basic and reversed version, respectively. Cleft and
pseudocleft sentences may be connected to a simpler,
undivided sentence (2):
(2) Jeremy left the paper on the desk yesterday.
Syntactically, cleft constructions are biclausal copula-
tive sentences. Both clauses are linked by a shared
constituent, tacit in the subordinate clause, as direct
object of left, but explicit as complement of the copula
in the matrix clause: the noun phrase (NP) the paper.
(3) It was the paper that Jeremy left on the desk
yesterday.
From a semantic perspective, cleft constructions are
specificational copulative sentences. A description that
predicates on a certain kind of object – Jeremy left
something on the desk – is specified by the focused
constituent, whose referent appears as the only object
that renders it true, namely the paper.
From a pragmatic point of view, cleft constructions
are emphatic copulative constructions, for they con-
tain a focused constituent that corrects a piece of
information of the precedent discourse (an actual sen-
tence or presupposed information). Such focus attains
contrastive meaning because it rejects all other alter-
natives of the same category. The structure of the
subordinate clause reproduces that of the original
sentence:
(4a) Jeremy left the book on the desk yesterday.
(4b) No, it was the paper that Jeremy left on the
desk yesterday.
The complexity of these constructions is evident in
each of the levels, as well as in the intricate relation-
ships holding between them. As a consequence, they
have received continued attention from grammarians,
who are interested in accounting for their syntactic
anomalies, and from pragmaticians, who focus more
on their informative functions. On the other hand,
clefts are sensitive to differences in registers: in collo-
quial English, for example, a pleonastic construction,
such as What Jeremy left on the desk is Jeremy left
a paper, is common at all sociolects; in spoken
Spanish, the most frequent cleft is (Lo que pasa) es
que . . . (‘What happens is that . . . ‘or ‘it is that’), an
explicative resource for the preceding sentence.
The general syntactic characteristics of cleft con-
structions will be analyzed in the next section, starting
from their components: the copula, the subordinate
clause, and the focused constituent. Then the types of
cleft constructions, namely cleft sentences, pseudocleft
sentences, and some other minor types, will be differ-
entiated in English and Spanish. Finally, the discursive
value of cleft constructions in spoken discourse will
be examined.
Cleft Constituents: Configurational Definition and
Process Definition
Cleft constructions can be described in two alternative
ways. In configurational terms, each class denotes
a sentence type consisting of a certain sequence of
constituents in a particular order, which takes the
following form in English:
(a) It-cleft: It þ copula þ focused constituent þ ‘rela-
tive’ clause.
(b) Basic pseudocleft: Free relative clause þ copula þ
focused constituent.
(c) Inverted pseudocleft: Focused constituent þ copula
þ free relative clause.
The it-cleft sentence is characterized by its first seg-
ment: a dummy subject, it, followed by the copula,
and a noncanonical relative. In pseudocleft sentences
the copula occupies an intermediate position between
a free relative clause and the focused constituent.
However, ‘cleft’ is associated with ‘clefting,’ a pro-
cess term. In this sense, it may involve the operation
of splitting an undivided simpler sentence into two
clauses. The three cleft constructions in (1) are differ-
ent expansions of the basic sentence (2). In effect,
sentence (2) describes the same state of things as the
three sentences in (1), expressed via an identical argu-
ment structure, with the same illocutionary force and
truth value. This equivalence holds, regardless of any
commitment to an actual psychological operation
or to a derivational analysis of these constructions.
In fact, the process may be understood as an exposi-
tory device to depict a relationship holding between
sentences.
Each of the complements or adjuncts of the undi-
vided sentence (2) can be cleft. The focused phrase
may be an NP (direct object, or DO, in (1), the subject
in (5a); a prepositional phrase, PP, or an adverbial
phrase, AdvP (5b); or a nontensed (5c) or tensed
clause (5d):
(5a) It was Jeremy who left the paper on the desk
yesterday.
(5b) It was on the desk/yesterday that Jeremy left
the paper.
(5c) What Jeremy did was to leave the paper on
the desk yesterday.
(5d) What happened was that Jeremy left the paper
on the desk yesterday.
In contrast, neither atonic elements (determiners, clit-
ic pronouns, auxiliaries) nor peripheral constituents

(supplement modifiers, disjuncts, vocatives) are cleft.
When the focused constituent is an NP, as in (1), all
three types of cleft constructions are possible.
Clauses, in contrast, are nearly exclusively fore-
grounded by means of basic pseudocleft sentences.
In these, free relatives may introduce lexical units
that are not present in the simpler sentence: the verb
do in (5c) signals that the focused nonfinite clause
is headed by an action verb; the verb happen in
(5d) does not distinguish between types of predicates.
Contrary to the case of pseudocleft sentences,
it-clefts always have undivided correlates. It is possi-
ble to cleave only one constituent (6a), usually lighter
in ‘it-clefts’ or ‘reversed-pseudoclefts’; heavier in
‘basic pseudoclefts,’ with the exception of the com-
bination of a temporal and a locative expression,
which functions as a single constituent, indicating a
spatiotemporal setting:
(6a) *It was the regional paper on the desk that
Jeremy left.
(6b) It was in Malta in 1945 that the treaty was
signed.
Value of the Copula: Specificational Copular
Sentences
The copula be is a relational word that conjoins the
subject and a predicative expression. It provides in-
flectional information, both manifesting subject/
predicate agreement features and indicating the tem-
poral setting of the state or relationship. Three types
of copular sentences are usually identified, as follows.
First, in predicational copular sentences, the predi-
cative complement assigns a property to the referent
of the subject or ascribes it to a class: the grammar
professor is funny/vegetarian/my mother’s neighbor.
Secondly, identificational copulative sentences estab-
lish an identity between two potential referring
expressions. Thus, in the grammar professor is Julia’s
husband/Ignacio/that one, the referent of the subject
is identified as the same person as the referent of
the copular complement. Although the resulting sen-
tence is also grammatical when the order is reversed –
Julia’s husband/Ignacio/that one is the grammar
professor – the change in order entails different inter-
pretations, which are pragmatically justified. If the
listener is able to match both referring expressions,
the complement of the copula becomes referential.
In the third type, specificational sentences, the
identification proceeds in the opposite direction (7a).
It is the one to which cleft constructions belong. The
variable contained in an open proposition is specified
by the referential expression in focus position (7b). As
a consequence of this relation variable/value, the
specification provides two pieces of information that
Clefting in Spoken Discourse 485
the noncopular sentence (2) lacks: the referent of the
focused phrase (thing, person, property, proposition),
whose existence is presupposed, is the only one that
satisfies the description (exhaustivity, [7c]), thus
rejecting all other possible referents (contrastiveness,
[7d]):
(7a) Jeremy left something on the desk: the paper.
(7b) The x such that Jeremy left x on the desk ¼
the paper.
(7c) The paper is the only thing that Jeremy left on
the desk.
(7d) The only thing that Jeremy left on the desk is
the paper, not the book.
Although all cleft constructions are specificational,
pseudoclefts form part of a broader paradigm. The
initial description may be a (semi)free relative clause
or else a definite NP, a general noun perhaps modified
by a superlative expression. The demarcation line
between free relative clauses (or even semifree rela-
tives with demonstrative pronouns) and NPs with a
restrictive modifier is not always neatly drawn cross-
linguistically. In pseudoclefts the relative pronoun
provides only grammatical information on the miss-
ing phrase, but the nominal elements in (8b) add
lexical information: the copular complement may be
an instantiation or hyponym of the subject head:
(8a) The one who left the paper on the desk was
Jeremy.
(8b) The person who left the paper on the desk was
Jeremy.
(8c) The person who read the most papers is Jeremy.
On the contrary, as the three types of copulative
sentences can have free relative clauses as subjects,
ambiguity may arise as regards their predicative or
specificational character, as seen in (9):
(9a) What he told you is fiction.
(9b) What John is is necessary.
The complement of the copula in (9a) may be inter-
preted as evaluative (‘an invention’) or else as a work
of literature; only in the latter case is the sentence
specificational. Sentence (9b) is ambiguous as well: in
its specificational reading, necessary picks up the de-
fining feature of John, and not that of his profession,
as in the predicational interpretation. This type of
ambiguity, frequent in pseudoclefts, is rare in cleft
sentences.
In predicational and identificational copular sen-
tences, the copula has independent temporal informa-
tion: tense situates the predicate in a point in time. In
cleft constructions, copular tense is not an informa-
tive grammatical unit but rather a dependent catego-
ry: it may be a default tense, the present, or a tense
copied from the inflection of the subordinate clause.
486 Clefting in Spoken Discourse
The directionality of this influence also shows that
the copula is not the main verb of the sentence but a
defective verb, almost an auxiliary. However, modal-
ity marks as auxiliaries, tenses, or adverbs can modify
the copula independently of the principal verb: it will/
would be the paper that Jeremy left on the desk.
In the syntactic structure of pseudocleft sentences,
the copulative verb is placed in the habitual position
between the subject and its complement. The posi-
tion of the copula is less canonical in it-clefts. In fact,
the copular segment – it is – appears to be a focalizing
device rather than the matrix clause. The initial cop-
ula does not permit changes in order. This rigidity is
accounted for in terms of the restrictions on copula
position: because it must be adjacent to the focused
constituent, it cannot be final; the ‘relative clause’ can
appear only in final position.
Subordinate Clauses: Relative Pronouns or
Conjunctions
The free relative clauses in pseudoclefts are semanti-
cally versatile constructions, able to represent the
different denotations listed in (10):
(10a) NP non personal: What I need is money.
(10b) PP place: Where he found it was on the desk.
(10c) AdvP time: When I met you was spring.
(10d) AdvP manner: How he fought was
courageously.
(10e) NP or AdjP quality: What he is is a bastard/is
important.
(10f) Verb phrase (VP) action: What he is doing is
hitting the door.
(10g) Clause: What he said is that he is tired of the
noise.
Relative pronouns anticipate the semantic type of the
focused constituent. But in it-clefts, the complementi-
zer that lacks semantic information; in fact, it may
even be empty: it was this paper Jeremy read yester-
day; when the relativized unit is a human noun, the
relative pronouns who, whose, or whom carry gram-
matical information about the case.
It-clefts are not susceptible to a wholly satisfactory
binary analysis: neither It is the paper/that Jeremy
left on the table nor It is/the paper that Jeremy left
on the table is an adequate analysis. In the first seg-
mentation, it is not clear what function the subordi-
nate clause performs. The problem with the second
one is that the focused constituent and the ‘relative’
clause do not form a constituent, as the contrasts in
(11) show:
(11a) It was the paper that Jeremy left on the desk.
(11b) I didn’t find the paper that Jeremy left on the
desk.
(12a) It was Jeremy who left he paper on the desk.
(12b) Jeremy, who left the paper on the desk, has
been looking for it.
Unlike (11b), the ‘relative clause’ in (11a) does not
restrict the antecedent paper, but rather it is an open
clause to be specified. In (12b), the relative clause
is not restrictive, as the comma indicates, while in
(12a) the relative clause after Jeremy is not marked
by means of a separate tonal group as in the non-
restrictive relative clause in (12b) is. Nor is the sub-
ordinate clause a complement clause: there is no
selector word, and it is not a complete sentence for
it contains a missing phrase specified by the focused
constituent, as the contrast with an extraposed
omplement clause portrays (13a and 13b):
(13a) It is unlikely that my son will return this week.
(13b) That my son will return this week is unlikely.
(13c) It is the paper that John left on the desk
yesterday.
(13d) *That John left on the desk yesterday is the
paper.
The subordinate clause in it-clefts is not canonically
relative, nor is it a complement clause, but rather a
focusing modifier, and so a special ‘relative clause’
(thus the use of quotation marks).
The Focused Constituent
It-/wh-clefts present differences regarding the categor-
ial options of the focused constituent. As it-cleft only
permits referential phrases, NPs or PPs, it rejects neg-
ative or universally or existentially quantified phrases,
as well as phrases preceded by a focalizer such as even
or also:
(14a) *It was nobody/somebody/everybody that
came.
(14b) *It is even/also money I need.
The rejected phrases contradict the semantic condi-
tions of cleft constructions: existence, exhaustivity,
and contrastivity. Yet, adverbs like precisely, exactly,
and justly, are perfectly compatible with such con-
tents.
Wh-clefts are less restrictive: the focused constitu-
ent may be not only a referential expression but also
a predicative one: an AdjP or usually a clause. It must
be semantically congruent with the relative pronoun.
On the other hand, the focused constituent of reversed
pseudoclefts differs as much in categorial restrictions
as in their ‘weight’: the cleft constituent, topicalized
as subject, is generally an NP, specifically a pronoun:
(15a) That is what I said.
(15b) Here is where I live.
 Clefting in Spoken Discourse 487

The category and weight of the focalized constituent, (16b) è stato Gianni a dirlo
is been Gianni a to say it
then, in clefts and reversed pseudoclefts, are similar: a
(16c) foi o bolo che comeu Joao
light phrase as an NP, generally pronominal (that), or
was a cake that ate Joao
else a deictic or anaphoric adverb (there, then, so). (16d) *Fue la torta que comió Juan
Basic pseudoclefts usually focalize heavy constituents, *Was the cake that ate Juan
usually clauses. A paradigm such as (1) is possible,
then, only with nominal constituents. Genetically and typologically related languages deploy,
In conclusion, the paradigm in (1) can lead to the then, different strategies (Smits, 1989). Furthermore,
misguided idea of a perfect symmetry among the three cleft constructions are not only interlinguistically
members. Nevertheless, the differences regarding the but also interdialectically divergent, as is the case in
focused constituent displayed by the two versions of Spanish.
pseudoclefts are not dependent only on word order. Additionally, there are marginal varieties of canon-
The most outstanding distinctions are to be found ical clefts and pseudoclefts, particularly in spoken
between it-clefts and the rest of cleft constructions: discourse: reduced clefts, conditional clefts, and in-
the nonreversible order of their constituents and ferential or eventive clefts, which will be presented
their peculiar ‘relative clause.’ These sentences prove below. Other possibilities are also available, such as
unsuitable for dichotomous categories as regards this-cleft, all-cleft, and there-cleft. In spoken French,
constituency, syntactic functions, nature of the avoir-cleft, or presentational cleft (Lambrecht, 1988),
subordinate clause, and value of the copula. Most makes use of segmentation in order to introduce a
of these anomalies arise from their high degree of new referent in a given discourse or as event-reporting
grammaticalization. statements:
(17a) j’ai ma voiture qui est en panne
Types of Cleft Sentences I have my car that is breakdown
‘my car broke down’
The structural realization of informative functions
(17b) y’a le téléphone qui sonne
reflects crosslinguistic diversity. These differences are there-has the telephone that rings
connected to the structural features of languages. In lan- ‘the phone’s ringing’
guages with strict word order, intonation is exploited
for informational purposes: in Germanic languages, in All these varieties are specificational but, as some of
general, nuclear stress falls on the focalized constituent, the typical constituents are missing, they imply a
regardless of the position it occupies. Cleft construc- broader definition of cleft constructions, which not
tions are more sophisticated alternative strategies, for all linguists are open to accepting.
they trigger syntactic mechanisms. Strict word orders
Spanish Clefts and Pseudoclefts
render them useful compensatory devices. In languages
with more flexible word order, the movement of the Spanish pseudocleft sentences admit three possible
focused constituent to initial position – obligatory in orders; grammars call them ‘relative periphrasis’:
Hungarian, optional in others, such as Spanish, Italian,
(18a) fue eso lo que dijo Juan
or Portuguese – does not need clefting; yet, cleft was that what say-PAST 3PERS John
constructions reinforce the focal status of the displaced ‘that was what John said’
constituent. Some nonconfigurational languages – e.g., (18b) lo que dijo Juan fue eso
polysynthetic languages such as Quichua, Toba, and what say-PAST 3PERS John was that
Mapuche (Mapudungan) – lack clefts. ‘that was what John said’
In Spanish or Portuguese, word order on its own (18c) eso fue lo que dijo Juan
does not make it possible to differentiate clefts from that was what say-PAST 3PERS John
pseudoclefts, since the latter present three possible ‘that was what John said’
orderings. In Italian it-clefts, the ‘relative clause’ (16a) When the focused constituent is a personal pronoun,
alternates with the infinitive verb preceded by the it determines the inflectional features of the copula
preposition a (16b) when the focused constituent is an but not those of the verb in the relative clause. In any
agentive subject; in Portuguese and American Spanish, of the orders, the relative pronoun imposes third
only the first option is available. Both Italian and person agreement:
Portuguese admit focused NPs in it-clefts, while in
American Spanish only PP or adverbials are possible: (19a) soy yo la que ha sido acusada
be.PRE I the-FEM that has been accuse-PAST
(16a) è (stato) Gianni che lo ha detto 1SING FEM
is (been) Gianni that has said it ‘I’m the one who’s been accused’
488 Clefting in Spoken Discourse
(19b) la que te miras en el espejo
the-FEM that look yourself at mirror
eres tú
are you
‘the one who is looking at herself in the mirror is
you’
If the focused constituent is a PP, the relative pronoun
reproduces the preposition in all three orders:
(20a) de la que (quien) todos hablan es de la mujer
del presidente
about the one who everybody talks is about the
president’s wife
‘the one everybody talks about is the
president’s wife’
(20b) de la mujer del presidente es de la que (quien)
todos hablan
about the president’s wife is about the one
who everybody talks
‘the president’s wife is the one everybody
talks about’
(20c) es de la mujer del presidente de la que (quien)
todos hablan
is about the president’s wife about the one who
everybody talks
‘it is about the president’s wife that everybody
talks’
Both European Spanish and American Spanish pos-
sess pseudoclefts, yet only American Spanish has real
clefts, which are unacceptable for normative gram-
mars. These (it)clefts, characteristic of spoken dis-
course, are nonreversible constructions in which the
relative clause is introduced by the complementizer
que alone. In these sentences the focused constituent,
a PP or AdvP, can be pre- or post-copular:
(21a) es de la mujer del presidente que todos hablan
is about the president’s wife that everybody
talks
‘it is about the president’s wife that everybody
talks’
(21b) de la mujer del presidente es que todos hablan
about the president’s wife is that everybody
talks
‘it is about the president’s wife that everybody
talks’
A third variety, limited both dialectically and socio-
linguistically, is found in nonstandard registers of
Caribbean Spanish, as well as in Portuguese, especial-
ly Brazilian: in it, the copula becomes a focalizing
device, practically frozen in tense and agreement:
(22a) todos hablan es de la mujer del presidente
everybody talks is about the president’s wife
‘it is the president’s wife everybody talks
about’
(22b) Juan come es papa/papas
John eats is potato/potatoes
‘what John eats is potato(es)’
Truncated Clefts
In spoken discourse, truncated cleft constructions, as
(23), lack subordinate clauses, although the omitted
clause is still recoverable from the context. The miss-
ing information is a cohesive resource and functions
as a means of segmenting the flow of information in
shorter units:
(23a) A. Who left the paper on the desk? B. It was
Jeremy.
(23b) Yesterday two cars crashed head-on. It was on
the bridge.
Spanish and other null subject languages have not
only cleft but also pseudocleft reduced variants.
In (24a) and (24b), the omitted part is the focused
constituent, but as it is a pronominal, this or that, or
an adverbial unit, here or there, it is inferable from
the context or situation. In (24c) the omitted clause is
recoverable from the situational context. The speaker
wants to identify himself as the person who is speak-
ing, on the telephone, for example. Although the verb
is in the first person, the insertion of the personal pro-
noun in preverbal position would be inappropriate in
such a context:
(24a) es lo que yo digo
is that I say
‘that is what I say’
(24b) es donde nos encontramos siempre
is where we meet always
‘that is where we always meet’
(24c) soy Juan
am Juan
‘I am Juan’
Some constructions that have been analyzed as a pecu-
liar type of cleft are those that are reduced to the two
characteristic syntactic devices of clefts, es que (it is
that) in strict adjacency in (25) and interrupted by the
anticipated subject in (26). As reduced versions of
basic pseudoclefts, the focused constituent is the entire
clause; the lack of a variable guiding the interpretation
is compensated for by a specific relationship with the
context: as an explanation, in terms of causes, reasons,
results, or conclusions (Delahunty, 2001; Declerck,
1992a), and as the identification of a perception. It is
precisely by virtue of this relation that they are termed
‘inferential’ (25) and ‘eventive’ (26), respectively.
(25a) ¿por qué no te quedas a comer? – Es que
estoy apurada
‘why don’t you stay for lunch? – it’s because
I’m in a hurry’

(25b) no es que me disguste, sino que no tengo
hambre
‘it is not that I don’t like it, rather I’m not
hungry’
(26a) ¿qué pasa? – Es Juan que acaba de llegar
‘what’s happening? – it’s Juan who’s just
arrived’
(26b) ¿Qué ruido es ese? – Es el teléfono que está
sonando
‘what’s that noise? – it’s the phone ringing’
The sequence es que, which corresponds to é che, c’est
que, it is that, has been analyzed in Spanish as a
conversational marker resulting from a reanalysis
produced by grammaticalization. In fact, a subject
may be added, as eso ‘that,’ la verdad ‘the truth,’ lo
que pasa ‘what happens’: these expressions indicate
the pertinence of the explanation to a previous sen-
tence. However, the cleft status of these sentences is
proved by possible inflectional features of the copula,
modification by means of modal auxiliaries, and the
presence of negation, inducing subjunctive.
Conditional Clefts
The structure of conditionals also provides a seg-
mented syntactic scheme: the copula in the if-clause
foregrounds a particular constituent (27) or else the
whole sentence (28), placed in the main clause:
(27a) si quiere a alguien, es a su hijo
if loves anybody, is to his/her son
‘if there is anyone he/she loves, that is
his/her son’
(27b) si se entusiasma con algo, es con la
computadora
if is enthusiastic with anything, is with the
computer
‘if he/she gets enthusiastic about anything, it
is the computer’
(28a) si dijo eso, es (por)que está resentida
if said that, is because is resented (FEM)
‘if she said that, it is because she feels resentful’
(28b) si lo acepta, es para que la vuelvan a invitar
if accepts it, is for to be invited again
‘if he/she accepts, it is because he/she wants
to be invited again’
These are also specificational sentences, in which the
focused constituent specifies the value of a variable, the
indefinite pronoun situated in the if-clause, but they
differ from clefts in that they are interpreted as high
degree quantified expressions. On the other hand, when
the variable that is specified is an adjunct, it does not
have to be explicit, as can be seen in (28), where the
clause is understood as an explanation, causal in (28a)
and final in (28b).
Clefting in Spoken Discourse 489
In conclusion, the differences between cleft con-
structions in Spanish and English stem from idiosyn-
cratic characteristics of these languages. In European
Spanish, cleft strategies have shown a high degree
of redundancy in pseudoclefts, contrasting with the
economic device in Caribbean Spanish. The copula is
grammaticalized in American Spanish clefts, merely
reinforcing the displacement of focus.
The analysis of the three groups of cleft construc-
tions has allowed us to see that the syntactic device
copula-subordinator foregrounds two types of consti-
tuents: phrasal referential expressions on the one
hand and clausal units on the other. It-clefts and
reversed pseudoclefts foreground referential constitu-
ents. Both types constitute a natural class, as evi-
denced by the lightness of the constituents and the
inverted variable-value order. Basic pseudoclefts are
specialized in focusing clauses, heavy constituents
that occupy the final position according to a fixed
order: first variable, then value.
Reduced versions of each type follow this pattern.
Conditional structure presents both kinds as well.
Yet es que is specialized in focalizing clauses: the
relationship with the context (linguistic or nonlin-
guistic) is necessary to infer the missing link so as to
build up the explanation. The specification of the
value of an entire clause is, then, performed directly
when the variable is supplied in the free relative
clause, or indirectly when it is necessary to infer it
from context. The vagueness and indeterminacy of
texts render this specification not always an easy
task (Sornicola, 1989).
On the other hand, it-cleft sentences are more fre-
quent in written discourse, not only in English but
also in Spanish (Sedano, 1990). The more canonical
character of pseudoclefts explains the wider para-
digm, which includes colloquial constructions such
as What he looked up was he looked up a linguistic
term, semifree relatives (8a), and hyperonyms nouns
modified by relatives (8b).
Cleft Constructions in Spoken Discourse
The focused constituent has been considered so far
as a syntactic constituent of cleft constructions. In
this section, in contrast, it will be analyzed from the
perspective of the informational functions it performs.
The focus of cleft sentences, intonationally and syn-
tactically marked, is involved in two information
partitions: focus/ground and assertion/presupposi-
tion. The first partition is realized through word
order, from what is anchored in the preceding dis-
course or in the situational context to the new infor-
mation. The second partition is expressed in clefts by
490 Clefting in Spoken Discourse
means of the biclausal structure. The subordinate
clause contains the information regarded as presup-
posed, while in the matrix clause, which conveys the
assertion, the focus is the lexical element.
These two information partitions may well coincide
or intertwine. In the first case, the subordinate clause
indicates old-discourse information, GROUND,
while the focused constituent is in charge of the new-
discourse information, FOCUS. That is what generally
occurs in pseudoclefts, as (29) shows:
(29) ‘‘¿Me desvı́o otra vez? No creo, no soy yo el que
se desvı́a, la que se desvı́a es la historia. . . . Lo
que me lleva también a desviarme es la
intensidad, la tragicidad de los hechos que
narro, desbocados todos excesivos.’’
‘Am I diverting again? I don’t think so, it’s not
me who diverts, it is history that diverts. . . .
what leads me to divert is the intensity, the
tragic nature of the events I narrate, bolted, all
excessive’ (Feinman, 2003: 163).
In the succession of cleft constructions that answers
the initial question, the speaker picks up already
uttered words, correcting some – a nominal as well
as a verbal one – and reproducing the rest. The ques-
tion subject is first negated and then taken up in
a semifree relative clause: la que se desvı́a, whose
variable is specified with the referent of the focused
constituent as the value that exhaustively and exclu-
sively satisfies it. In the next sentence, Lo que me lleva
también a desviarme, it is the verb, modified by a
modal, that is reintroduced with contrastive meaning.
In it-clefts, on the contrary, the focus may also
introduce new information (30a) or, in most cases,
establish a relationship with the context, as informa-
tion already introduced in the listener’s ‘mental world’
but syntactically highlighted (30b); in reversed pseu-
doclefts (30c), the focus is topicalized as well as the
subject; thus it is nearly always thematic:
(30a) A. Tiene el doctorado hecho en Estados
Unidos. B. ¿Pero es en Lingüı́stica que era el
doctorado? (Barrenechea, 1971: 2, 13)
A. He/she has finished the Ph.D. in the United
States. B. But, is in linguistics that the Ph.D.
was?
(30b) Buenos Aires era la ciudad centralizadora. Es
esa la imagen que yo tenı́a de Buenos Aires
hasta hace poco
‘Buenos Aires was the centralizing city. It was
the image that I had of Buenos Aires . . .’
(Barrenechea, 1971: 1. III, 59)
(30c) eso fue lo que dijo
‘that was what he said’
In fact, presupposition does not necessarily mean old
discursive information; it can be either old or new
information depending on the order of the constituents
and on the type of cleft construction. The clause usually
contains the new information both in clefts and in
reversed pseudoclefts, their foci generally transmitting
already known or inferable information, as frequently
shown by their pronominal realization. The free rela-
tive clause in basic pseudoclefts, in contrast, tends to
be the cohesive portion.
Thus, focus may be either strongly cohesive or
strongly novel. When it is cohesive, as in clefts and
reversed pseudoclefts, it may lose its contrastive value,
becoming a mere emphatic resource: in fact, (31a)
does not necessarily indicate that the event took
place in that particular year, but rather it is normally
interpreted without a contrastive sense. When the
focalized constituent has discourse-old information,
the relative clause may contain the contrastive value,
shown in paralelism in (31b):
(31a) It was in 1932 when my family immigrated
to Argentina
(31b) It was then when you gave me the paper, not
the keys
Then, the focused constituent is available not only
as a contrastive resource but also as a cohesive or
an emphasizing device. The importance of two infor-
mation partitions comes from the way in which cleft
constructions establish their particular relationship
with the context: when the speaker specifies the value
of a variable, he/she foregrounds a piece of informa-
tion, contrasting with another explicit or inferred
textual piece or acting as if the contrast did exist
actually. Indeed, the metalinguistic nature of cleft
constructions can be explained through this conver-
sational dynamic, which accounts for most of the
syntactic and semantic anomalies detected.
See also: Focus; Foregrounding; Functional Categories;
Information Structure in Spoken Discourse; Relative
Clauses; Syntactic Variation; Thematic Structure.
Bibliography
Baker C L (1989). English syntax. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Barrenechea A (1971). El habla culta de la ciudad de Bue-
nos Aires: materiales (I y II). Buenos Aires: Instituto de
Filologı́a y Literatura Hispánica Dr Amado Alonso.
Bošković Ž (1997). ‘Pseudoclefts.’ Studia linguistica 51(3),
235–277.
Bosque I (1999). ‘Sobre la estructura sintáctica de una
construcción focalizadora.’ In Homenaje a D. Ambrosio
Rabanales. Santiago: Universidad de Chile.
Declerck R (1988). Studies on copular sentences, clefts and
pseudo-clefts. Leuven: Foris.
Declerck R (1992a). ‘The inferential it is that construction
and its congeners.’ Lingua 87, 203–230.

Declerck R (1992b). ‘The taxonomy and interpretation of
clefts and pseudoclefts.’ Lingua 93, 183–220.
Delahunty G (1984). ‘The analysis of English cleft sen-
tences.’ Linguistic Analysis 13, 63–113.
Delahunty G (2001). ‘Discourse functions of inferential
sentences’ Linguistics 39(3), 517–545.
Delahunty G & Gatzkiewicz L (2000). ‘On the Spanish infer-
ential construction ser que.’ Pragmatics 10(3), 301–322.
Di Tullio A (1990). ‘Sobre hendidas y pseudohendidas.’
Revista de lengua y literatura 7, 3–16.
Doherty M (2001). ‘Discourse functions and language-
specific conditions for the use of cleft(-like) sentences: a
prelude.’ Linguistics 39(3), 457–462.
Feinman J P (2003). La crı́tica de las armas. Buenos Aires:
Grupo Editorial Norma.
Fernández Leborans M J (2001). ‘Sobre formas de ambi-
güedad de las oraciones escindidas: sintaxis y discurso.’
E. L. U. Alicante 15, 285–305.
Grevisse M (1993). Le bon usage (13th edn.). Paris-Louvain-
la-Neuve: Duculot.
Guitart J (1989). ‘On Spanish cleft sentences.’ In Kirschner
C & DeCesaris J (eds.) Studies in Romance linguistics.
Amsterdam-Philadelphia: Benjamins. 129–137.
Huddleston R & Pullum G (2002). The Cambridge gram-
mar of the English language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Kany C (1972). Sintaxis hispanoamericana. Madrid: Gredos.
Kiss E (1999). ‘The English cleft construction as a focus
phrase.’ In Mereu L (ed.) Boundaries of morphology and
syntax. John Benjamins: Amsterdam. 217–230.
Knowles J (1986). ‘The cleft sentence: a base-generated
perspective.’ Lingua 69, 295–317.
Clitics
A D Caink, University of Westminster, London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Term and Definitions
The term clitic is used in traditional grammar for a
word or particle that cannot bear accent or stress and
leans on an adjacent accented word (from Greek
kli:no ‘lean’). It includes both enclitic and proclitic
elements. An enclitic morph joins to the end of an
adjacent word, such as the reduced form of the English
auxiliary verb have in (1), which is cliticized to the
subject pronoun. It cannot appear in the question in
(2) because it lacks a host to its left. A proclitic element
attaches to the beginning of a word, such as the
reduced form of the English auxiliary verb do in (3):
(1) they’ve decided against it.
(2) * ‘ve they decided against it?
(3) d’you need to decide today?
Clitics 491
Kovacci O (1991). ‘Sobre la estructura de la forma de
relieve con ser y proposición relativa.’ Voz y letra II 1,
39–49.
Lambrecht K (1988). ‘Presentational cleft constructions in
spoken French.’ In Haiman J & Thompson S A (eds.)
Clause combining in grammar and discourse. Amster-
dam: Benjamins. 135–179.
Lambrecht K (2001). ‘A framework for the analysis of cleft
constructions.’ Linguistics 39(3), 463–516.
Longobardi G (1987). ‘Las oraciones copulativas en la
teorı́a sintáctica actual.’ In Demonte V & Fernández
Lagunilla M (eds.) Sintaxis de las lenguas románicas.
Madrid: El Arquero.
Moreno Cabrera J C (1999). ‘Las funciones informativas:
las perı́frasis de relativo y otras construcciones perifrásti-
cas.’ In Bosque I & Demonte V (eds.) Gramática descrip-
tiva de la lengua española 3: Tı́tulo del volumen individual
(si lo hubiera). Madrid: Espasa-Calpe. 4245–4301.
Sedano M (1990). Hendidas y otras construcciones con ser
en el habla de Caracas. Caracas: Universidad Central de
Venezuela.
Sedano M (2003). ‘Seudohendidas y oraciones con verbo
ser localizador en dos corpus del español hablado de
Caracas.’ Revista Internacional de Lingüı́stica Iberoa-
mericana I(1), 175–204.
Smits R J C (1989). Eurogrammar: the relative and cleft
constructions of the Germanic and Romance languages.
Dordrecht: Foris.
Sornicola R (1989). ‘It-clefts and Wh-clefts: two awkward
sentence types.’ Journal of Linguistics 24, 343–378.
Vallduvı́ E & Engdahl E (1996). ‘The linguistic realization
of information packaging.’ Linguistics 34, 459–519.
Some clitics may be proclitic in one context and enclitic
in another, such as in Macedonian, where pronominal
clitics are proclitic on the finite verb (4a) and enclitic
on the gerund (4b) (see Franks and King, 2000).
(4a) mi ja dadoa smetka-ta
me.DAT it.ACC gave.3.PL bill-DEF
‘They gave me the bill’
(4b) davajki mi ja smetka-ta, . . .
give.GER me.DAT it.ACC bill-DEF
‘Giving me the bill, . . .’
Items that are clitic vary across languages but are
always grammatical (or functional) words and thus
members of closed classes in that they cannot be
coined (Emonds, 1985: Chap. 4); they may include
auxiliary verbs, pronouns (as in many Indo-European
languages), question particles (Slavic -li in (9) or
Finnish -ko in Nevis, 1988: 9), negative particles
(Slavic verbal negation ne -in (9)), and conjunctions

Declerck R (1992b). ‘The taxonomy and interpretation of
clefts and pseudoclefts.’ Lingua 93, 183–220.
Delahunty G (1984). ‘The analysis of English cleft sen-
tences.’ Linguistic Analysis 13, 63–113.
Delahunty G (2001). ‘Discourse functions of inferential
sentences’ Linguistics 39(3), 517–545.
Delahunty G & Gatzkiewicz L (2000). ‘On the Spanish infer-
ential construction ser que.’ Pragmatics 10(3), 301–322.
Di Tullio A (1990). ‘Sobre hendidas y pseudohendidas.’
Revista de lengua y literatura 7, 3–16.
Doherty M (2001). ‘Discourse functions and language-
specific conditions for the use of cleft(-like) sentences: a
prelude.’ Linguistics 39(3), 457–462.
Feinman J P (2003). La crı́tica de las armas. Buenos Aires:
Grupo Editorial Norma.
Fernández Leborans M J (2001). ‘Sobre formas de ambi-
güedad de las oraciones escindidas: sintaxis y discurso.’
E. L. U. Alicante 15, 285–305.
Grevisse M (1993). Le bon usage (13th edn.). Paris-Louvain-
la-Neuve: Duculot.
Guitart J (1989). ‘On Spanish cleft sentences.’ In Kirschner
C & DeCesaris J (eds.) Studies in Romance linguistics.
Amsterdam-Philadelphia: Benjamins. 129–137.
Huddleston R & Pullum G (2002). The Cambridge gram-
mar of the English language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Kany C (1972). Sintaxis hispanoamericana. Madrid: Gredos.
Kiss E (1999). ‘The English cleft construction as a focus
phrase.’ In Mereu L (ed.) Boundaries of morphology and
syntax. John Benjamins: Amsterdam. 217–230.
Knowles J (1986). ‘The cleft sentence: a base-generated
perspective.’ Lingua 69, 295–317.
Clitics
A D Caink, University of Westminster, London, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Term and Definitions
The term clitic is used in traditional grammar for a
word or particle that cannot bear accent or stress and
leans on an adjacent accented word (from Greek
kli:no ‘lean’). It includes both enclitic and proclitic
elements. An enclitic morph joins to the end of an
adjacent word, such as the reduced form of the English
auxiliary verb have in (1), which is cliticized to the
subject pronoun. It cannot appear in the question in
(2) because it lacks a host to its left. A proclitic element
attaches to the beginning of a word, such as the
reduced form of the English auxiliary verb do in (3):
(1) they’ve decided against it.
(2) * ‘ve they decided against it?
(3) d’you need to decide today?
Clitics 491
Kovacci O (1991). ‘Sobre la estructura de la forma de
relieve con ser y proposición relativa.’ Voz y letra II 1,
39–49.
Lambrecht K (1988). ‘Presentational cleft constructions in
spoken French.’ In Haiman J & Thompson S A (eds.)
Clause combining in grammar and discourse. Amster-
dam: Benjamins. 135–179.
Lambrecht K (2001). ‘A framework for the analysis of cleft
constructions.’ Linguistics 39(3), 463–516.
Longobardi G (1987). ‘Las oraciones copulativas en la
teorı́a sintáctica actual.’ In Demonte V & Fernández
Lagunilla M (eds.) Sintaxis de las lenguas románicas.
Madrid: El Arquero.
Moreno Cabrera J C (1999). ‘Las funciones informativas:
las perı́frasis de relativo y otras construcciones perifrásti-
cas.’ In Bosque I & Demonte V (eds.) Gramática descrip-
tiva de la lengua española 3: Tı́tulo del volumen individual
(si lo hubiera). Madrid: Espasa-Calpe. 4245–4301.
Sedano M (1990). Hendidas y otras construcciones con ser
en el habla de Caracas. Caracas: Universidad Central de
Venezuela.
Sedano M (2003). ‘Seudohendidas y oraciones con verbo
ser localizador en dos corpus del español hablado de
Caracas.’ Revista Internacional de Lingüı́stica Iberoa-
mericana I(1), 175–204.
Smits R J C (1989). Eurogrammar: the relative and cleft
constructions of the Germanic and Romance languages.
Dordrecht: Foris.
Sornicola R (1989). ‘It-clefts and Wh-clefts: two awkward
sentence types.’ Journal of Linguistics 24, 343–378.
Vallduvı́ E & Engdahl E (1996). ‘The linguistic realization
of information packaging.’ Linguistics 34, 459–519.
Some clitics may be proclitic in one context and enclitic
in another, such as in Macedonian, where pronominal
clitics are proclitic on the finite verb (4a) and enclitic
on the gerund (4b) (see Franks and King, 2000).
(4a) mi ja dadoa smetka-ta
me.DAT it.ACC gave.3.PL bill-DEF
‘They gave me the bill’
(4b) davajki mi ja smetka-ta, . . .
give.GER me.DAT it.ACC bill-DEF
‘Giving me the bill, . . .’
Items that are clitic vary across languages but are
always grammatical (or functional) words and thus
members of closed classes in that they cannot be
coined (Emonds, 1985: Chap. 4); they may include
auxiliary verbs, pronouns (as in many Indo-European
languages), question particles (Slavic -li in (9) or
Finnish -ko in Nevis, 1988: 9), negative particles
(Slavic verbal negation ne -in (9)), and conjunctions
492 Clitics
(Latin -que ‘and’). There are no clitic forms for open-
class items such as the lexical noun wood, despite
the homophony with the modal auxiliary would (cf.
I’d really like that).
In formal research, the term clitic is often used to
refer only to pronominal clitics as in (4) that have
proved to be of particular interest in terms of phonol-
ogy, morphology, and syntax and the interfaces be-
tween these components of the grammar. A clitic
cluster is formed when clitic elements in a language
appear adjacent to one another, usually in a strict
order and often in a fixed position in the clause,
even in apparently free–word order languages. In
some formal approaches, the clitic cluster may be a
primitive of the system with its own rules of clitic
order (e.g., Perlmutter, 1971). For many (particularly
syntactic) approaches to clitic placement, clitic cluster
is a descriptive term, an epiphenomenon of the
prosodic properties of clitics and their placement.
In some languages, the position of the clitic cluster
is restricted to the second position in the sentence,
termed the Wackernagel position after the German
19th-century philologist (Wackernagel, 1892). The
second position varies across languages between
‘following the first phonological word’ (e.g., Ancient
Greek; Kaisse, 1985: 80) and ‘following the first
constituent’ (e.g., Finnish; see Nevis, 1988: 19).
Other languages allow for both second positions
(e.g., Luiseño (Uto-Aztecan); see Kaisse, 1985: 85).
To some extent, this is true of Serbo-Croatian, a
language whose second position has attracted much
debate in recent years (Bošković, 2001: 12):
(5a) taj čovek je volio Milenu.
that man aux.3.SG loved Milena
‘that man loved Milena’
(5b) taj je čovek volio Milenu.
that aux.3.SG man loved Milena
‘that man loved Milena’
The clitic auxiliary je follows the first constituent in
(5a) and the first phonological word in (5b). Recent
research on Serbo-Croatian demonstrates that the
clitic cluster is restricted from intervening within
some initial constituents, that there is substantial
native speaker variation, and that the size of the clitic
cluster is a factor (see Bošković, 2001: Chap. 2). For
cross-linguistic debate on second-position phenome-
na see articles in Halpern and Zwicky (1996) and for
Slavic generally see Franks and King (2000).
A distinction is made between syntactic cliticiza-
tion and prosodic cliticization. Hence, in the sequence
A – b – C where b is a clitic, it may be the case that
b is syntactically proclitic on C, but prosodically
enclitic on A, for example, the Australian language
Nganhcara (Klavans, 1985: 104–105) and Bulgarian
(see (9)) (Franks and King, 2000: 63).
Affixes, Words, and Clitics
The fundamental characteristic of clitics is that in
some ways they behave like affixes (e.g., the past
tense affix –d on the verb in (1)) and in some ways
they behave like independent words (Sapir, 1930:
70–71), with much cross-linguistic variation. For ex-
ample, affixes are highly restricted as to their host,
whereas words tend to subcategorize for phrases, if
at all. Pronominal clitics in many Indo-European
languages are similarly restricted to appearing on a
verb (as in Bulgarian (9) and French (10)), but this
contrasts with Serbo-Croatian pronominal clitics,
which do not distinguish between the category of
host (see (5) and (7)). Similarly, the English posses-
sive ’s is dependent on whatever the last word of the
preceding noun phrase happens to be (the man I saw’s
hat; that man I gave a dollar to’s hat). As a result, it can
be termed a phrasal affix.
Also, affixes are subject to word-internal phono-
logical processes to which adjacent words are not
subject. In Macedonian, the antepenultimate stress
rule exemplified in žénata ‘the wife’ is followed
even when the possessive clitic ti ‘your’ is added
to form ženáta-ti ‘your wife’; the clitic appears to be
part of the phonological word in the same way as a
suffix, and the stress shifts accordingly (see Spencer,
1991: 360). Yet, in Latin, the enclitic -que ‘and’ is
not subject to the rule that assigns main stress in a
word. This rule does not ordinarily assign primary
stress to the penultimate syllable if it is strong, but
primary stress still appears on the strong penulti-
mate syllable in the word þ clitic rosáque ‘and the
rose (NOM)’ (Nespor and Vogel, 1986: 115–116; for
other word-internal rules in relation to clitics, see
Kayne, 1975: 85, and Nespor and Vogel, 1986:
Chap. 5).
Affixes generally appear in a strict order, and, if this
order varies at all, then there is a concomitant change
in meaning. Most languages with a clitic cluster have
an equally rigid ordering. However, Catalan allows
freedom in the ordering of some pronominal clitics
(Bonet, 1991: 67):
(6) te ’m van recomanar
you.DAT/ACC me.ACC/DAT PAST recommend
per a aquesta feina
for to job
‘they recommended me to you for this job’ or
‘they recommended you to me for this job’
 Clitics 493

Syntactic rules of ellipsis never apply to affixes. For status of clitics. Some argue that there is a distinct
example, in Amali played baseball and Yasmin soccer, category of clitic group within the prosodic hierarchy
the missing verb is understood through identity with between the phonological word and the phonological
the first verb, but the affix –d cannot similarly be phrase (Nespor and Vogel, 1986). Much recent pro-
recovered: *Amali danced the tango and Yasmin play sodic literature rejects the need for a special category,
soccer. This holds true of most clitics, but recent evi- some arguing that a given language may have more
dence suggests that for some speakers at least, than one representation of its clitics and distinct treat-
pronominal clitics in Serbo-Croatian may undergo ments for proclitics and enclitics (see references in
ellipsis: Gerlach and Grijzenhout, 2000: 2–8).
(7) ona mu ga je dala
she him.DAT it.ACC aux.3SG gave Typology of Clitics
a i ja sam mu ga dala The clitics in (1)–(3) appear in a subset of the set of
and also I AUX. him. it.ACC gave positions in which their corresponding full forms ap-
1.SG DAT
pear (see Kaisse, 1985: 43 for a further discussion of
‘she gave it to him, and I did too’
English auxiliaries). In other words, they exhibit no
Here both the pronominal clitic mu ‘him’ and the distinct syntactic behavior; their position may be
lexical verb dala ‘gave’ may undergo ellipsis (Franks derived from the syntax. These are termed simple cli-
and King, 2000: 336). tics in Zwicky (1977). In contrast, the pronominal
It is generally accepted that, if a morpheme comes clitics in examples (4)–(10) appear in a different
between a stem and an affix, it must be itself an affix syntactic position than their full-form equivalents.
(Zwicky, 1977), yet Portuguese pronominal clitics That is, whereas the clitic l’ ‘him’ in the French exam-
appear between the verb stem and the tense-affix ple (10a) precedes the verb, the full form lui ‘him’
morpheme (Spencer, 1991: 366): appears in the subcategorized argument position fol-
(8) levá -lo -ei lowing the verb (10b). Clitics with such idiosyncratic
raise -it.ACC -aux.fut syntax and phonological forms distinct from their
‘I will raise it’ full-form alternants are termed special clitics in
Zwicky (1977). (A third distinction in Zwicky, 1977,
In Portuguese, the lexical phonological rules treat the
that has not been widely adopted is the bound word, a
future ending like an inflectional affix, and it only
clitic without any apparent full-form alternant, such
appears on the verb. This may be related to the fact
as Latin -que ‘and’).
that historically the future ending was a clitic auxilia-
ry that has become an affix (cf. French j’aimerai ‘I Special Clitics
will love’; see Spencer, 1991: Chap. 9).
The principal interest in special clitics and particular-
The inability to bear accent or stress, a common
ly pronominal clitics has been to account for their
feature of affixes, is not always a feature of clitics. In
syntactic position and relation to the full-form posi-
Bulgarian, the pronominal clitic mu ‘him’ bears stress
tions. Kayne (1975) first argued that the relation was
(Hauge, 1976: 30):
one of movement in French:
(9) ne mú li go kaza?
not him.DAT Q it.ACC said.3.SG (10a) Jean l’ aime e
‘didn’t he tell him it?’ John him.ACC loves
‘John loves him’
The proclitic ne ‘not’ forms a prosodic word with the
enclitic mu ‘him’ that bears stress. This word then (10b) Jean n’ aime que lui
Jean NEG loves only him.ACC
serves as a host for both the question particle li and
‘it’s only him that Jean loves’
go ‘it’ (see Klavans, 1982, for further examples of
accented clitics). Indeed, it has been suggested that In (10a), the clitic is base-generated in argument po-
some clitics do not require a host at all, for example, sition e and moved to its surface position. (10b) has
the Dutch prepositional er ‘there’ (Riemsdijk, 1978, the full-form alternant lui ‘him’ in the post-verbal
1999). For diagnostics for distinguishing clitics from argument position. Issues addressed within the move-
affixes, see Zwicky and Pullum (1983); for the clitic ment approach include the questions of why the
versus word distinction, see Zwicky (1985). movement is generally clause-bound and why, in
For phonology and morphology, a principal inter- some Romance and Balkan languages, clitics asso-
est is therefore in the definition of a word and the ciated with the argument structure of a subordinate
494 Clitics
predicate may appear in the main clause (clitic climb-
ing). Consider the Italian sentence:
(11) Piero ti verrà a parlare
Piero you.DAT come.FUT to speak.INF
di parapsicologia
of parapsychology
‘Piero will come to speak to you about
parapsychology’
Approaches have tended either to focus on the ty-
pology of movements (head vs. phrasal movement;
A vs. A0 movement) or to argue that the structure
in (11) is formally monoclausal in some way (see
Rizzi, 1982, and articles in Riemsdijk, 1999). In
Bare Phrase Structure (Chomsky, 1995), when a
phrase dominates only a pronominal clitic, the clitic
is formally both a maximal and minimal projection
and thus able to move as either.
Clitic movement differs from more traditional
examples of movement because the form of the
moved element differs from that of the unmoved
element. Also, in some South American Spanish
dialects (Borer, 1984: 16), the clitic duplicates a
phrase in argument position (called clitic doubling
in Jaeggli, 1982):
(12) lo vimos a Juan.
him.ACC see.PRET.1.PL to Juan
‘we saw Juan’
The clitic has been seen as absorbing the case and
theta-assigning properties of the verb, forcing the
need for a preposition (the Kayne-Jaeggli generaliza-
tion; see Jaeggli, 1982; Borer 1984, 1986). However,
there is no preposition in other cases of clitic doubling
such as Macedonian example (4) (clitic doubling is
common in the Balkan languages, Romanian, Greek,
and Albanian, and in South Slavic; see articles in
Riemsdijk, 1999; Beukema and Dikken, 2000). One
recent reformulation suggests that the clitic is gener-
ated as part of the functional structure of the subcat-
egorized phrase (e.g., as D) and moves independently
of the overt phrase (e.g., Torrego, 1998).
Alternatively, pronominal clitics are argued to be
base-generated in the surface position with an
appropriate mechanism relating the clitic to the
empty category in argument position (e.g., Borer,
1984; articles in Riemsdijk, 1999). With the rise of a
more articulated functional hierarchy, a popular ac-
count has been to see clitics as agreement morphemes
heading functional projections with arguments
raising to check features (e.g., Sportiche, 1995).
Attempts to account for second-position clitics
are many and varied, from the purely phonological
treatment through to the purely syntactic. Increasingly,
accounts involve a combination of components, such
as modification of the syntactic output at the phono-
logical or morphological form (either through move-
ment or the selective spell-out of movement copies;
see articles in Halpern and Zwicky, 1996; for variable
spell-out in, mainly, Slavic, see Bošković, 2001).
Morphologists and Optimality theoretic app-
roaches have often pursued clitics as phrasal affixes,
usually with a wider cross-linguistic coverage.
Klavans (1982, 1985) and Anderson (1992) position
clitics via three parameters: (1) the choice of host as
an initial or final element in a phrase (2) preceding or
following the host, and (3) whether the item is pro-
clitic or enclitic. Optimality theoretic approaches
have proven particularly effective in capturing the
various competing constraints with respect to clitic
placement cross-linguistically (see Anderson, 1996;
Franks and King, 2000; articles in Gerlach and
Grizenhout, 2000).
For an introduction focusing on morphology, see
Spencer (1991: Chap. 9); for significant reviews of the
field and key approaches, see Borer (1986), Riemsdijk
(1999), and Gerlach and Grizenhout (2000).
See also: Affixation; A-Morphous Morphology; Ellipsis;
Functional Categories; Lexical Functional Grammar; Min-
imalism; Morpheme; Morphology: Optimality Theory;
Noun Phrases; Phonology: Optimality Theory; Rule Order-
ing and Derivation in Phonology; Transformational Gram-
mar: Evolution; Uto-Aztecan Languages; Wackernagel,
Wilhelm (1806–1869); Word; Word Classes/Parts of
Speech: Overview; Word Formation; Word Stress.
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bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Anderson S R (1996). ‘How to get your clitics in place or
why the best account of second-position phenomena may
be something like the optimal one.’ Linguistic Review 13,
165–191.
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Bonet E M (1991). Morphology after syntax: Pronominal
clitics in Romance. Ph.D. diss., MIT.
Borer H (1984). Studies in generative grammar 13: Para-
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Borer H (1986). Syntax and semantics 19: The syntax of
pronominal clitics. Orlando, FL: Academic Press.
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Emonds J E (1985). A unified theory of syntactic categories.
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Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Halpern A & Zwicky A (1996). Approaching second posi-
tion: Second position clitics and related phenomena.
Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications.
Hauge K R (1976). The word order of predicate clitics in
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Institutt.
Jaeggli O (1982). Topics in Romance syntax. Dordrecht:
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Kaisse E (1985). Connected speech: The interaction of syn-
tax and phonology. Orlando, FL: Academic Press.
Kayne R (1975). Current studies in linguistics 6: French
syntax: The transformational cycle. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Klavans J (1982). Some problems in a theory of
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tics Club.
Klavans J (1985). ‘The independence of syntax and phonol-
ogy in cliticization.’ Language 61, 95–120.
Nespor M & Vogel I (1986). Prosodic phonology.
Dordrecht: Foris.
Nevis J A (1988). Finnish particle clitics and general clitic
theory. New York: Garland Publishing.
Clothing: Semiotics
M Danesi, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Like any other object or artifact, we interpret
‘clothes’ as signs that stand for such things as the
personality, the social status, and overall character
of the wearer. This is why semioticians talk of ‘dress
codes’ as particular types of social codes – systems of
signs that cohere to provide information about how
to dress for an occasion. Clothing is more than just
bodily covering for protection. It is a sign system that
is interconnected with the other sign systems of a
society through which such emotions, states, and
variables as attitudes, gender, age, social status, polit-
ical beliefs, etc. can be encoded. This is why uniforms
are required by special groups such as sports teams,
military organizations, religious institutions, and the
like. These encode specific kinds of meanings.
Since Roland Barthes’ (1915–1980) study of fash-
ion as a sign system in Système de la mode (1967),
‘clothing semiotics,’ as it is sometimes called,
has become a popular area of inquiry both within
Clothing: Semiotics 495
Perlmutter D (1971). Deep and surface structure con-
straints in syntax. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Wilson.
Riemsdijk H C van (1978). A case study in syntactic mark-
edness. Dordrecht: Foris.
Riemsdijk H C van (ed.) (1999). Empirical approaches to
language typology: Clitics in the languages of Europe.
The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter.
Rizzi L (1982). Issues in Italian syntax. Dordrecht: Foris.
Sapir E (1930). ‘Southern Paiute, a Shoshonean language.’
Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and
Sciences 65, 1.
Spencer A (1991). Morphological theory. Oxford: Black-
well.
Sportiche D (1995). ‘Clitic constructions.’ In Rooryck J &
Zaring L (eds.) Phrase structure and the lexicon.
Dordrecht: Kluwer. 213–276.
Torrego E (1998). Linguistic Inquiry monographs 34: The
dependencies of objects. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Wackernagel J (1892). ‘Űber ein Gesetz der Indo-
Gemanischen Wortstellung.’ Indogermanische Forschun-
gen 1, 333–436.
Zwicky A (1977). On clitics. Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Linguistics Club.
Zwicky A (1985). ‘Clitics and particles.’ Language 61,
283–305.
Zwicky A & Pullum G (1983). ‘Cliticization vs. inflection:
English n’t.’ Language 59, 502–513.
semiotics (e.g., Rubinstein, 1995; Danesi, 2004) and
in cognate disciplines such as anthropology and
psychology (e.g., Davis, 1992; Enninger, 1993;
Craik, 1993; Hollander, 1988, 1994; McRobbie,
1988; Steele, 1995; Luciano, 2000).
Bodies, Clothes, and Dress
People do not perceive bodies merely as biological
substances; they are perceived also as signs of Self-
hood (Goffman, 1959). For this reason, the human
body has been subject to varying interpretations
across history and across cultures. In ancient Greece,
for example, the body was glorified as a source of
pleasure; in ancient Rome, on the other hand, it was
viewed as a source of moral corruption. The Christian
church has always played on the duality of the body
as a temple and as an enemy of the spirit.
Because clothes are worn on bodies, they are per-
ceived as extensions of bodily meanings and are thus
tied to varying cultural interpretation. This does not
imply that clothes have basic social functions across
societies. As the anthropologist Helen Fisher (1992:
253–254) observes, even in the jungle of Amazonia,
Yanomamo men and women wear clothes for sexual

Franks S & King T H (2000). A handbook of Slavic clitics.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Gerlach B & Grijzenhout J (eds.) (2000). Linguistics today
36: Clitics in phonology, morphology and syntax.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Halpern A & Zwicky A (1996). Approaching second posi-
tion: Second position clitics and related phenomena.
Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications.
Hauge K R (1976). The word order of predicate clitics in
Bulgarian. Oslo: Universitetet i Oslo, Slavisk-Baltisk
Institutt.
Jaeggli O (1982). Topics in Romance syntax. Dordrecht:
Foris.
Kaisse E (1985). Connected speech: The interaction of syn-
tax and phonology. Orlando, FL: Academic Press.
Kayne R (1975). Current studies in linguistics 6: French
syntax: The transformational cycle. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Klavans J (1982). Some problems in a theory of
clitics. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Linguis-
tics Club.
Klavans J (1985). ‘The independence of syntax and phonol-
ogy in cliticization.’ Language 61, 95–120.
Nespor M & Vogel I (1986). Prosodic phonology.
Dordrecht: Foris.
Nevis J A (1988). Finnish particle clitics and general clitic
theory. New York: Garland Publishing.
Clothing: Semiotics
M Danesi, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Like any other object or artifact, we interpret
‘clothes’ as signs that stand for such things as the
personality, the social status, and overall character
of the wearer. This is why semioticians talk of ‘dress
codes’ as particular types of social codes – systems of
signs that cohere to provide information about how
to dress for an occasion. Clothing is more than just
bodily covering for protection. It is a sign system that
is interconnected with the other sign systems of a
society through which such emotions, states, and
variables as attitudes, gender, age, social status, polit-
ical beliefs, etc. can be encoded. This is why uniforms
are required by special groups such as sports teams,
military organizations, religious institutions, and the
like. These encode specific kinds of meanings.
Since Roland Barthes’ (1915–1980) study of fash-
ion as a sign system in Système de la mode (1967),
‘clothing semiotics,’ as it is sometimes called,
has become a popular area of inquiry both within
Clothing: Semiotics 495
Perlmutter D (1971). Deep and surface structure con-
straints in syntax. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Wilson.
Riemsdijk H C van (1978). A case study in syntactic mark-
edness. Dordrecht: Foris.
Riemsdijk H C van (ed.) (1999). Empirical approaches to
language typology: Clitics in the languages of Europe.
The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter.
Rizzi L (1982). Issues in Italian syntax. Dordrecht: Foris.
Sapir E (1930). ‘Southern Paiute, a Shoshonean language.’
Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and
Sciences 65, 1.
Spencer A (1991). Morphological theory. Oxford: Black-
well.
Sportiche D (1995). ‘Clitic constructions.’ In Rooryck J &
Zaring L (eds.) Phrase structure and the lexicon.
Dordrecht: Kluwer. 213–276.
Torrego E (1998). Linguistic Inquiry monographs 34: The
dependencies of objects. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Wackernagel J (1892). ‘Űber ein Gesetz der Indo-
Gemanischen Wortstellung.’ Indogermanische Forschun-
gen 1, 333–436.
Zwicky A (1977). On clitics. Bloomington, IN: Indiana
University Linguistics Club.
Zwicky A (1985). ‘Clitics and particles.’ Language 61,
283–305.
Zwicky A & Pullum G (1983). ‘Cliticization vs. inflection:
English n’t.’ Language 59, 502–513.
semiotics (e.g., Rubinstein, 1995; Danesi, 2004) and
in cognate disciplines such as anthropology and
psychology (e.g., Davis, 1992; Enninger, 1993;
Craik, 1993; Hollander, 1988, 1994; McRobbie,
1988; Steele, 1995; Luciano, 2000).
Bodies, Clothes, and Dress
People do not perceive bodies merely as biological
substances; they are perceived also as signs of Self-
hood (Goffman, 1959). For this reason, the human
body has been subject to varying interpretations
across history and across cultures. In ancient Greece,
for example, the body was glorified as a source of
pleasure; in ancient Rome, on the other hand, it was
viewed as a source of moral corruption. The Christian
church has always played on the duality of the body
as a temple and as an enemy of the spirit.
Because clothes are worn on bodies, they are per-
ceived as extensions of bodily meanings and are thus
tied to varying cultural interpretation. This does not
imply that clothes have basic social functions across
societies. As the anthropologist Helen Fisher (1992:
253–254) observes, even in the jungle of Amazonia,
Yanomamo men and women wear clothes for sexual
496 Clothing: Semiotics
modesty. A Yanomamo woman would feel as much
discomfort and agony at removing her vaginal string
belt as would a North American woman if one were
to ask her to remove her underwear. Similarly, a
Yanomamo man would feel just as much embarrass-
ment at his penis accidentally falling out of its encase-
ment, as would a North American male caught
literally ‘with his pants down.’ As these cross-cultural
comparisons bring out, clothing the body for social
presentation is fundamentally a reflex of basic human
functions. It is, in fact, intrinsically intertwined with
sexual, romantic, and courtship functions throughout
the world. When a young Zulu woman falls in love,
she is expected to make a beaded necklace resembling
a close-fitting collar with a flat panel attached, which
she then gives to her boyfriend. Depending on the
combination of colors and bead pattern, the necklace
will convey a specific type of romantic message: e.g.,
a combination of pink and white beads in a certain
pattern would convey the message You are poor, but
I love you just the same (Dubin, 1987: 134).
At a biological level, clothes have a very important
function indeed – they enhance survivability consi-
derably. This is the level of denotation in semiotic
theory – the level at which a referent is tied to its bio-
logical function. Clothes are, denotatively, human-
made extensions of the body’s protective resources,
perceived as additions to our protective bodily hair
and skin thickness. As Werner Enninger (1992: 215)
aptly points out, this is why clothing styles vary
according to geography: ‘‘The distribution of types
of clothing in relation to different climatic zones and
the variation in clothes worn with changes in weather
conditions show their practical, protective function.’’
But, it is also a fact that clothes take on a whole range
of connotations in specific social settings that have
little to do with survival. Connotations are meanings
that accrue in cultural context over time, leading to
the formation of ‘dress codes’ (from Old French
dresser ‘to arrange, set up’) that inform people
about how to clothe themselves in social situations.
To someone who knows nothing about Amish cul-
ture, the blue or charcoal Mutze of the Amish male is
just a jacket. But to the Amish the blue Mutze signals
that the wearer is between 16 and 35 years of age, and
the charcoal one signals that he is over 35. Similarly,
to an outsider the Russian kalbak appears to be a
brimless red hat. To a rural Russian, however, it
means that the wearer is a medical doctor.
It is interesting to note, too, that dress codes, like
other types of codes, can be used to lie about oneself.
Con artists and criminals can dress in three-piece suits
to look trustworthy, a crook can dress like a police
officer to gain a victim’s confidence, and so on. To
discourage people from deceiving others through
clothing, some societies have even enacted laws that
prohibit misleading dressing, defining strictly who
can dress in certain ways. In ancient Rome, for
instance, only aristocrats were allowed to wear pur-
ple-colored clothes, and in many religiously oriented
cultures, differentiated dress codes for males and
females are regularly enforced.
Dress Codes
The broad range of connotations associated with
dress codes is inextricably interconnected with social
trends and political movements. Until the early
1950s, females in Western culture rarely wore pants.
The one who ‘wore the pants’ in a family meant,
denotatively and connotatively, that the wearer was
a male. With the change in social role structures
during the 1950s and 1960s, women began to wear
pants regularly, sending out the new social messages
that this entailed. The reverse situation has never
transpired. Except in special ritualistic circumstances
– such as the wearing of a Scottish kilt – men have
never adopted wearing women’s skirts in modern-day
Western society. If they ever do, it would probably be
labeled an act of ‘transvestitism.’
Dressing for social reasons is a universal feature of
human cultures. Even in cold climates, some people
seem more interested in decorating their bodies than
in protecting them. In the 1830s, British biologist
Charles R. Darwin (1809–1882) traveled to the
islands of Tierra del Fuego, off the southern tip of
South America. There he saw people who wore only a
little paint and a small cloak made of animal skin, in
spite of the cold rain and the sleet. Darwin gave the
people scarlet cloth, which they took and wrapped
around their necks, rather than wear it around the
lower body for warmth. Even in the cold weather, the
people wore clothing more for decoration than for
protection.
No one knows exactly why or when people first
wore clothes. Estimates trace the origin of clothing to
100 000 years ago. Archeological research suggests
that prehistoric hunters may have worn the skin of a
bear or a reindeer in order to keep warm or as a sign
of personal skill, bravery, and strength. By the end of
the Old Stone Age – about 25 000 years ago – people
had invented the needle, which enabled them to sew
skins together. They had also learned to make yarn
from the threadlike parts of some plants or from the
fur or hair of some animals. In addition, they had
learned to weave yarn into cloth. At the same time,
people had begun to raise plants that gave them a
steady supply of materials for making yarn. They
had also started to herd sheep and other animals
that gave them wool.

From the outset, it appears that clothes were worn
not only for protection, but also for various social
reasons. Shamans, for example, have always worn
special clothing to indicate who they are. This con-
tinues to be the case for all kinds of clerics today. Dress
also conveys people’s beliefs, feelings, and general
approach to life. Confident people often show more
independence in choosing their style of dress than do
those who are shy or unsure of themselves. The confi-
dent individual is likely to try new clothing styles.
A shy person may seek security by following current
styles. Others may be unconcerned about their dress
and care little whether they dress in what others con-
sider attractive clothing. Some people wear plain
clothes because of strong beliefs about personal be-
havior. Such people believe it is wrong to care about
wearing clothes as decoration. They believe that, in-
stead, people should be concerned with other matters.
Members of the Amish religious group have this kind
of belief system. Amish men wear plain, dark clothes,
and Amish women wear long, plain dresses. The
hippies, on the other hand, dressed to emphasize
‘love’ and ‘freedom’ in the 1960s. Motorcycle gang
members wear leather jackets, boots, and various
items such as brass knuckles to convey toughness.
Like language, a dress code can be endearing, offen-
sive, controversial, delightful, disgusting, foolish, or
charming.
In all societies, certain items of dress have special
meanings. For example, the meanings of headgear
vary widely, depending not only on climate, but also
on customs. For instance, a Russian farmer wears a
fur hat to protect himself from the cold. A South
American cowboy wears a felt gaucho hat as part of
his traditional costume. The American cowboy wears
a wide-brimmed hat for protection from the sun. The
members of a nation’s armed services wear a hat as
part of their uniform. The hats of coal miners, fire
fighters, and matadors indicate the wearer’s occupa-
tion. Clowns wear colorful, ridiculous hats to express
fun and happiness. To the Amish, the width of the hat
brim and the height of the crown can communicate
whether the wearer is married or not.
It is interesting to note that throughout the centu-
ries, the desire of people to be fashionable has
resulted in many kinds of unusual hats. During the
1400s, many European women wore a tall, cone-
shaped hat called a hennin. This hat measured from
3 to 4 feet (0.9 to 1.2 meters) high and had a long,
floating veil. The Gainsborough hat became popular
with both men and women in the late 1700s. It had a
wide brim and was decorated with feathers and rib-
bons. Hats are, and have always been, props in dress
codes, communicating various things about the peo-
ple who wear them. Most people wear a hat that they
Clothing: Semiotics 497
believe makes them look attractive. This is why much
protective headgear today, such as fur hoods and rain
hats, is both attractive and stylish. Even the caps of
police officers and military personnel are designed to
improve the wearer’s appearance.
No one knows when people first wore hats. People
in various cold climates may have worn fur hoods as
far back as 100 000 years ago. Through the centuries,
people have worn headgear to indicate their social
status. In ancient Egypt, the nobility wore crowns as
early as 3100 B.C. They have also worn them to be
fashionable. Some ancient Greeks wore hats known
as pelos for fashion. These were usually made from
wool fibers. Pelos can still be found in parts of south-
ern Siberia today. They are similar to the brimless,
tasseled hat known as a fez. By the 14th century,
people wore hats increasingly for fashion, resulting
in the development of a large variety of hats and
frequent changes in hat styles. People in one area
often adopted the hat styles worn in another. During
that century, for example, women in western Europe
wore a type of hat that resembled a turban. They
adopted this style from the headgear worn by people
who lived in the Middle East and the Orient. During
the 20th century, hat styles varied more widely than
ever before. In the 1920s, women wore a drooping,
bell-shaped hat called the cloche. In the 1930s, they
wore the harlequin hat, which had a wide, upturned
brim. A variety of hats were worn in the 1940s and
1950s. The cap became a central accouterment of
male teen style, during the heyday of the rap move-
ment in the mid to late 1990s, when it symbolized
clique solidarity.
Nudity
The human being is the only animal that does not ‘go
nude,’ so to speak, without social repercussions
(unless, of course, the social ambiance is that of a
nudist camp). Nudity is the counterpart of clothing,
and thus can only be interpreted culturally. What is
considered ‘exposable’ of the body will vary signifi-
cantly from culture to culture, even though the cover-
ing of genitalia seems, for the most part, to cross
cultural boundaries.
Semiotically, nudity assumes significance because it
is in binary opposition with clothing – i.e., it forms a
counterpart to it, with one entailing the other. Acts of
‘clothing-removal,’ such as strip-tease performances,
have appeal because of this unconscious semiotic du-
alism. In an audience setting, these have, first and
foremost, something of a pagan ritualistic quality to
them, based on mimetic portrayals of sexual activities
and sexual emotions. As the psychoanalyst Sigmund
Freud (1856–1939) suggested in many of his writings,
498 Clothing: Semiotics
clothing the body has, paradoxically, stimulated curi-
osity and desire for the nude body. In a word, what
makes nudity appealing in such situations is clothing.
This is why certain types of clothing items, such as
shoes, are perceived to have sexual significance. They
allude to bodily parts that have become desirable,
engaging viewers in a communal ritual similar to the
many carnivals put on throughout the world.
The nude body is, thus, a sign. This is why visual
artists have always had a fascination with the nude
figure. The ancient Greek and Roman nude statues of
male warriors, Michelangelo’s (1475–1564) powerful
David sculpture, Rodin’s (1840–1917) nude sculpture
The Thinker are all suggestive of the potency of the
male body. It is this ‘iconography’ of nudity that
enhances the attractiveness of the male in our society.
A male with a ‘weakling’ body is hardly ever perceived
as sexually attractive. On the other side of this semi-
otic paradigm, paintings and sculptures of female
nude figures have tended to portray the female body
ambiguously as either (1) soft and submissive, as can
be seen in the famous ancient Greek statue known as
the Venus de Milo, which represents Aphrodite, the
Greek goddess of love and beauty (Venus in Roman
mythology), or (2) feral and powerful (as can be seen
in the sculptures of Diana of Greek mythology). It is
(2) that came to the forefront again in the 1990s.
Known as the ‘girl power’ movement, representations
of women in pop culture now emphasize the second
type of the two iconographic traditions.
The interplay between clothing and nudity as sign
systems is part of a culture’s historical iconography.
This is largely unconscious, conditioning representa-
tions of bodies in virtually all areas of human social
life, from advertising and erotica to religious dress.
Fashion
Until the Renaissance, following trends in dress,
known as ‘fashion,’ was the privilege of the rich in
most parts of the world. Since the early decades of the
20th century, however, it has become an intrinsic
component of the lifestyle of common people in
many parts of the world. ‘Fashion statement’ has
become personal statement.
Fashion can be defined as the prevailing style or
custom of dress. Although fashion usually refers to
dress, it does not mean the same thing as clothing.
People have always worn clothes that reflected the
long-standing customs of their communities, and
clothing styles changed extremely slowly in the past.
Fashion, however, causes styles to change rapidly for
a variety of historical, psychological, and sociological
reasons. A clothing style may be introduced as a
fashion, but the style becomes a custom if it is handed
down from generation to generation. A fashion that
quickly comes and goes is called a fad. As Barthes
(1967) argued, it constitutes a kind of ‘macro’ dress
code that sets standards according to age, gender,
class, etc. To understand how fashion codes emerge,
it is instructive to consider the male business suit. The
connotative message underlying the apparel text is, of
course, ‘dress for success.’ How did this subtext crys-
tallize in our culture? A look at the history of the
business suit provides an interesting answer to this
question.
In 17th-century England, there existed a bitter
conflict in social ideology between two forces – the
Royalist ‘Cavaliers,’ who were faithful to King
Charles I, and the Puritans, who were followers of
Oliver Cromwell (1599–1658), the military, political,
and religious figure who led the Parliamentarian vic-
tory in the English Civil War (1642–1649). This con-
flict was a battle of lifestyles, as the two warring
camps sought to gain political, religious, and cultural
control of English society. The Cavaliers were aristo-
crats who only superficially followed the teachings of
the Anglican Church. Their main penchant was for a
life of indulgence (at least as the Puritans perceived
it). They wore colorful clothes, flamboyant feathered
hats, beards, and long flowing hair. This image of the
Cavalier as a ‘swashbuckler’ has been immortalized
by literary works such as The Three Musketeers
(Alexandre Dumas, 1844) and Cyrano de Bergerac
(Edmond Rostand, 1897). The Puritans, on the other
hand, frowned precisely upon this type of fashion,
because of the ‘degenerate lifestyle’ that they per-
ceived it to represent. Known as the ‘Roundheads,’
Cromwell’s followers cropped their hair very short,
forbade all carnal pleasures, and prohibited the wear-
ing of frivolous clothing. They wore dark suits and
dresses with white shirts and collars. Their clothes
conveyed sobriety, plainness, and rigid moralism.
The Cavaliers were in power throughout the 1620s
and the 1630s. During this period the Puritans es-
caped from England and emigrated to America,
bringing with them their lifestyle, rigid codes of con-
duct, and clothing styles. In 1645 the Puritans, led by
Cromwell, defeated the Royalist forces and executed
the king. Subsequently, many Cavaliers also emi-
grated to America. Since the Puritans had set up
colonies in the northeast, the Cavaliers decided to
set up colonies in the south. The king’s son, Charles
II, escaped to France to set up a court in exile. For a
decade, England was ruled by the Puritans. Frowning
upon all sorts of pleasure-seeking recreations, they
closed down theaters, censored books, enforced Sun-
day laws, and forbade the wearing of flashy clothing.
With Cromwell’s death in 1658, the Puritans
were eventually thrown out of power and England

welcomed the exiled king, Charles II, back in 1660.
Known as the Restoration, the subsequent 25-year
period saw a return to the lifestyle and fashions of
the Cavaliers. For two centuries the Puritans had to
bide their time. They were excluded from holding
political office, from attending a university, from
engaging in any socially vital enterprise. Neverthe-
less, throughout the years they maintained their
severe lifestyle and dress codes.
By the time of the Industrial Revolution, the Pur-
itans had their final and lasting revenge. Their life-
style – based on thrift, diligence, temperance, and
industriousness, which some have called the ‘Protes-
tant work ethic’ – allowed them to take advantage of
the economic conditions in the new industrialized
world. In America and in England, Cromwell’s des-
cendants became rich and eventually took over the
reigns of economic power. Ever since, Puritan ethics
and fashion in the work force have influenced British
and North American business culture, not to mention
social mores and values at large. The origins of mod-
ern corporate capitalism are to be found in those
values. The belief that hard work and ‘clean living’
are necessarily interrelated, and that this combination
leads to wealth and prosperity, had become a wide-
spread one by the turn of the present century. To this
day, there is a deeply felt conviction in capitalist
culture that hard work and strict living codes will
lead to success in both this life and the afterlife.
The business suit is a contemporary version of
Puritan dress. The toned down colors (blues, browns,
grays) that the business world demands are the con-
temporary reflexes of the Puritan’s fear and dislike of
color and ornament. During the ‘hippie’ 1960s and
early 1970s, the office scene came briefly under the
influence of a new form of Cavalierism, with the
wearing of colorful suits, turtle neck sweaters rather
than white shirts, longer hair, sideburns, Nehru jack-
ets, medallions, and beards. This new ‘fashion dare’
made a serious pitch to take over the world of corpo-
rate capitalism. But it was bound to fail, as the hippie
movement of the 1960s was defeated and subsequent-
ly overtaken by conservative neo-puritanical forces in
the late 1970s and 1980s. The ‘business suit’ model
became once again the dress code for all of corporate
North America, with only minor variations in detail.
The business suit somehow endures – perhaps be-
cause it is intrinsically intertwined with the history of
capitalism. But, nowadays, even this fashion code has
become rather eclectic, not to say fragmented. Take,
for example, the length of the skirt in the female
business suit code. The mini, maxi, and normal length
skirts are alternatively in and out of fashion. Evident-
ly, a detail such as length of skirt is, in itself, mean-
ingless. What appears to count is what it implies as a
Clothing: Semiotics 499
signifier about the ever-fluctuating perceptions of
women in the workplace and in society at large.
When the mini is ‘in,’ it might imply an increased
emphasis on sexual freedom in the culture. When it
is ‘out,’ then it might imply the opposite – a decreased
emphasis on sexuality. Whatever the case may be, the
point to be made here is that the specific elements and
features of a fashion code will invariably have conno-
tative value that is a derivative of larger social codes
within the culture.
True fashions began to appear in northern Europe
and Italy when a system of social classes developed in
the late Middle Ages with the rise of the bourgeois
class. At this time, the people of Europe began to
classify one another into groups based on such factors
as wealth, ancestry, and occupation. The clothes peo-
ple wore helped identify them as members of a partic-
ular social class. Before the late Middle Ages, only
wealthy and powerful individuals concerned them-
selves with the style of their clothes. But when the
class system developed, the general population began
to compete for positions within society. Fashion was
one means by which people did this. One of the first
true fashions appeared among young bourgeois Ital-
ian men during the Renaissance. While their elders
dressed in long traditional robes, the young males
wore tights and short, close-fitting jackets called
doublets. The was one of the first examples of
youth-based clothing that intentionally set itself
apart from the adult dress code. German soldiers set
another early fashion when they slashed their luxuri-
ous silk clothes with knives to reveal another colorful
garment underneath. Theirs too was a youth-based
fashion trend, probably intended to influence their
appeal to the opposite sex.
Before the 1800s, many countries controlled fash-
ion with regulations called sumptuary laws. These
limited the amount of money people could spend on
private luxuries, being obviously designed to preserve
divisions among the classes. They thus regulated fash-
ion according to a person’s rank in society. In some
countries, only the ruling class could legally wear silk,
fur, and the colors red and purple. In Paris in the
1300s, middle-class women were forbidden by law
to wear high headdresses, wide sleeves, and fur trim-
mings. Other sumptuary laws forced people to buy
products manufactured in their own country to help
the country’s economy. For example, an English law
in the 1700s prohibited people of all classes from
wearing cotton cloth produced outside of England.
But the lure of fashion caused many people to break
this law. The cloth was so popular that people risked
arrest to wear it.
Ordinary people have always hoped to raise their
social position by following the fashions of privileged
500 Clothing: Semiotics
people. Fashions have also emerged to accompany
differing perceptions of gender. Until the late 1700s,
upper-class European men dressed as elaborately as
women did. It was acceptable for men to wear bright-
colored or pastel suits trimmed with gold and lace,
hats decorated with feathers, high-heeled shoes, and
fancy jewelry. But by the mid-1800s, men had aban-
doned such flamboyance in favor of plain, dark-
colored wool suits. Society came to view this new
fashion style as democratic, businesslike, and mascu-
line. Until the early 1900s, European and American
women rarely wore trousers, and their skirts almost
always covered their ankles. By the 1920s, however,
standards of feminine modesty had changed to the
point that women began to wear both trousers and
shorter skirts.
Contrary to popular belief, political events seldom
cause fashions to change. However, political events
do sometimes speed up changes that have already
begun, as we saw in the case of the business suit.
For example, during the French Revolution (1789–
1799), simple clothing replaced the extravagant cos-
tumes made fashionable by French aristocrats. But
simple styles had become popular years earlier when
men in England started wearing practical, dark suits
instead of elegant, colorful clothes. English people
identified these plain suits with political and personal
liberty. Because many French people admired English
liberty, this style was already becoming fashionable in
France before the revolution.
In the 19th century, the invention of mechanical
looms, chemical dyes, artificial fabrics, and methods
of mass production made fashions affordable to many
more people. In addition, new means of mass com-
munication spread European and American fashions
throughout the rest of the world. The Industrial Rev-
olution created a ‘fashion global village.’ Since then,
fashion shows and fashion magazines have prolifer-
ated. And, as Barthes (1967) pointed out, they change
constantly because rapid turnover guarantees eco-
nomic success. It is the only constant in contemporary
fashion trends.
Conclusion
Like all social codes, clothing is interconnected with
the other codes of a culture. For instance, it is inter-
twined with religious ceremonies and rituals – the
clothing worn at a religious service, during certain
religious feasts and festivals, for example, is designed
to send out specific kinds of religious messages. It is
also intertwined with daily life routines, whereby
dress codes guide or are sensitive to lifestyle and
social options. The semiotic study of clothing thus
shows that clothing is a sign system. This is why,
arguably, people are so interested in fashion trends
(Steele, 1995).
Today, attractive-looking celebrities, rather than
aristocrats, set trends. People tend to follow fashion
primarily to make themselves similarly attractive.
When the standard of beauty changes, fashion
changes with it. For example, when physical fitness
became a popular standard of good looks in the
1980s, people began to wear exercise and athletic
clothing more often. A clothing style may become
fashionable over time with many different groups.
For example, people began wearing blue jeans during
the mid-1800s as ordinary work clothes. For decades,
they were worn chiefly by outdoor laborers, such as
farmers and cowboys. In the 1940s and 1950s, Amer-
ican teenagers adopted blue jeans as a comfortable,
casual youth fashion. Young people during the 1960s
wore blue jeans as a symbol of rebellious political and
social beliefs. By the 1970s, people no longer consid-
ered jeans rebellious, and expensive designer jeans
had become fashionable.
In a fundamental sense, culture can be character-
ized as a huge system of connotative meanings that
cohere into a ‘macro-code’ that allows members of
the culture to interact purposefully and to represent
and think about the world in specific ways. This is
why some semioticians prefer to call it the ‘semio-
sphere,’ a term coined by the great Estonian semioti-
cian Juri Lotman (1922–1993). In biology, a region
that sustains life is called the ‘biosphere.’ By analogy,
the semiosphere is the region of social life that sus-
tains knowledge-making and representational activ-
ities (Lotman, 1991). Clothing is one of those sign
systems that provides a direct route to the study of the
semiosphere.
See also: Body Language; Denotation versus Connotation;
Nonverbal Communication.
Bibliography
Barthes R (1957). Mythologies. Paris: Seuil.
Barthes R (1967). Système de la mode. Paris: Seuil.
Craik J (1993). The face of fashion: cultural studies in
fashion. London: Routledge.
Danesi M (2004). Messages, signs, and meanings: an intro-
duction to semiotics and communication theory.
Toronto: Canadian Scholars’ Press.
Davis F (1992). Fashion, culture, and identity. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Dubin L S (1987). The history of beads. New York:
Abrams.
Enninger W (1992). ‘Clothing.’ In Bauman R (ed.) Folklore,
cultural performances, and popular entertainments.
Oxford: Oxford University Press. 123–145.

Fisher H E (1992). Anatomy of love. New York: Norton.
Goffman E (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life.
Garden City: Doubleday.
Gottdiener M (1995). Postmodern semiotics: material
culture and the forms of postmodern life. London:
Blackwell.
Holbrook M B & Hirschman E C (1993). The semiotics of
consumption: interpreting symbolic consumer behavior
in popular culture and works of art. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Hollander A (1988). Seeing through clothes. Harmonds-
worth: Penguin.
Coarticulation
W Hardcastle, Queen Margaret University College,
Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A stretch of speech is often represented in terms of
discrete elements (phonemes, segments, letters, etc.)
arranged in a linear sequence on the page. However,
when the movements of speech organs that produce
this stretch of speech, such as the tongue, lips, and soft
palate, are tracked instrumentally, it can be seen that
these organs are continuously moving and that move-
ments associated with different segments overlap in
time. A consequence of this dynamic overlapping is
that there is virtually no one-to-one correspondence
between aspects of the speech signal and the discrete
units of representation. The attempt to reconcile ab-
stract elements in the phonological representation,
which are discrete and timeless, with the time-varying
physiological realizations as articulatory movements
(and their acoustic consequences) has remained one
of the central issues in modern experimental phonet-
ics and has led to the development of many different
theories and models.
The ubiquitous overlapping of articulatory move-
ments associated with separate sound segments is
referred to as coarticulation. The term appears to
have originated in the 1930s with Menzerath and
de Lacerda (1933), building on the work of early ex-
perimental phoneticians such as Scripture, Rousselot,
and Laclotte. In demonstrating that speech organs
are continuously moving and overlapping in time,
these early investigators argued against a prevailing
view of their time that speech consisted of a series
of relatively steady-state postures of the speech
organs, linked by rapid transitional glides. Scripture,
for example, concluded that ‘‘the tongue is never still
and never occupies exactly the same position for
Coarticulation 501
Hollander A (1994). Sex and suits: the evolution of modern
dress. New York: Knopf.
Lotman Y (1991). Universe of the mind: a semiotic theory
of culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Luciano L (2000). Looking good: male body image in mod-
ern America. New York: Hill & Wang.
McRobbie A (1988). Zoot suits and second-hand dresses.
Boston: Unwin Hyman.
Rubinstein R P (1995). Dress codes: meanings and mes-
sages in American culture. Boulder: Westview.
Steele V (1995). Fetish: fashion, sex, and power. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
any period of time’’ (Scripture, 1902: 325). In addi-
tion, he established that the character of any articu-
latory speech movement depends on other movements
occurring at the same time: thus there are no static
characteristic postures. (For discussions of the early
history of coarticulation, see Hardcastle, 1981 and
Kühnert and Nolan, 1999.)
One of the consequences of coarticulation is that
speech sounds vary (both physiologically and acous-
tically) according to the nature of neighboring sounds,
and ‘coarticulation’ is often used these days in its
broader sense to refer to this variation. Since the
1960s, coarticulation has developed into a major
area of phonetic research, and many theories have
been devised to account for coarticulatory effects.
The volume edited by Hardcastle and Hewlett
(1999) offers a comprehensive overview of theories,
data, and experimental techniques pertaining to co-
articulation. Other critical reviews of models and
theories of coarticulation can be found in Farnetani
(1990; 1997), Kent and Minifie (1977), Sharf and
Ohde (1981), Kent (1983), and Fowler (1985).
The phenomenon of coarticulation can be illu-
strated by a graphical representation of movements
of the speech organs (and different parts of the same
organ) (see Figure 1). Figure 1 shows an instrumental
record of movements of the jaw, lips, and tongue
(tip and dorsum) during production of the sentence
‘‘say schooner again’’ by a Scottish English speaker.
This speaker rounds the vowel [u] in the word
‘schooner,’ and the rounding is indicated in the in-
strumental record by horizontal protrusion of the
lower lip. The lower lip is seen to be protruding
(marked as a downward direction of the lip trace)
well before the [u] vowel is articulated, in fact as
early as the beginning of the [s] (indicated by the
fricative noise on the speech waveform and the
increase in anterior contact on the EPG trace).

Fisher H E (1992). Anatomy of love. New York: Norton.
Goffman E (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life.
Garden City: Doubleday.
Gottdiener M (1995). Postmodern semiotics: material
culture and the forms of postmodern life. London:
Blackwell.
Holbrook M B & Hirschman E C (1993). The semiotics of
consumption: interpreting symbolic consumer behavior
in popular culture and works of art. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Hollander A (1988). Seeing through clothes. Harmonds-
worth: Penguin.
Coarticulation
W Hardcastle, Queen Margaret University College,
Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A stretch of speech is often represented in terms of
discrete elements (phonemes, segments, letters, etc.)
arranged in a linear sequence on the page. However,
when the movements of speech organs that produce
this stretch of speech, such as the tongue, lips, and soft
palate, are tracked instrumentally, it can be seen that
these organs are continuously moving and that move-
ments associated with different segments overlap in
time. A consequence of this dynamic overlapping is
that there is virtually no one-to-one correspondence
between aspects of the speech signal and the discrete
units of representation. The attempt to reconcile ab-
stract elements in the phonological representation,
which are discrete and timeless, with the time-varying
physiological realizations as articulatory movements
(and their acoustic consequences) has remained one
of the central issues in modern experimental phonet-
ics and has led to the development of many different
theories and models.
The ubiquitous overlapping of articulatory move-
ments associated with separate sound segments is
referred to as coarticulation. The term appears to
have originated in the 1930s with Menzerath and
de Lacerda (1933), building on the work of early ex-
perimental phoneticians such as Scripture, Rousselot,
and Laclotte. In demonstrating that speech organs
are continuously moving and overlapping in time,
these early investigators argued against a prevailing
view of their time that speech consisted of a series
of relatively steady-state postures of the speech
organs, linked by rapid transitional glides. Scripture,
for example, concluded that ‘‘the tongue is never still
and never occupies exactly the same position for
Coarticulation 501
Hollander A (1994). Sex and suits: the evolution of modern
dress. New York: Knopf.
Lotman Y (1991). Universe of the mind: a semiotic theory
of culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Luciano L (2000). Looking good: male body image in mod-
ern America. New York: Hill & Wang.
McRobbie A (1988). Zoot suits and second-hand dresses.
Boston: Unwin Hyman.
Rubinstein R P (1995). Dress codes: meanings and mes-
sages in American culture. Boulder: Westview.
Steele V (1995). Fetish: fashion, sex, and power. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
any period of time’’ (Scripture, 1902: 325). In addi-
tion, he established that the character of any articu-
latory speech movement depends on other movements
occurring at the same time: thus there are no static
characteristic postures. (For discussions of the early
history of coarticulation, see Hardcastle, 1981 and
Kühnert and Nolan, 1999.)
One of the consequences of coarticulation is that
speech sounds vary (both physiologically and acous-
tically) according to the nature of neighboring sounds,
and ‘coarticulation’ is often used these days in its
broader sense to refer to this variation. Since the
1960s, coarticulation has developed into a major
area of phonetic research, and many theories have
been devised to account for coarticulatory effects.
The volume edited by Hardcastle and Hewlett
(1999) offers a comprehensive overview of theories,
data, and experimental techniques pertaining to co-
articulation. Other critical reviews of models and
theories of coarticulation can be found in Farnetani
(1990; 1997), Kent and Minifie (1977), Sharf and
Ohde (1981), Kent (1983), and Fowler (1985).
The phenomenon of coarticulation can be illu-
strated by a graphical representation of movements
of the speech organs (and different parts of the same
organ) (see Figure 1). Figure 1 shows an instrumental
record of movements of the jaw, lips, and tongue
(tip and dorsum) during production of the sentence
‘‘say schooner again’’ by a Scottish English speaker.
This speaker rounds the vowel [u] in the word
‘schooner,’ and the rounding is indicated in the in-
strumental record by horizontal protrusion of the
lower lip. The lower lip is seen to be protruding
(marked as a downward direction of the lip trace)
well before the [u] vowel is articulated, in fact as
early as the beginning of the [s] (indicated by the
fricative noise on the speech waveform and the
increase in anterior contact on the EPG trace).
502 Coarticulation

Figure 1 Computer printout of instrumental records of the sentence ‘‘say schooner again’’ spoken by a speaker of Scottish English.
The top trace shows the speech waveform and time scale in tenths of seconds. The next four traces show kinematic data from a
Carsten’s electromagnetic articulograph (EMA), which plots movement in the x-y plane of miniature coils attached to the midline of
articulatory structures. The EMA traces are, from the top: vertical up-down movement of the jaw; horizontal front-back movement of the
lower lip (negative = forward); vertical up-down movement of the tongue dorsum; and velocity of tongue dorsum movement. The lower
traces show information from electropalatography synchronized with EMA: total tongue–palate contacts activated in the anterior region
of the palate (ANT trace) and total number activated in the posterior region of the palate (PST trace). Reprinted from Durward B, Baer G
& Rowe P (eds.) (1999). Functional Human Movement: Measurement and Analysis. Oxford, UK: Butterworth Heinemann.

It reaches its maximum forward movement during
the articulatory closure for the [k] (indicated by max-
imum raising of the tongue dorsum trace). The illus-
tration in Figure 1 shows an example of labial
coarticulation with the lips moving forward in antici-
pation of the rounded vowel at the same time as
the tongue articulation for the [s]. The [s] in this
environment would therefore be different from the
[s] in a word such as ‘skill,’ in which no such lip
rounding would be involved. Similar contextual
effects involving other articulations can be seen in
the [k] in ‘key,’ which is produced farther forward
in the oral cavity than the [k] in ‘car’ because the
body of the tongue is anticipating the more fronted
position required for the [i] vowel. Another example
is the difference between the vowel sounds in ‘mad’
versus ‘bad.’ The vowel in ‘mad’ will usually be more
nasalized than that in ‘bad’ because the soft palate
lowering for the [m] in ‘mad’ coarticulates or over-
laps with the tongue movement for the vowel, unlike
in ‘bad.’
The term ‘coarticulation’ in its broadest sense is
often used interchangeably with ‘assimilation,’ which
also refers to the influence of context on speech
sounds. Thus, we find place assimilation in words
like ‘meat pie,’ in which the alveolar stop [t] ‘assimi-
lates’ into the place of articulation of the following
bilabial [p], or voice assimilation in a phrase such as
‘I have to,’ in which the voicing of the [v] assimilates
into the following voiceless stop [t] and becomes the
perceived voiceless [f]. Some investigators (including
the originator of the term, P. Menzerath) restrict
‘coarticulation’ to the physiological mechanisms un-
derlying speech production and reserve ‘assimilation’
for audible change to specific sounds in context, often
resulting in perception of a different phoneme.

Coarticulatory effects such as those above can be
described in terms of their type and extent. Type may
refer to the speech organs predominantly involved, e.g.,
labial coarticulation (or more specifically, lingual/labi-
al), nasal coarticulation, etc. Type may also refer to the
direction of coarticulatory influence, whether anticipa-
tory (sometimes called ‘right-to-left’) or perseverative
(carryover, or ‘left-to-right’). Designation of coarticu-
latory influences as anticipatory or carryover depends
on the theoretical premise that there is an underlying
linear abstract segmental representation at some level
in the speech production process. Thus, anticipatory
coarticulation occurs if a sound segment is influenced
by (or even becomes more like) a following sound (such
as in the ‘schooner’ example in Figure 1). If a sound
shows influence of a preceding sound, this is an exam-
ple of carryover or perseverative coarticulation.
Some theories claim that carryover coarticulation
occurs because of inherent physiological characteris-
tics of the speech articulators. For example, in the
word ‘mad,’ coarticulated nasality is said to occur
on the vowel because the soft palate is relatively
slow moving and takes time to rise from its
maximally lowered position for [m]. Anticipatory
coarticulation is rather more difficult to explain. At
one level it can be seen as a production strategy to
enable articulatory movements to occur at the rate
necessary to deliver up to five syllables per second, as
in normal spontaneous speech. It is also probably the
most economical strategy to employ, particularly in
the face of increasing demands that occur in fast
colloquial speech, and the concept of ‘economy of
effort’ has frequently been linked to coarticulation.
(For further discussion of competing demands on the
articulators during a communication situation, see
Lindblom, 1990). For rapid productions, some degree
of parallel processing is inevitable and is seen also in
the skeletal motor system (such as in sign language
interpreters engaged in rapid finger spelling). At the
cognitive level, anticipatory coarticulation can be
seen as a further example of the universal tendency
for the brain to ‘scan ahead of time’ (cf. early work on
the serial ordering of behavior by Lashley, 1951).
There may also be some perceptual motivation for
anticipatory coarticulation. For example, as a result
of anticipatory coarticulation, acoustic information
on an upcoming segment is available to the listeners
before that segment is articulated, and this prior
knowledge may facilitate more accurate perception
than would be the case if all acoustic cues were con-
fined within the temporal boundaries of that segment
(Kühnert and Nolan, 1999).
Coarticulation can also be described with reference
to the temporal domain of its influence. This can be
expressed in terms of time or as numbers of segments.
Coarticulation 503
In the example in Figure 1, the labial coarticulatory
influence extended two segments in advance of the
vowel. Some early theories of anticipatory coarticu-
lation claimed that articulations began as early as
possible (e.g., a study by Benguerel and Cowan,
1974, showed lip rounding influence extending up
to six segments in advance). Other models using the
notion of distinctive features involved a ‘feature-
spreading’ approach following Henke’s work (1966)
on computer modeling. For example, the feature
[þ rounding] spreads across all [-rounded] segments
in a string. An earlier influential theory (Kozhevnikov
and Chistovich, 1965) proposed a higher-level struc-
ture, the articulatory syllable, defined with reference
to the temporal domain of coarticulatory spread.
Based on measurements of lip protrusion for the
vowel [u], the model stated that this protrusion begins
at the same time as the first consonant in any string
of consonants preceding the vowel, providing these
consonants did not involve ‘contradictory’ articula-
tory gestures. Later work was to show, however, that
coarticulatory influences could in fact extend across
articulatory syllable boundaries so that in a vowel-
consonant-vowel sequence, for example, the two
vowels influence each other across a consonant
boundary, a result not predicted by Kozhevnikov
and Chistovich’s model (see, for example, Öhman,
1966, and for the many studies since, see the review
in Farnetani and Recasens, 1999).
These early theories proposed that coarticulation
begins as early as possible. An alternative view is that
coarticulatory influences are time locked and that the
component gestures of a segment begin at a fixed
interval before the phonetic target is achieved (see,
e.g., Bell-Berti and Harris, 1982). Closely related to
the idea of time locking is a radical approach to the
phenomenon of coarticulation based on action theory
using the concept of coordinative structures (see e.g.,
Kelso et al., 1986). In this approach the underlying
units of speech production are not segment-like units
such as is assumed in most of the above accounts
but ‘gestures,’ which are speech-relevant goals con-
taining spatial-temporal information about speech
articulations. An example of an articulatory gesture
in this framework would be a bilabial closure,
which involves a specific and unique combination of
coordinated upper lip, lower lip, and jaw move-
ments regardless of the context. Contextual effects
are said to arise as a result of temporal over-
lapping (‘coproduction’) with other gestures. In this
coordinative structure framework, coarticulation is
viewed as an automatic consequence of the inherent
kinematic properties of the production mechanism.
(For discussions of the gestural approach and its for-
mulation in the articulatory phonology framework,
504 Coarticulation
see Browman and Goldstein, 1992, Fowler and Saltz-
man, 1993, and Nolan, 1982.)
Much research has been devoted to identifying the
types of constraints that affect coarticulatory pro-
cesses. The notion of ‘coarticulatory resistance’
(Bladon and Al-Bamerni, 1976; Recasens, 1985)
attempts to identify some of the articulatory charac-
teristics that may affect the spread of coarticulatory
influences. There is evidence that coarticulation is
gradual and varies between different segments. Reca-
sens (1991, 2002) has developed an articulatory con-
straint model that relates coarticulatory resistance to
the degree of tongue dorsum raising required for the
consonant. Other constraints on coarticulatory pro-
cesses pertain to prosodic and related aspects of the
language, such as stress patterns, suprasegmental
boundaries, syntactic structures, rate of articulation,
clarity, and speech style (see, e.g., Engstrand, 1988;
Lindblom, 1963; Hardcastle, 1985; and Matthies
et al., 2001), and all these factors have been found
to influence coarticulation both temporally and
spatially. The phonological structure of a particular
language may also constrain coarticulatory patterns.
For example, there is some evidence that the extent of
coarticulatory nasalization of vowels preceding a
nasal consonant will tend to be more restricted in
those languages that have a nasal/oral phonological
contrast in vowels (e.g., French) compared with those
that do not (e.g., English; see, e.g., Clumeck, 1976).
Various models have attempted to account for these
language-specific influences (see, for example, the
‘window model of coarticulation’ of Keating, 1990,
and for a comprehensive account of crosslanguage
studies of coarticulation, see Manuel, 1999).
Coarticulation remains a productive area of pho-
netic research, and we can expect to see more-refined
models being developed as instrumental techniques
for investigating the kinematics of speech production
improve.
See also: Distinctive Features; Experimental and Instru-
mental Phonetics: History; Assimilation; Phonetic Pro-
cesses in Discourse; Phonetics, Articulatory; Speech;
Speech Production.
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‘Language-specific patterns for vowel-to-vowel coarticu-
lation: acoustic structures and their perceptual
correlates.’ Journal of Phonetics 30(4), 591–537.
Bell-Berti F & Harris K S (1982). ‘Temporal patterns of
coarticulation: lip rounding.’ Journal of the Acoustical
Society of America 71, 449–454.
Benguerel A P & Cowan H (1974). ‘Coarticulation of upper
lip protrusion in French.’ Phonetica 30, 41–55.
Bladon R A W & Al-Bamerni A (1976). ‘Coarticulation
resistance in English /I/.’ Journal of Phonetics 4, 137–150.
Boyce S E (1990). ‘Coarticulatory organisation for lip
rounding in Turkish and English.’ Journal of the Acousti-
cal Society of America 88, 2584–2595.
Browman C P & Goldstein L (1992). ‘Articulatory phonol-
ogy: an overview.’ Phonetica 49, 155–180.
Clumeck H (1976). ‘Patterns of soft palate movement in six
languages.’ Journal of Phonetics 4, 337–351.
Daniloff R & Moll K (1968). ‘Coarticulation of lip rounding.’
Journal of Speech and Hearing Research 11, 707–721.
Engstrand O (1988). ‘Articulatory correlates of stress and
speaking rate in Swedish VCV utterances.’ Journal of
the Acoustical Society of America 83, 1863–1875.
Farnetani E (1990). ‘V-C-V lingual coarticulation and its
spatio-temporal domain.’ In Hardcastle W J & Marchal
A (eds.) Speech production and speech modelling.
Netherlands: Kluwer Academic. 93–110.
Farnetani E (1997). ‘Coarticulation and connected speech
processes.’ In Hardcastle W J & Laver J (eds.)
A handbook of phonetic science. Oxford: Blackwell.
371–404.
Farnetani E & Recasens D (1999). ‘Coarticulation models in
recent speech production theories.’ In Hardcastle W J &
Hewlett N (eds.) Coarticulation: theory, data and techni-
ques. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 31–65.
Flege J (1988). ‘Anticipatory and carryover nasal coarticu-
lation in the speech of children and adults.’ Journal
of Speech and Hearing Research 31, 525–536.
Fowler C A (1980). ‘Coarticulation and theories of extrinsic
timing.’ Journal of Phonetics 8, 113–133.
Fowler C A (1985). ‘Current perspective on language and
speech production: a critical overview.’ In Daniloff R (ed.)
Speech science. London: Taylor & Francis. 193–278.
Fowler C A & Saltzman E (1993). ‘Coordination and coar-
ticulation in speech production.’ Language and Speech
36, 171–195.
Gay T J (1979). ‘Coarticulation in some consonant-vowel
and consonant cluster-vowel syllables.’ In Lindblom B
& Öhman S (eds.) Frontiers of Speech Communication
Research. London: Academic Press. 69–76.
Gelfer C, Bell-Berti F & Harris K (1989). ‘Determining the
extent of coarticulation: effects of experimental design.’
Journal of the Acoustical Society 6, 2443–2445.
Guenther F H (1994). ‘Skill acquisition, coarticulation and
rate effects in a neural network model of speech produc-
tion.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 95,
2924.
Hardcastle W J (1981). ‘Experimental studies in lingual
coarticulation.’ In Asher R & Henderson E (eds.)
Towards a history of phonetics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh
University Press. 50–66.
Hardcastle W J (1985). ‘Some phonetics and syntactic con-
straints on lingual coarticulation during /kl/ sequences.’
Speech Communication 4, 247–263.
Hardcastle W J & Hewlett N (1999). Coarticulation:
theory, data and techniques. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Henke W L (1966). Dynamic articulatory model of speech
production using computer simulation. Ph.D. diss., MIT.

Hoole P, Nguyen-Trong N & Hardcastle W J (1993). ‘A
comparative investigation of coarticulation in fricatives:
electropalatographic, electromagnetic and acoustic data.’
Language and Speech 36, 235–260.
Katz W, Kripke C & Tallal P (1991). ‘Anticipatory coarticu-
lation in the speech of adults and young children: acous-
tic, perceptual and video data.’ Journal of Speech and
Hearing Research 34, 1222–1232.
Keating P A (1990). ‘The window model of coarticulation:
articulatory evidence.’ In Kingston J & Beckman M E
(eds.) Papers in laboratory phonetics I: between the
grammar and the physics of speech. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 451–470.
Kelso J A S, Saltzman E L & Tuller B (1986). ‘The dynami-
cal perspective on speech production: data, and theory.’
Journal of Phonetics 14, 29–59.
Kent R (1983). ‘The segmental organization of speech.’ In
MacNeilage P (ed.) The production of speech. New York:
Springer. 57–89.
Kent R & Minifie F (1977). ‘Coarticulation in recent
speech production models.’ Journal of Phonetics 5,
115–133.
Kozhevnikov V & Chistovich L (1965). Speech: articulation
and perception. Washington, DC: Joint Publications
Research Service.
Kühnert B & Nolan F (1999). ‘The origin of coarticulation.’
In Hardcastle W J & Hewlett N (eds.) Coarticulation:
theory, data and techniques. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 7–30.
Lashley K S (1951). ‘The problem of serial order in behav-
ior.’ In Jeffress L A (ed.) Cerebral mechanisms in
behavior. New York: Wiley. 112–136.
Lindblom B (1963). ‘Spectrographic study of vowel reduc-
tion.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 35,
1773–1781.
Lindblom B (1990). ‘Explaining phonetic variation: a
sketch of the H&H theory.’ In Hardcastle W J &
Marchal A (eds.) Speech production and speech model-
ling. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. 403–439.
Lubker J F & Gay T (1982). ‘Anticipatory labial coarticula-
tion: experimental, biological and linguistic variables.’
Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 71,
437–448.
Manual S (1999). ‘Cross-language studies: relating language-
particular coarticulation patterns to other language-
particular facts.’ In Hardcastle W J & Hewlett N (eds.)
Cobbett, William (1763–1835)
M Miyawaki, Senshu University, Kanagawa, Japan
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
William Cobbett, essayist, politician, agriculturist,
and grammarian, was born in Farnham, Surrey, Eng-
land, on March 9, 1763. Cobbett grew up as a farm
Cobbett, William (1763–1835) 505
Coarticulation: theory, data and techniques. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 179–198.
Matthies M et al. (2001). ‘Variation in anticipatory
coarticulation with changes in clarity and rate.’ Journal
of Speech and Language Hearing Research 44(2), 340–
353.
Menzerath P & de Lacerda A (1933). ‘Koartikulation,
Steuerung und lautabgrenzung.’ Berlin: Fred. Dummlers.
Nolan F (1982). ‘The role of action theory in the description
of speech production.’ Linguistics 20, 287–308.
Ohala J J (1993). ‘Coarticulation and phonology.’ Language
and Speech 36, 155–171.
Öhman S (1966). ‘Coarticulation in VCV utterances: spec-
trographic measurements.’ Journal of the Acoustical
Society of America 39, 151–168.
Parush A, Ostry D & Munhall G (1983). ‘A kinematic study
of lingual coarticulation in VCV sequences.’ Journal of
the Acoustical Society of America 74, 1115–1125.
Perkell J S & Matthies M (1992). ‘Temporal measures
of anticipatory labial coarticulation for the vowel /u/:
within –and cross-subject variability.’ Journal of the
Acoustical Society of America 91, 2911–2925.
Recasens D (1985). ‘Coarticulatory patterns and degrees
of coarticulatory resistance in Catalan CV sequences.’
Language and Speech 28, 97–114.
Recasens D (1991). ‘An electropalatographic and acoustic
study of consonant-to-vowel coarticulation.’ Journal of
Phonetics 19, 177–192.
Recasens D (2002). ‘An EMA study of VCV coarticulatory
direction.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
111(6), 2828–2841.
Recasens D, Pallarès M D & Fontdevila J (1997). ‘A model
of lingual coarticulation based on articulatory con-
straints.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
102, 544–561.
Scripture E (1902). The elements of experimental pho-
netics. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.
Sharf D J & Ohde R N (1981). ‘Physiologic, acoustic and
perceptual aspects of coarticulation: implications for the
remediation of articulatory disorders.’ In Lass N J (ed.)
Speech and language: advances in basic research and
practice V. New York: Academic Press. 153–247.
Sussman H M & Westbury J (1981). ‘The effects of antago-
nistic gestures on temporal and amplitude parameters of
anticipatory labial coarticulation.’ Journal of Speech and
Hearing Research 24, 16–24.
boy with virtually no formal education. In 1784, at
the age of 21, he joined the army, where he managed
to find time to teach himself the rules of grammar by
reading and copying Robert Lowth’s A short intro-
duction to English grammar (1762). One day he
received an eloquent but ungrammatical letter from
a Nottingham stocking weaver, which impelled him

Hoole P, Nguyen-Trong N & Hardcastle W J (1993). ‘A
comparative investigation of coarticulation in fricatives:
electropalatographic, electromagnetic and acoustic data.’
Language and Speech 36, 235–260.
Katz W, Kripke C & Tallal P (1991). ‘Anticipatory coarticu-
lation in the speech of adults and young children: acous-
tic, perceptual and video data.’ Journal of Speech and
Hearing Research 34, 1222–1232.
Keating P A (1990). ‘The window model of coarticulation:
articulatory evidence.’ In Kingston J & Beckman M E
(eds.) Papers in laboratory phonetics I: between the
grammar and the physics of speech. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 451–470.
Kelso J A S, Saltzman E L & Tuller B (1986). ‘The dynami-
cal perspective on speech production: data, and theory.’
Journal of Phonetics 14, 29–59.
Kent R (1983). ‘The segmental organization of speech.’ In
MacNeilage P (ed.) The production of speech. New York:
Springer. 57–89.
Kent R & Minifie F (1977). ‘Coarticulation in recent
speech production models.’ Journal of Phonetics 5,
115–133.
Kozhevnikov V & Chistovich L (1965). Speech: articulation
and perception. Washington, DC: Joint Publications
Research Service.
Kühnert B & Nolan F (1999). ‘The origin of coarticulation.’
In Hardcastle W J & Hewlett N (eds.) Coarticulation:
theory, data and techniques. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 7–30.
Lashley K S (1951). ‘The problem of serial order in behav-
ior.’ In Jeffress L A (ed.) Cerebral mechanisms in
behavior. New York: Wiley. 112–136.
Lindblom B (1963). ‘Spectrographic study of vowel reduc-
tion.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 35,
1773–1781.
Lindblom B (1990). ‘Explaining phonetic variation: a
sketch of the H&H theory.’ In Hardcastle W J &
Marchal A (eds.) Speech production and speech model-
ling. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. 403–439.
Lubker J F & Gay T (1982). ‘Anticipatory labial coarticula-
tion: experimental, biological and linguistic variables.’
Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 71,
437–448.
Manual S (1999). ‘Cross-language studies: relating language-
particular coarticulation patterns to other language-
particular facts.’ In Hardcastle W J & Hewlett N (eds.)
Cobbett, William (1763–1835)
M Miyawaki, Senshu University, Kanagawa, Japan
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
William Cobbett, essayist, politician, agriculturist,
and grammarian, was born in Farnham, Surrey, Eng-
land, on March 9, 1763. Cobbett grew up as a farm
Cobbett, William (1763–1835) 505
Coarticulation: theory, data and techniques. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 179–198.
Matthies M et al. (2001). ‘Variation in anticipatory
coarticulation with changes in clarity and rate.’ Journal
of Speech and Language Hearing Research 44(2), 340–
353.
Menzerath P & de Lacerda A (1933). ‘Koartikulation,
Steuerung und lautabgrenzung.’ Berlin: Fred. Dummlers.
Nolan F (1982). ‘The role of action theory in the description
of speech production.’ Linguistics 20, 287–308.
Ohala J J (1993). ‘Coarticulation and phonology.’ Language
and Speech 36, 155–171.
Öhman S (1966). ‘Coarticulation in VCV utterances: spec-
trographic measurements.’ Journal of the Acoustical
Society of America 39, 151–168.
Parush A, Ostry D & Munhall G (1983). ‘A kinematic study
of lingual coarticulation in VCV sequences.’ Journal of
the Acoustical Society of America 74, 1115–1125.
Perkell J S & Matthies M (1992). ‘Temporal measures
of anticipatory labial coarticulation for the vowel /u/:
within –and cross-subject variability.’ Journal of the
Acoustical Society of America 91, 2911–2925.
Recasens D (1985). ‘Coarticulatory patterns and degrees
of coarticulatory resistance in Catalan CV sequences.’
Language and Speech 28, 97–114.
Recasens D (1991). ‘An electropalatographic and acoustic
study of consonant-to-vowel coarticulation.’ Journal of
Phonetics 19, 177–192.
Recasens D (2002). ‘An EMA study of VCV coarticulatory
direction.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
111(6), 2828–2841.
Recasens D, Pallarès M D & Fontdevila J (1997). ‘A model
of lingual coarticulation based on articulatory con-
straints.’ Journal of the Acoustical Society of America
102, 544–561.
Scripture E (1902). The elements of experimental pho-
netics. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.
Sharf D J & Ohde R N (1981). ‘Physiologic, acoustic and
perceptual aspects of coarticulation: implications for the
remediation of articulatory disorders.’ In Lass N J (ed.)
Speech and language: advances in basic research and
practice V. New York: Academic Press. 153–247.
Sussman H M & Westbury J (1981). ‘The effects of antago-
nistic gestures on temporal and amplitude parameters of
anticipatory labial coarticulation.’ Journal of Speech and
Hearing Research 24, 16–24.
boy with virtually no formal education. In 1784, at
the age of 21, he joined the army, where he managed
to find time to teach himself the rules of grammar by
reading and copying Robert Lowth’s A short intro-
duction to English grammar (1762). One day he
received an eloquent but ungrammatical letter from
a Nottingham stocking weaver, which impelled him
506 Cobbett, William (1763–1835)
to write an English grammar. His Grammar of the
English language, set out in the form of letters to his
son James, first appeared in New York in 1818. It was
an immediate success. The second and third editions
were published in London in 1819, and the fourth
edition followed in 1820. A revised edition, to which
were added ‘‘Six lessons, intended to prevent states-
men from using false grammar, and from writing in
an awkward manner,’’ appeared in 1823. In 1832
Cobbett was elected an M.P. representing Oldham,
Lancashire, in which seat he remained until his death
on June 18, 1835.
Although the overall framework of Cobbett’s
grammar is traditional, being based on the nine
parts of speech and their categories, the readership
he has in mind is unique. As the subtitle indicates, his
grammar is ‘‘intended for the Use of Schools and of
Young Persons in general; but, more especially for the
Use of Soldiers, Sailors, Apprentices, and Plough-
boys.’’ Thus Cobbett’s aim was to make young people
of the working class competent speakers and writers
of English so that they would be able to ‘‘assert with
effect [their] rights and liberties’’ (edn. by Nickerson
and Osborne, 1983: 32). Accordingly, his statements
are prescriptive rather than descriptive, with reason
as the criterion of correctness: ‘‘It is reason [that] is to
be your sole guide’’ (93). Cobbett warned against the
use of me in ‘‘It was me,’’ which should be ‘‘It was I’’
Cocos (Keeling) Islands: Language Situation
U Ansaldo, Universteit van Amsterdam, Amsterdam,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Cocos (Keeling) Islands are a coral atoll of 27
islands that constitute the westernmost outpost of
Australia, positioned in the middle of the Indian
Ocean 1000 km southwest of Java. First settled by
agents of the East India Company, in 1829 the origi-
nal population consisted of a total of 98 people, most
of whom were of Indonesian/Malay origin, with a
few British sailors as well as, possibly, a few individ-
uals of Papuan, Indian, and even Asian provenance.
They were portrayed as speaking a form of Trade
Malay or a Malay-based lingua franca.
As of 2001, the population of the Cocos-Keeling
consists of 618 individuals who reside on the two
inhabited islands of the atoll. West Island is the base
for roughly 100 Australians, mostly administrators
and schoolteachers on 2- to 3-year postings. They
(93). Similarly, he criticized the double negative in
‘‘Do not give him none of your money,’’ which should
be ‘‘Do not give him any of your money’’ (141).
Cobbett also advised on matters of style, emphasizing
the clearness and strength of meaning. He warned
that ‘‘one of the greatest of all faults in writing and
in speaking is [. . .] the using of many words to say
little’’ (150). Thus his grammar can be seen as a
forerunner of such manuals of usage and style as
H. W. Fowler’s Modern English usage (1926).
See also: Fowler, Henry Watson (1858–1933); Lowth,
Robert (1710–1787).
Bibliography
Aarts F G A M (1986). ‘William Cobbett: radical, reaction-
ary and poor man’s grammarian.’ Neophilologus 70,
603–614.
Aarts F (1994). ‘William Cobbett’s Grammar of the English
language.’ Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 95, 319–332.
Cobbett W (1818). A grammar of the English language, in a
series of letters. New York: Clayton and Kingsland (mod-
ern edn. by C C Nickerson and J W Osborne 1983,
Amsterdam: Rodopi; reissue of the 1923 edn. with an
introduction by Roy Hattersley, 2002, Oxford: Oxford
University Press).
Vallins G H (1954). ‘Cobbett’s grammar.’ English 10,
48–53.
speak Australian English and, with few exceptions,
have no knowledge of Malay. Home Island, the origi-
nal settlement of the first settlers, still houses 80% of
the population, predominantly of Indonesian prov-
enance. These are the Cocos Malays, descendants of
laborers brought to the islands during the 150-year
period in which the islands were an estate of the
Clunies-Ross clan, which lasted until the Australian
government took over in 1978. The community is
Muslim.
Cocos Malay is the dominant language on Home
Island; it can be described as a contact variety of
colloquial Malay with strong Javanese influences. It
was the dominant language until Australian takeover
and is still very alive today. Knowledge of English is
restricted in most individuals of advanced age; it is
functional in most individuals of middle age, and the
younger generations have near-to-native fluency. The
school operates a bilingual program in which English
is the language of immersion and Cocos Malay is also
used to aid in instruction, particularly at primary
506 Cobbett, William (1763–1835)
to write an English grammar. His Grammar of the
English language, set out in the form of letters to his
son James, first appeared in New York in 1818. It was
an immediate success. The second and third editions
were published in London in 1819, and the fourth
edition followed in 1820. A revised edition, to which
were added ‘‘Six lessons, intended to prevent states-
men from using false grammar, and from writing in
an awkward manner,’’ appeared in 1823. In 1832
Cobbett was elected an M.P. representing Oldham,
Lancashire, in which seat he remained until his death
on June 18, 1835.
Although the overall framework of Cobbett’s
grammar is traditional, being based on the nine
parts of speech and their categories, the readership
he has in mind is unique. As the subtitle indicates, his
grammar is ‘‘intended for the Use of Schools and of
Young Persons in general; but, more especially for the
Use of Soldiers, Sailors, Apprentices, and Plough-
boys.’’ Thus Cobbett’s aim was to make young people
of the working class competent speakers and writers
of English so that they would be able to ‘‘assert with
effect [their] rights and liberties’’ (edn. by Nickerson
and Osborne, 1983: 32). Accordingly, his statements
are prescriptive rather than descriptive, with reason
as the criterion of correctness: ‘‘It is reason [that] is to
be your sole guide’’ (93). Cobbett warned against the
use of me in ‘‘It was me,’’ which should be ‘‘It was I’’
Cocos (Keeling) Islands: Language Situation
U Ansaldo, Universteit van Amsterdam, Amsterdam,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Cocos (Keeling) Islands are a coral atoll of 27
islands that constitute the westernmost outpost of
Australia, positioned in the middle of the Indian
Ocean 1000 km southwest of Java. First settled by
agents of the East India Company, in 1829 the origi-
nal population consisted of a total of 98 people, most
of whom were of Indonesian/Malay origin, with a
few British sailors as well as, possibly, a few individ-
uals of Papuan, Indian, and even Asian provenance.
They were portrayed as speaking a form of Trade
Malay or a Malay-based lingua franca.
As of 2001, the population of the Cocos-Keeling
consists of 618 individuals who reside on the two
inhabited islands of the atoll. West Island is the base
for roughly 100 Australians, mostly administrators
and schoolteachers on 2- to 3-year postings. They
(93). Similarly, he criticized the double negative in
‘‘Do not give him none of your money,’’ which should
be ‘‘Do not give him any of your money’’ (141).
Cobbett also advised on matters of style, emphasizing
the clearness and strength of meaning. He warned
that ‘‘one of the greatest of all faults in writing and
in speaking is [. . .] the using of many words to say
little’’ (150). Thus his grammar can be seen as a
forerunner of such manuals of usage and style as
H. W. Fowler’s Modern English usage (1926).
See also: Fowler, Henry Watson (1858–1933); Lowth,
Robert (1710–1787).
Bibliography
Aarts F G A M (1986). ‘William Cobbett: radical, reaction-
ary and poor man’s grammarian.’ Neophilologus 70,
603–614.
Aarts F (1994). ‘William Cobbett’s Grammar of the English
language.’ Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 95, 319–332.
Cobbett W (1818). A grammar of the English language, in a
series of letters. New York: Clayton and Kingsland (mod-
ern edn. by C C Nickerson and J W Osborne 1983,
Amsterdam: Rodopi; reissue of the 1923 edn. with an
introduction by Roy Hattersley, 2002, Oxford: Oxford
University Press).
Vallins G H (1954). ‘Cobbett’s grammar.’ English 10,
48–53.
speak Australian English and, with few exceptions,
have no knowledge of Malay. Home Island, the origi-
nal settlement of the first settlers, still houses 80% of
the population, predominantly of Indonesian prov-
enance. These are the Cocos Malays, descendants of
laborers brought to the islands during the 150-year
period in which the islands were an estate of the
Clunies-Ross clan, which lasted until the Australian
government took over in 1978. The community is
Muslim.
Cocos Malay is the dominant language on Home
Island; it can be described as a contact variety of
colloquial Malay with strong Javanese influences. It
was the dominant language until Australian takeover
and is still very alive today. Knowledge of English is
restricted in most individuals of advanced age; it is
functional in most individuals of middle age, and the
younger generations have near-to-native fluency. The
school operates a bilingual program in which English
is the language of immersion and Cocos Malay is also
used to aid in instruction, particularly at primary

level. Code-switching is common in the young gener-
ation. This generation is also particularly exposed to
standard Indonesian and standard Malay. The
exposure to Indonesian comes from the media (Indo-
nesian TV) as well as from Bahasa Indonesia, which is
offered in school as a second language choice. The
influence of Malay comes less directly, from the status
that the language enjoys for literary and religious
reasons: in 2001 there were clearly normative voices
to be heard advocating a more standard form of
Malay to be spoken on the island. All these facts
considered, it is quite likely that Cocos Malay may
lose many of its particular traits in the near future.
Cocos Malay communities can also be found in
Western Australia (children have to move there to
complete their education after grade 10) as well as
in Sabah, Malaysia. Relocated from the original set-
tlements in different waves as the islands can only
sustain a limited population, these communities are
described as having lower proficiency in Cocos Malay
than that on Home Island. In particular, in Sabah it is
reported that convergence towards standard Malay
has taken place.
Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein)
A Capone, Barcellona, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bernstein was among the first scholars to focus on the
correlation between the scholastic success (or failure)
of a learner and the social class he or she belonged
to. A student living in a well-off family, having many
cultural stimuli (books, newspapers, periodicals,
films, etc.) is bound to develop a rich and fully articu-
lated language (a so-called ‘elaborate code’), whereas
a student who belongs to a working-class family and
is exposed to poor linguistic and cultural stimuli,
develops a fragmented, poor, syntactically deficient
language (called a ‘restricted code’ by Bernstein) (see
Bernstein, 1971–1975).
Contrary to the Chomskyan theory that language
naturally develops in the brain, due to the interaction
of biologically innate structures and the environment
to which the child is exposed, may be that the data to
which the child is exposed are so poor and confused
that it is easy to demonstrate that the innate learning
program prevails over the environmental stimuli,
Bernstein emphasizes the predominant role played
by the environment in shaping the learning process.
Of course, the correlation between social class is not,
strictly speaking, without exceptions, because much
Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein) 507
See also: Australia: Language Situation; Bilingualism;
Code Switching and Mixing; Language Change and Lan-
guage Contact; Malaysia: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Adelaar K A (1996). ‘Malay in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’
In Nothofer B (ed.) Reconstruction, classification,
description. Festschrift in honour of Isodore Dyen.
Hamburg: Abera Network Asia Pacific. 23–37.
Bunce P (1988). The Cocos (Keeling) Islands. Singapore:
John Wiley & Sons Australia Ltd.
Gibson-Hill M A (1947). ‘Notes on the Cocos-Keeling
Islands.’ Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal
Asiatic Society XX(2), 140–202.
Hunt J G (1989). ‘The revenge of the Bantamese. Factors
for change in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’ Master’s
thesis, Australian National University.
Lapsley A D (1983). ‘Cocos Malay Syntax.’ Master’s thesis,
Monash University.
Lim L & Ansaldo U (2003). ‘Sounds Cocos.’ In Solé M J,
Recasens D & Romero J (eds.) Proceedings of the 15th
International Conference of Phonetic Sciences. Barcelona:
The 15th ICPhS Organizing Committee. 803–806.
of the learning process depends on the lifestyle of the
family under consideration. There are exceptional
working-class families where parents, contrary to all
expectations, have good knowledge of the language
and place great importance on culture, but the norm
is that, within working-class families, cultural stimuli
are less predominant than in more well-off families.
The problem, for sociologists, is how to offset the
disadvantages of the pupils belonging to working-
class families and how pedagogues (and teachers)
can have an antideterministic effect on such children.
A possible solution to the problem is to ensure that
the school (or the class) becomes another miniature
family and that the negative effects of the families are
compensated for by the pedagogical action of the
school. The school should, therefore, be a positive
environment in which pupils are exposed to positive
cultural and affective stimuli that help their person-
alities grow and come to maturity. In such a model of
the school, teachers lose their primary function of
being transmitters of notions (knowledge, in general)
and are required to take the roles of educators or
pedagogues who act as models and provisionally re-
place (at least within the boundaries of the school) the
family by setting good examples for the students, and,
in particular, exposing them to the positive aspects of
culture, intended as knowledge that interacts with the
508 Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein)
individual to make him or her grow up intellectually
and emotionally. To compensate for the negative
effects of families, within which dialogue and conver-
sation have died, or are confined to adjacency pairs
consisting of questions/answers or orders/replies, tea-
chers have to play the role of communicators and
have to stimulate communication. It is, in my view,
impossible for a student to make progress in his or her
language (to develop a more articulated written or
oral mode of expression) unless he or she understands
the function of communication, which is that of
transmitting knowledge, but also of enhancing the
expressive as well as the interpersonal function.
To communicate is not only to express propositions
Code Switching
S Gross, East Tennessee State University, Johnson
City, TN, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In many bi- and multilingual communities around the
world, speakers need to choose, often at an uncon-
scious level, which language to use in their interac-
tions with other members of the community. One of
the choices that bilingual speakers often make is
to code-switch: that is, speakers switch back and
forth between languages (or varieties of the same
language), sometimes within the same utterance
(see Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing).
The motivations for code switching have often
been treated simply as lists of possible functions for
code switching. For example, Appel and Muysken
(1987) cite five such functions. First, code switching
may serve a referential function by compensating for
the speaker’s lack of knowledge in one language,
perhaps on a certain subject. Second, it may serve a
directive function by including or excluding the lis-
tener. Third, code switching may have an expressive
function by identifying the speaker as someone hav-
ing a mixed cultural identity. Fourth, it may have a
phatic function indicating a change in tone in the
conversation. And fifth, it may serve a metalinguistic
function when code switching is used to comment on
the languages involved.
While such lists are useful places to start, and no
one would deny that code switching can certainly
serve these functions, these types of lists fail to answer
the question of what motivates speakers to make the
choices they do at a particular point in a conversa-
tion. This article reviews the major proposals that
have been advanced regarding the following question:
(concerning others), but also to express propositions
concerning what we really are and feel, and, by so
doing, to interact with others, creating an intersub-
jective dimension in which social life is possible (see
Capone, 2003).
Bibliography
Bernstein B (1971–1975). Class, codes and control (3 vols).
London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Bernstein B (1990). The structuring of pedagogical dis-
course. London/New York: Routledge.
Capone A (2003). Pragmemes. Messina: Minerva.
why do speakers choose to engage in code switching
in the first place?
Code Switching as a Research Topic
The current interest in code switching can be dated to
a 1972 study of language use in Hemnesberget, a
small village in northern Norway, conducted by Jan
Blom and John Gumperz and described in a volume
on sociolinguistics edited by Gumperz and Hymes
(1972). In Hemnesberget, two varieties of Norwegian
are used: Ranamål, a local dialect, and Bokmål, the
standard variety (see Language and Dialect: Linguis-
tic Varieties). However, speakers’ decisions regarding
which variety to use are by no means arbitrary or
haphazard. In general, Ranamål, the local variety, is
used in local activities and relationships, reflecting
shared identities with the local culture. In contrast,
Bokmål is used in official settings such as school,
church, and the media, communicating an indivi-
dual’s dissociation from the local group, i.e., not
stressing his or her local ties.
Blom and Gumperz distinguish between two
main functions of code switching: situational and
metaphorical. In situational code switching, which
seems to be similar to the notion of diglossia, the
speaker’s choice of language is constrained by factors
external to her/his own motivations, for example, the
status of the interlocutor, the setting of the conversa-
tion, or the topic of conversation. So, in Hemnesber-
get, Blom and Gumperz observed that when an
outsider joins a group of locals engaged in a conver-
sation, the locals will often switch from the local
variety, Ranamål, to the standard variety, Bokmål.
In a later work, Gumperz (1982) introduces the dis-
tinction between ‘we’ and ‘they’ codes, which further

amplifies the kind of linguistic alternation that occurs
in situational code switching. ‘We’ codes are asso-
ciated with home and family, while ‘they’ codes are
associated with public discourse. In contrast to situa-
tional code switching, speakers may engage in a more
complex type of code switching to create a ‘meta-
phoric’ effect. In his 1982 book, Gumperz explains
that this metaphoric effect is a way for speakers to
communicate ‘‘information about how they intend
their words to be understood’’ (1982: 61). The classic
example of metaphorical code switching from the
Blom and Gumperz 1972 article is from a conversa-
tion at the local community administration office,
where two villagers switch from the standard variety
of Norwegian, in which they had been discussing
official business, to the local variety to discuss family
and other private affairs.
The Blom and Gumperz study is important because
it illustrates that code switching is a complex, skilled
linguistic strategy used by bilinguals to convey impor-
tant social meanings above and beyond the referential
content of an utterance. However, this is not to say
that the Blom and Gumperz article has not generated
some criticism over the years. In addition to some
overlap and lack of clarity in the definitions of situa-
tional versus metaphorical switching, this model of
code switching implies a sharp boundary between the
two types of switching. In fact, Myers-Scotton (1993:
55) argues that the metaphorical meaning of a
switched utterance is derived from its situationally
based meaning. In any case, it is fair to say that
this Blom and Gumperz study sparked an interest
in studying code switching data in terms of a
dynamic, interactional model that focuses on individ-
ual choices rather than static factors related to
an individual’s social status (see Social Class and
Status).
The Audience-Centered Approach to
Code Switching
Using a social psychological theory of language use,
Howard Giles and his associates have developed a
model of interpersonal communication that considers
how speakers change the way they speak according to
their audience. Giles refers to this type of strategy as
accommodation (see Speech Accommodation Theory
and Audience Design). Within Giles’s speech accom-
modation theory, speakers are motivated by their
desire for approval vis-à-vis their desire to dissociate
themselves from the hearer. These concerns are cog-
nitively salient and are realized by speech conver-
gence (similar styles of speaking) or divergence
(different styles of speaking). In fact, Giles predicted
from these assumptions that the greater the effort in
Code Switching 509
converging, the more favorably the individual will
be evaluated by the listener. Thus, convergence and
divergence are linguistic strategies to either decrease
or increase social distance between participants in a
conversation.
Although the premises behind speech accommoda-
tion theory have not been rigorously tested using code
switching data in any comprehensive way, it is not
difficult to see how the model could be used to explain
speakers’ motivations for code switching. For exam-
ple, to test the prediction regarding how listeners will
evaluate a speaker based on the speaker’s perceived
effort at converging, Giles et al. (1973) conducted an
experiment involving bilingual English Canadian stu-
dents who were asked to rate their reactions to a set of
taped descriptions of a simple harbor scene given by
bilingual French Canadian students. Different ver-
sions of this description – reflecting different levels
of linguistic convergence to monolingual English –
were presented to the English Canadian raters. The
results of this experiment supported the prediction
that the greater the effort in converging, the more
favorably the speaker would be perceived. More
specifically, the most convergent bilingual French
Canadian student was viewed as the most considerate
and the most concerned about bridging the cultural
gap between French and English Canadians.
Speech accommodation theory has been successful-
ly applied mainly in the contexts of dialect or style
switching (see Style and Style Shifting). However, the
theory and its predictions still await further testing on
code switching in bilingual settings.
The Conversation Analytic Approach to
Code Switching
Both the Gumperz and the Giles models of code
switching attend to extralinguistic factors such as
topic, setting, and participants as influencing speak-
ers’ linguistic choices in conversations. Peter Auer
(1984) questioned these assumptions and specifically
questioned the way ‘situation’ was defined. For Auer,
situation was a not a static set of contextual features
that constrain linguistic choices. Rather, situation
was seen as a dynamic phenomenon, emerging from
the sequential nature of a conversational interaction.
Using the terminology and the techniques of ethno-
methodology and conversation analysis, Auer argued
that the meaning behind code switching must be
interpreted on the basis of the linguistic choices
made by the participants themselves in the preceding
and following turns in a conversation. In other words,
for Auer, social meaning is constituted locally rather
than at a societal level (see Conversation Analysis;
Ethnomethodology).
510 Code Switching
Studies that use the technique of conversation anal-
ysis typically assign no independent semantic value
to either of the languages involved. Instead, the con-
versational meaning of code switching results from
the mere juxtaposition of the two languages, which
generates contextualization cues whereby partici-
pants signal various contextual presuppositions.
Thus, this language switching has a value of its own,
independent of the direction of code alternation.
Some have argued that an approach that focuses on
the negotiation of meaning as locally constructed can-
not generalize across interactions in order to build
explanatory theories. However, Auer (1995) has iden-
tified several basic code switching patterns that corre-
spond to identifiable meanings, such as participant-
related alternations, which reflect language compe-
tence or preference on the part of the speaker, and
discourse-related alternations, which signal, for ex-
ample, topic change (among other functions). Never-
theless, most researchers still recognize that in
multilingual communities, each language available in
the community indexes specific social and interaction-
al meanings, and listeners tend to attribute consistent
interpretations to the particular language choices that
speakers make (see Pragmatic Indexing).
The Marked Model: A Speaker-Centered
Approach to Code Switching
One of the more richly developed models designed to
explain the sociopragmatic motivations for code
switching is Carol Myers-Scotton’s markedness
model, which developed out of her field research in
East Africa. The central premise of the markedness
model is that speakers are rational actors who make
code selections in such a way as to minimize costs and
maximize rewards; that is, speakers are concerned
with optimizing the outcomes of an interaction in
their own favor (see Markedness).
This notion of the speaker as a rational actor
making certain decisions about code choice, albeit
at a largely unconscious level, is also evident in
speech accommodation theory as well as in Gumperz’s
approach to code switching. However, unlike these
other models, which consign the primary motivation
for code switching to the addressee or to some
other factor external to the speaker (e.g., topic or
social setting), the markedness model is primarily a
speaker-centered approach to communication.
Markedness and Communicative Competence
Within the marked model, all code choices fall along a
continuum, as more or less marked or unmarked.
With respect to bilingual speech, the unmarked choice
simply refers to the linguistic variety that is expected,
given the societal norms for that interaction. In con-
trast, marked choices fall at the other end of this
continuum; that is, they are in some sense unusual or
unexpected for the particular social interaction.
Furthermore, all speakers possess what Myers-
Scotton calls a markedness evaluator, or the capacity
to evaluate linguistic choices in terms of markedness,
as part of their innate communicative competence
(see Communicative Competence). While the capacity
to assign markedness readings to linguistic choices is
innate, the markedness continuum is established
through exposure to the range of linguistic options
used in the community.
Explaining Speakers’ Choices
All code choices can ultimately be explained in terms
of speakers’ motivations to optimize the outcomes of
the interaction. Most choices that speakers make af-
firm the norms that are in place for the particular
exchange. These are unmarked choices, and they are
usually the safest choices to make. The particular
code used by the speaker is important only insofar
as the participants view its status as marked or un-
marked for that type of interaction. Thus, in a multi-
lingual setting such as Nairobi, Kenya, the unmarked
choice for most business transactions between stran-
gers is Swahili. However, if the participants discover
during the course of their conversation that they are
members of the Luyia ethnic group, they will often
switch into Luyia to continue the conversation.
Luyia, then, becomes the unmarked choice, given
the ethnic identity of the participants. However,
code switching between Swahili and English within
the same turn, within the same sentence, and even
within words is typically the unmarked choice for
informal social gatherings between educated, middle-
class peers in Nairobi. Hence, the markedness of
linguistic choices must be evaluated in terms of the
norms for a particular exchange; the unmarked setting
may even change within a conversation.
In contrast to the relative safety of unmarked
choices, marked choices carry with them some ele-
ment of risk for someone who wishes to defy the
norms. Importantly, the interpretation that a marked
choice receives derives from its contrast with the
unmarked choice for that exchange. That is, the un-
expectedness, the ‘otherness’ of a marked choice
carries significant social meaning. Marked choices
are typically used to redefine the relationship between
the speaker and the addressee, often as an expression
of the speaker’s authority or power, to indicate
anger, or to assert one’s ethnic identity (see Identity
and Language; Power and Pragmatics). All these

strategies can be subsumed under a single general
principle: speakers make marked choices to negotiate
a change in the expected social distance between the
participants, either increasing or decreasing it.
The Significance of the Markedness Model
Since its formulation, the markedness model has been
successfully used to explain code switching between
languages, between dialects and registers, and even
between stylistic choices in literary contexts. The
strength of the markedness model is its ability to ex-
plain not only unmarked choices, which other models
do as well, but also its ability to explain marked choices.
Furthermore, the markedness model addresses the uni-
versal aspects of communicative competence in terms
of the cognitive abilities that use readings of marked-
ness to assess speakers’ intentions. For these reasons,
the markedness model is a powerful tool not only for
code switching research, but also for any examination
of the ways in which speakers use language to achieve
interactional goals.
See also: Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing; Com-
municative Competence; Conversation Analysis; Ethno-
methodology; Identity and Language; Language and
Dialect: Linguistic Varieties; Markedness; Power and Prag-
matics; Social Class and Status; Speech Accommodation
Theory and Audience Design; Style and Style Shifting.
Bibliography
Appel R & Muysken P (1987). Language contact and bilin-
gualism. London: Arnold.
Auer P (1984). Bilingual conversation. Amsterdam:
Benjamins.
Code Switching and Mixing
S Mahootian, Northeastern Illinois University,
Chicago, IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Code switching is a linguistic phenomenon commonly
occurring in bi- and multilingual speech communities.
The term, which also appears as ‘codeswitching’ and
‘code-switching’ in the literature, broadly refers to the
systematic use of two or more languages or varieties
of the same language during oral or written discourse.
One of the earliest definitions of code switching
Code Switching and Mixing 511
Auer P (ed.) (1998). Code-switching in conversation: lan-
guage, interaction and identity. London: Routledge.
Blom J P & Gumperz J J (1972). ‘Social meaning in struc-
ture: code switching in Norway.’ In Gumperz J J &
Hymes D (eds.) Directions in sociolinguistics: the ethnog-
raphy of communication. New York: Holt, Rinehart,
Winston. 407–434.
Bourhis R G, Giles H, Leyens J P & Tajfel H (1979).
‘Psycholinguistic distinctiveness: language divergence in
Belgium.’ In Giles H & St Clair R (eds.) Language and
social psychology. Oxford: Blackwell. 158–185.
Giles H, Taylor D M & Bourhis R Y (1973). ‘Towards a
theory of interpersonal accommodation through lan-
guage: some Canadian data.’ Language in Society 2,
177–192.
Gumperz J J (1982). Discourse Strategies. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Jacobson R (ed.) (1990). Codeswitching as a worldwide
phenomenon. New York: Peter Lang.
Heller M (ed.) (1988). Codeswitching: anthropological
and sociolinguistic perspectives. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Milroy L & Muysken P (eds.) (1995). One speaker, two
languages: cross disciplinary perspectives on code-
switching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Myers-Scotton C (1993). Social motivations for code-
switching: evidence from Africa. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
Myers-Scotton C (1998). ‘A theoretical introduction to
the markedness model.’ In Myers-Scotton C (ed.) Codes
and consequences. New York: Oxford University Press.
18–38.
Thakerar J N, Giles H & Cheshire J (1982). ‘Psychological
and linguistic parameters of speech accommodation the-
ory.’ In Fraser C & Scherer K R (eds.) Advances in the
social psychology of language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 205–255.
Wei L (ed.) (2000). The bilingualism reader. London:
Routledge.
was provided by Weinreich’s (1953) description of
bilingualism as ‘‘the practice of alternately using two
languages.’’ Gumperz (1982: 59) highlights the struc-
tural aspects of code switching that have dominated
the last three decades of research in this area, by
defining code switching ‘‘as the juxtaposition within
the same speech exchange of passages of speech
belonging to two different grammatical systems or
subsystems.’’
Although the conversation patterns observed be-
tween bilinguals of the same language backgrounds
indicate a predominantly unconscious switching back

strategies can be subsumed under a single general
principle: speakers make marked choices to negotiate
a change in the expected social distance between the
participants, either increasing or decreasing it.
The Significance of the Markedness Model
Since its formulation, the markedness model has been
successfully used to explain code switching between
languages, between dialects and registers, and even
between stylistic choices in literary contexts. The
strength of the markedness model is its ability to ex-
plain not only unmarked choices, which other models
do as well, but also its ability to explain marked choices.
Furthermore, the markedness model addresses the uni-
versal aspects of communicative competence in terms
of the cognitive abilities that use readings of marked-
ness to assess speakers’ intentions. For these reasons,
the markedness model is a powerful tool not only for
code switching research, but also for any examination
of the ways in which speakers use language to achieve
interactional goals.
See also: Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing; Com-
municative Competence; Conversation Analysis; Ethno-
methodology; Identity and Language; Language and
Dialect: Linguistic Varieties; Markedness; Power and Prag-
matics; Social Class and Status; Speech Accommodation
Theory and Audience Design; Style and Style Shifting.
Bibliography
Appel R & Muysken P (1987). Language contact and bilin-
gualism. London: Arnold.
Auer P (1984). Bilingual conversation. Amsterdam:
Benjamins.
Code Switching and Mixing
S Mahootian, Northeastern Illinois University,
Chicago, IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Code switching is a linguistic phenomenon commonly
occurring in bi- and multilingual speech communities.
The term, which also appears as ‘codeswitching’ and
‘code-switching’ in the literature, broadly refers to the
systematic use of two or more languages or varieties
of the same language during oral or written discourse.
One of the earliest definitions of code switching
Code Switching and Mixing 511
Auer P (ed.) (1998). Code-switching in conversation: lan-
guage, interaction and identity. London: Routledge.
Blom J P & Gumperz J J (1972). ‘Social meaning in struc-
ture: code switching in Norway.’ In Gumperz J J &
Hymes D (eds.) Directions in sociolinguistics: the ethnog-
raphy of communication. New York: Holt, Rinehart,
Winston. 407–434.
Bourhis R G, Giles H, Leyens J P & Tajfel H (1979).
‘Psycholinguistic distinctiveness: language divergence in
Belgium.’ In Giles H & St Clair R (eds.) Language and
social psychology. Oxford: Blackwell. 158–185.
Giles H, Taylor D M & Bourhis R Y (1973). ‘Towards a
theory of interpersonal accommodation through lan-
guage: some Canadian data.’ Language in Society 2,
177–192.
Gumperz J J (1982). Discourse Strategies. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Jacobson R (ed.) (1990). Codeswitching as a worldwide
phenomenon. New York: Peter Lang.
Heller M (ed.) (1988). Codeswitching: anthropological
and sociolinguistic perspectives. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Milroy L & Muysken P (eds.) (1995). One speaker, two
languages: cross disciplinary perspectives on code-
switching. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Myers-Scotton C (1993). Social motivations for code-
switching: evidence from Africa. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
Myers-Scotton C (1998). ‘A theoretical introduction to
the markedness model.’ In Myers-Scotton C (ed.) Codes
and consequences. New York: Oxford University Press.
18–38.
Thakerar J N, Giles H & Cheshire J (1982). ‘Psychological
and linguistic parameters of speech accommodation the-
ory.’ In Fraser C & Scherer K R (eds.) Advances in the
social psychology of language. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 205–255.
Wei L (ed.) (2000). The bilingualism reader. London:
Routledge.
was provided by Weinreich’s (1953) description of
bilingualism as ‘‘the practice of alternately using two
languages.’’ Gumperz (1982: 59) highlights the struc-
tural aspects of code switching that have dominated
the last three decades of research in this area, by
defining code switching ‘‘as the juxtaposition within
the same speech exchange of passages of speech
belonging to two different grammatical systems or
subsystems.’’
Although the conversation patterns observed be-
tween bilinguals of the same language backgrounds
indicate a predominantly unconscious switching back
512 Code Switching and Mixing
and forth between the two languages, this is not to say
that switching occurs randomly. In fact, over the last
three decades, researchers in the area of language
contact have come to a consensus that code switching
is a systematic rule-governed linguistic behavior.
Switching may be conscious and intentional. Inten-
tional switching may be used to indicate shifts in topic,
change in interlocutor, and change in interpersonal or
social relationships. Much of the time, however,
switching between languages is unintentional. It is the
result of psycho- and sociolinguistic variables that the
speaker is not consciously aware of, involving proces-
sing issues and the tendency of speakers to adapt their
speech style to the interlocutor’s style and/or communi-
ty norms and expectations.
Although switching has at times been associated
with language attrition, indicative of weakness in
one of the bilingual’s languages, many researchers
believe that code switching is in fact a natural conse-
quence of competence in more than one language and
that it should not be mistaken for a language deficit.
The following are some examples of code switch-
ing between (1) Farsi-English, (2) Irish-English, (3)
Japanese-English, and (4) Arabic-French.
(1) gofte bud ke she wanted to get revenge.
said was that
‘She had said that she wanted to get revenge.’
(Mahootian, 1993)
(2) Ta carr light green aige
be car at him
‘He has a light green car.’ (Stenson, 1990)
(3) one algebra question o mark shite
ACC. do
‘you mark one algebra question’
(Nishimura, 1991)
(4) un professeur aDim
a professor excellent
‘an excellent professor’ (Bentahila and Davies,
1983)
Types of Code Switching
Two main types of code switching can be identified.
Switching between languages at sentence or clause
boundaries is called intersentential. Switches within
a clause involving a phrase, a single word or across
morpheme boundaries are intrasentential switches.
Some researchers identify tag switching as a third type
of switching, separate from intersentential switch-
ing. Tag switches involve the insertion of tag forms
such as I mean, you know, isn’t it?, etc., from one
language into an utterance of another language.
Example (5) shows an instance of intersentential
switching between Puerto Rican Spanish and English;
(6) and (7) are examples of intrasentential switching,
and (8) is an example of a tag switch between Farsi
and English.
(5) Sometimes I’ll start a sentence in English
y termino en español
and finish it in Spanish
‘Sometimes I’ll start a sentence in English and
finish it in Spanish.’ (Poplack, 1980)
(6) I’m shuxi-ing with you.
joke-
‘I’m joking with you.’ (Mahootian, 1993)
(7) Your bag is zir-e miz
under of table
‘Your bag is under the table.’
(8) It was a good performance, nae?
, no?
‘It was a good performance, wasn’t it?’
Code Mixing
Some researchers have used the term ‘code mixing’
(also ‘codemixing’ and ‘code-mixing’) to refer specifi-
cally to intrasentential switching, and code switching
to refer to intersentential switching. In most current
literature, however, the term ‘code mixing’ is used
interchangeably with ‘code switching,’ with both
terms referring to both types of language mixing.
Recently, a few researchers have made finer distinc-
tions between the two terms, using ‘code mixing’ and
‘mixed code’ to distinguish the use of two or more
languages at the discourse level from switches within
clauses/words.
In studies of child bilingualism, however, ‘code
mixing’ carries additional implications. Depending
on the researcher’s view vis-à-vis children’s ability to
keep their two languages separate, code mixing can
be seen as either a sign of the child’s display of two
differentiated code systems or an underlying unified
system. Mixing in the former case refers to the same
phenomenon found in adult mixed speech. In the
latter, mixing refers to the use of the ‘wrong’ lan-
guage in a monolingual context. More on this topic
can be found in ‘Bilingual Language Acquisition and
Code Switching.’
Borrowings, Nonce Borrowings, and
Loanwords
Adequately defining bilingualism and distinguishing
between two of its related features, code switching
and borrowing, has been an ongoing challenge for
researchers. Borrowing is not a new phenomenon
and can be seen as part of the development and lexical
expansion of all languages. The most significant rea-
son that languages borrow from one another is also
the most obvious. Borrowing is motivated primarily

by cultural contact, whether through trade or war.
Along with new ways, styles, foods, religions, forms
of government, etc., new words for these items are
introduced into the community. For example, looking
at the history of the development of the English lan-
guage we see the influence of Latin and French in
everyday words such as plant, pear, organ, bishop,
heretic, pot, cook, from Latin, and cardinal, duke,
court, abbey, beef, mutton, joy, poor, fruit, from
French.
Traditionally, the term ‘borrowing’ has been used
to refer to any word or phrase taken from one lan-
guage and used by the monolingual speakers of an-
other language. Usually, borrowings fill lexical gaps
arising from imported concepts, such as telephone,
television, fax, pizza, etc. Before a word or phrase
becomes a fully legitimate borrowing and becomes
fully integrated into the host language, it goes
through a few stages. Usually the target word is intro-
duced into a language through bilinguals. At this
stage, the word is not phonologically or morphologi-
cally integrated into the host language and its usage is
more or less limited to bilinguals. Once a foreign
word becomes part of the monolingual speech of
a host language, most researchers agree that it has
become part of the host language and hence a lan-
guage borrowing. At this stage, the borrowed word
will also show signs of adaptation to the morphology
and phonology of the host language.
However, since borrowing is typically a gradual
process, there are a number of factors that have been
identified as relevant to distinguishing code switches
from borrowings. First among these is the length of a
borrowed utterance and the degree of morphological
and phonological integration of the utterance into the
host language. Opinions on the degree of integration
range from fully integrated single words that have
been completely adapted to the host language phonol-
ogy and morphology systems, such as the Japanese
word takshi [takuši] borrowed from the English taxi
[tæksi], to phrases˚ of any length showing partial inte-
gration (Reyes, 1974; Pfaff, 1979; Haugen, 1956;
Hasselmo, 1970; Grosjean, 1982; Mahootian, 1993).
Frequency of occurrence in the host language has also
been identified as a factor, with the idea that borrow-
ings occur more frequently than code switches
(Poplack et al., 1988; Myers-Scotton, 1993).
Loanwords
Based on degree of integration, borrowings are further
classified as either loanwords or nonce borrowings.
Words fully integrated and used by monolinguals,
usually without any knowledge of the words’ origins,
are loanwords. Loanwords can be further categorized
Code Switching and Mixing 513
as necessary loans and unnecessary loans. Necessary
loans fill lexical gaps or accompany specific items
brought into the host culture. Some examples of nec-
essary loanwords in English are pajamas, whiskey,
chili, croissant, robot, orange, and a host of other
words that most monolingual English speakers prob-
ably do not recognize as borrowings. Food, fashion,
technology, etc. are typical candidates for necessary
loans. Unnecessary loans, as their label implies,
do not fill in gaps. In fact, they coexist with the
native analog but usually in a semantically altered
fashion. For example, the French word veal, meaning
‘yearling’ or ‘calf’, did not simply replace the English
word ‘calf,’ which also referred to the young animal
and, therefore, blocked the French word from apply-
ing to that meaning. Veal could, however, be used for
some other related meaning and was used to refer to
the meat from the animal rather than the animal
itself.
One of the reasons often cited for the unnecessary
loans is that the guest language is associated with
prestige by speakers of the host language, but there
are many cases where prestige cannot account for
such borrowings. A case in point is English borrow-
ings in Japanese. For example, the word maketo
(<market) connotes a modern image of an indoor
market. Its Japanese equivalent, ichi, on the other
hand, refers to an outdoor market, located under a
tent. Clearly, maketo is borrowed into Japanese not
for prestige but rather to make a useful distinction.
Another example is the word senta (<center, as in an
institution). The Japanese morpheme -sho, meaning
‘center’ conveys a less equipped place. The borrowed
word senta, on the other hand, conveys a well-
equipped, better-made, larger space, with modern
furniture. The suffix -sho is also used for places that
do not cater to fun/positive activities, such as kei-
musho ‘jail.’ Other such borrowings are used euphe-
mistically. For example, the words babysitter,
nationalism, and bargain are used in Japanese when
a speaker wants to elevate or downplay the negative
connotations of the Japanese equivalents. Romaine
(1995) makes similar observation about English bor-
rowings in Punjabi.
Distinguishing Borrowings from Code
Switches
As mentioned earlier, one of the major problems con-
fronting researchers in the area of language contact is
how to distinguish between code switching and bor-
rowing. These two have generally been considered
different phenomena that produce mixed sentences.
Most researchers agree that switching can be of any
length. It can occur at the word, phrase, or sentence
514 Code Switching and Mixing
level as long as it is a complete shift into the other
language, as in example (9) below:
(9) Ça m’étonnerait qu’on ait code-switched autant
que ça.
‘I can’t believe that we code-switched as often as
that.’ (Grosjean, 1982).
In this example the word ‘code-switched’ has been
code switched, because the speaker has used an
English term with an English pronunciation and
past participle form in an otherwise French sentence.
In contrast, borrowings tend to be short and pho-
nologically and morphologically adapted to the host
language. For example, the word ‘code-switché’ in
sentence (10) is an instance of borrowing (Grosjean,
1982). The English term ‘code switch’ is pronounced
and inflected in French.
(10) Ça m’étonnerait qu’on ait CODE-SWITCHÉ
autant que ça.
‘I can’t believe that we code-switched as often as
that.’
The distinction between code switching and borrow-
ing is important in sociolinguistics, where the decision
to code switch or not is an integral part of the dynamics
of a community (see ‘Functions of Code Switching’).
Until the early 1990s, linguists interested in the struc-
ture of code switching had also honored the distinction
between switching and borrowing, with the implica-
tion that borrowings behave differently syntactically.
However, for the distinction to be useful, it would have
to rest on three interrelated assumptions:
1. borrowing and code switching are two concep-
tually distinct linguistic phenomena,
2. we can systematically and consistently separate
the two phenomena, and
3. the distinction will hold across languages in a way
that allows us to make generalizations about each
phenomenon.
The criteria set thus far for distinguishing the two
are not infallible. Since code switching can occur on a
single-word level as well in longer utterances, length
of utterance does not offer a clear-cut distinction.
Phonological adaptation also fails to be foolproof.
For example, if a bilingual speaker has transferred
the phonological system of L1 to L2 while acquiring
L2 (in other words the speaker has an accent), it will
be difficult to evaluate whether word X from L2 has
been borrowed into an L1 sentence or if the speaker
has code switched into L2. Most researchers ac-
knowledge the shortcoming of using morphological
adaptation as a guideline in cases where the switch
may be only one word such as an adverb or an unin-
flected free morpheme. Some researchers claim to
have developed operational criteria for distinguishing
borrowings from code switches. Their operational
criteria rest on establishing a parallel between nonce
borrowings and established loanwords. They assert
that nonce borrowings, like established loans, are
morphologically and syntactically integrated into the
host language but code switches are not.
Nonce Borrowings
Despite some evidence that nonces are loanwords,
there is more evidence that they are not. First, nonce
borrowings, like code switches, are only used by
bilinguals, not monolinguals.
Second, loanwords are established, recognized by
the community as part of the native lexicon, and used
as frequently and naturally as other native lexical
items. Nonce borrowings are spontaneous usages,
not established, with no guarantee of recurrence –
just as code switches are spontaneous, not established,
with no guarantee of recurrence.
Third, loanwords are phonologically adapted to
the host language but nonce borrowings are not.
Here too, nonce borrowings behave like code
switches.
Fourth, morphological adaptation, as mentioned
earlier, is not a foolproof criterion. It may be true
that all words morphologically adapted into the host
language are borrowings. However, what about
words that have no overt morphology? Are they
automatically code switches by default?
Fifth, syntactic adaptation also has its limits. For
example in the case of two languages with the same
word order, such as Spanish and English, would the
word slowly in sentence (11) be considered a code
switch or a borrowing? In cases such as (11), syntactic
adaptation fails to be a clear criterion.
(11) Lo hizo slowly.
‘He did it slowly.’ (Woolford, 1983)
According to proponents of the nonce borrowing hy-
pothesis, slowly could be either a nonce borrowing
or a code switch.
Matrix and Embedded Languages
The distinction between matrix or host language and
embedded or guest language is a crucial part of a
number of code switching accounts. However, no
feasible criteria have been established that systemati-
cally distinguish the matrix language from the embed-
ded language in all instances of code switching. Some
have proposed the base language should be whichever
language the syntax of the utterance belongs to or
whichever language provides the inflectional and

derivational morphemes. Myers-Scotton distinguish-
es between system morphemes, or grammatical
morphemes, and content morphemes, the morphemes
that assign thematic roles. System morphemes come
from the matrix language. Joshi uses speaker intuition
as the basis for distinguishing matrix from embedded
language. He claims that in mixed discourse, speaker
and hearer ‘usually agree’ on which language is the
matrix language. However, as the following example
indicates, not all bilingual speakers seem to be con-
scious of their switches, let alone which language
frame they are using.
(12) I mean I’m guilty in that sense ke ziada wsi
English i bolde fer ode nal eda . . . wsi mix
kerde rene ã. I mean, unconsciously,
subconsciously, keri jane e . . .
‘I mean I’m guilty in that sense that we speak
English more and more . . . we keep mixing.
I mean unconsciously, subconsciously, we
keep doing it. . .’ (Romaine, 1995)
Not all researchers agree with these criteria. For ex-
ample, Romaine (1995) notes that the syntax and
morphology criteria would not work for Punjabi-
English. Nor, as she and others have pointed out,
would they yield unequivocal results in all instances.
The mixed utterances in (13)–(15) underscore the
problematic nature of the criteria proposed for the
matrix/embedded distinction. In (13), for example,
Japanese structure overlaps with English structure;
therefore, it will not be possible to assign matrix
language based on syntax. In cases such as (14) and
(15), where a single system morpheme is in one lan-
guage and the remaining utterance is in the other
language, it seems counterintuitive, or at least prob-
lematic, to designate the language of the grammatical
morpheme as the matrix.
(13) Dakedo I don’t like New York
but
‘But I don’t like New York.’ (Jap-Eng;
Nishimura, 1985)
(14) E baguette, s’il vous plaı̂t . . .
a baguette please
‘A baguette please . . .’ (Alsatian-Fr; Gardner-
Chloros, 1991)
(15) Lawyer-et will tell you what to do.
-2P-POSS
‘Your lawyer will tell you what to do.’
(Farsi-Eng; Mahootian, 1993)
In addition to the unreliability of the proposed criteria
for distinguishing matrix language from embedded,
some researchers have pointed out that syntactic ana-
lyses of code switching, by virtue of their claim to be
based on principles of universal grammar, should not
need to resort to such a distinction.
Code Switching and Mixing 515
Social and Pragmatic Functions of Code
Switching
Early studies of code switching were embedded in
studies of language contact and bilingualism. The
most significant of these studies were carried out by
Weinreich (1953), Haugen (1953), Hasselmo (1961),
and Clyne (1972). By the early 1970s, code choice
and code mixing were taking more of the spotlight as
researchers became interested in the conversational
functions and the social motivations of the byproducts
of bilingualism. A number of functions were identified
and associated with code switching, with most, if not
all, directly or indirectly related to a complex of inter-
connected social and contextual variables or domains
such as situation, interlocutor, and topic of discourse.
Bilinguals’ code switching was likened to monolin-
guals’ style shifting. It was argued that having more
than one language gave bilingual speakers a choice of
an additional discourse mode. Giles et al. (1977)
proposed that in addition to these domains, code
switching and language choice are also influenced
by sociopsychological forces. This approach, known
as accommodation theory, would, for example, pre-
dict that speakers’ needs or desires to associate with
or disassociate from a group will direct their language
choice.
Referential and Expressive Switching
The two functions most discussed in the literature
until the early 1980s were the referential and the
expressive functions of code switching. The referen-
tial function of code switching refers to the types of
code switches that are primarily motivated by lexical
gaps, or lack of fluency about a topic in one language,
or simple failure of lexical retrieval. This function of
code switching highlights the fact that the notion of
balanced bilingualism is more an issue of theoretical
competence rather than a reality. It is often the case
that a bilingual can discuss some subjects more easily
in one language than the other. For example, indivi-
duals whose home language (L1) differs from the
language in which they have been educated (L2) are
more at ease discussing academic concepts in the L2
and will therefore switch to the L2 to do so. This is
true with regard to technical or culture-specific con-
cepts as well. Tuning in to non-English radio stations
in the United States reveals an interesting pattern of
code switching. The native-language broadcasts are
peppered with English terms for traffic flow, weather
conditions, and local events.
The expressive function of code switching is asso-
ciated with a meta-level act of communication where
the form itself, meaning mixed speech discourse, is a
comment about the speaker rather than the speech.
516 Code Switching and Mixing
The relationship between language and identity has
long been established and documented. Language is
both co-constructor and a reflection of social identity.
This relationship becomes more complex in bilingual
communities where the languages and cultural/ethnic
values and identities bear unequal social prestige. Stud-
ies of Spanish-English code switching among Puerto
Ricans in New York and of code switching in the
media conclude that speakers choose mixed code as a
way to emphasize their bilingual/bicultural identity.
Metaphorical and Transactional Switching
The concepts of metaphorical or nonsituational and
transactional or situational code switchings were
introduced to capture two functions of code switch-
ing (Blom and Gumperz, 1972). Transactional
switching is motivated by variables such as topic and
interlocutors. Metaphorical switching, on the other
hand, accounts for the extralinguistic message the
speaker wishes to express, the effect the speaker
wants to have on the hearer. Metaphorical code
switching is viewed as an indication of the speaker’s
momentary attitudes and emotions with social vari-
ables (class, situation, speakers, topic, etc.) and ideo-
logical variables (identity, group affiliation, etc.) as
important contributors to the form of the message
(Gumperz, 1982). In his seminal work on discourse
strategies, Gumperz characterizes bilingual speakers
and bilingual speech communities as ‘‘marked both
by diversity of norms and attitudes and by diversity of
communicative conventions’’ (Gumperz, 1982: 71). In
an attempt to capture uniformity across different
bilingual language exchanges, he posits five conversa-
tional functions of code switching: (Gumperz, 1982:
77ff):
1. Quotation: to distinguish between direct speech
and quotations or reported speech: When quoting
or reporting someone else’s discourse, speakers
will often switch into that person’s language, as
in the following Farsi-English example:
unvaeqt jan be maen mige, ‘‘I don’t think I can make
it.’’
then John to me says
‘Then John says to me, ‘‘I don’t think I can make it.’’’
2. Addressee specification: speakers may code switch
in order to ‘‘direct a message to one of several
addressees’’ (Gumperz, 1982: 77):
‘Well I don’t know how to describe it but it just
doesn’t feel like home to me (directed to Hearers 1
and 2; H1 is monolingual, H2 bilingual), to miduni
maenzuraem chie, doroste? (you know what
I mean, right?’ directed to H2). (Farsi-Eng)
3. Interjections: speakers may code switch as a way
to mark an interjection as in the phrase ‘you know’
in the Panjabi-English sentence below:
I wish, you know ke m3 pure Panjabi bol s3ka
‘I wish, you know, that I could speak pure Panjabi’
(Romaine, 1995: 122)
4. Reiteration: speakers may switch languages to em-
phasize or clarify a message:
Ven acá, ven acá, come here, you.
Come here, . (Sp-Eng;
come here, Gumperz, 1982: 78)
5. Message qualification: speakers may switch to add
more information in order to qualify the main
message.
6. Personalization versus objectification: in this cate-
gory, switching marks a number of related func-
tions that reflect the degree of speaker
involvement or distancing vis-à-vis the message,
the interlocutors, etc.
Related to the sixth category, Grosjean (1982: 152)
identifies a number of additional discourse functions
such as marking group identity, emphasizing solidar-
ity, excluding others from a conversation, raising
the status of the speaker, and adding authority or
expertise to a message.
Though not comprehensive and by his own admis-
sion limited, Gumperz’s view of the sociopragmatic
functions of code switching captured the dynamic
nature of language choice and was an important
first step to a fresh look at an old phenomenon.
Many of the same ideas and observations concerning
the discourse functions of code switching were recast
by Auer (1984) in a conversational analysis frame-
work and by Appel and Muysken (1987) in the func-
tional framework of Jakobson (1960) and Halliday
et al. (1964). Based on her work in Africa, Myers-
Scotton also suggested that code switching ‘‘serves
the same general socio-psychological functions ev-
erywhere’’ (Myers-Scotton, 1988: 3) and proposed
the markedness model of code switching to ‘‘explain
the socio-psychological motivations behind CS [code
switching]’’ (Myers-Scotton, 1988: 3).
Attitudes Toward Code Switching
Despite the pragmatic functions that code switching/
language mixing serves and clear evidence that code
mixed utterances are structurally rule-governed and
systematic, in most communities, code switching usu-
ally has a stigmatized status. This is not to say that all
bilinguals or all bilingual communities consider
code switching to be negative. In fact, in all bilingual

communities one finds that attitudes toward mixed
language range from positive to negative, depending
on class, age, education, profession, and other social
factors. For example, older generations of speakers in
a bilingual community typically have a negative re-
sponse to code switching and assert that it shows a
loss of pride in the home culture and disrespect to the
community elders, not to mention ignorance and la-
ziness. They avoid code switching and usually expect
the languages to be kept separate and hence ‘pure.’
Younger generations are expected to do the same, at
least in the presence of their elders. This ideal of
language purity is a strong social constraint on lan-
guage mixing and can be found across many bilingual
communities.
Who holds what attitude is not necessarily predict-
able, however, and can vary from community to com-
munity and from language pair to language pair. In
part, attitude is tied to a group’s position on bilin-
gualism, to the social status of each language, as well
as to the status of the immigrant group in the host
country. For example, Puerto Ricans in New York
have a positive attitude toward bilingualism and
code switching. For them, code switching is frequent
and occurs in both directions, i.e., from Spanish into
English and from English into Spanish. Mixing two
languages is an important way to show the speakers’
affiliation and connection to both their cultures. In
the same vein, in some social contexts, using mixed
language discourse is considered the unmarked or
expected form, and not mixing is considered marked
or unexpected.
Conversely, until recently, among Mexican-
Americans, code switching was highly stigmatized
and referred to pejoratively. It has been noted that
when political ideology changes and a group becomes
more conscious of their ethnicity, attitudes toward
code mixing change. For example, Romaine (1995)
points to the reversal of the previously pejorative
use of pocho and caló used in California and the
southwestern United States to refer to the variety
of Spanish-English spoken by Chicanos. She ties
this shift to a heightened ethnic awareness among
Chicanos.
Structural Accounts of Code Switching
Studies of the structure of code switching fall into
four categories: descriptive accounts (Timm, 1975;
Pfaff, 1979); accounts involving surface constraints
and a third grammar for code switching (Poplack,
1980; Sankoff and Poplack, 1981); principle-based
accounts involving special mechanisms (Belazi
et al., 1994; Bentahila and Davies, 1983; Di Sciullo
et al., 1986; Joshi, 1985; Woolford, 1983); and
Code Switching and Mixing 517
principle-based accounts without code switching-
specific mechanisms or constraints (Mahootian,
1993, 1996a, 1996b; Myers-Scotton, 1993).
Overall, these approaches show the progression of
code switching accounts moving from a view of code
switching as only a dynamic social phenomenon to
code switching as a language phenomenon that can
inform linguistic theory at other levels such as syntax,
morphology, and language acquisition.
Descriptive Accounts of Code Switching
Until the early 1970s, linguists generally considered
the grammatical implications in one of two ways. On
the one hand, grammatical implications were ignored
because it was assumed that the internal structures
of sentences have no bearing on the motivations for
switching. On the other hand, some researchers con-
cluded that the failure to find rules or constraints in-
dicated that codes witching was syntactically
unrestricted and irregular.
However, in the course of the 1970s, some lin-
guists suggested that code switching does not occur
syntactically randomly. A number of descriptive
accounts, mostly about Spanish and English, ob-
served that switching between languages seemed to
follow certain patterns. For example, based on their
data of Spanish-English code switches, Timm (1975)
and Gumperz (1976) noted that switching did not
occur between the subject pronoun and the finite
verb. They proposed that switching was in fact pro-
hibited between those elements, shown in examples
(16) and (17) from Timm (1975: 477).
(16) Pron Subj Verb
Sp Eng *Yo went; *El wants; *Ellos gave.
Eng Sp *I fui; *He quiere; *They daban
(17) Verb Pro Obj
Sp Eng *Mira him; *Him mira
Eng Sp *She sees lo *Lo she sees
Pfaff (1979) described further constraints on
Spanish-English code switching. She noted in the
case of switches between adjective and noun that the
resulting mix must not violate the surface word order
of either language. Hence switches between English
nouns and postnominal Spanish adjectives are pro-
hibited, as shown in example (18). However, switch-
ing between determiners and their NPs, shown in
example (19), is allowed.
(18) *I went to the house chiquita
small
‘I went to the small house.’ (Pfaff, 1979)
(19) el same day
the
‘the same day’ (Pfaff, 1979)
518 Code Switching and Mixing
A Three-Grammar Approach
Results such as those obtained by Timm and Pfaff led
researchers to look for ways to formulate the apparent
constraints on code switching. The first effort at for-
malizing constraints was made by Sankoff and
Poplack (1981). They suggested that bilinguals have
a code switching grammar separate from the grammar
of their two languages. That is, they claim bilinguals
have a third, code switching grammar along with
their two monolingual grammars. Their code switch-
ing grammar comprises the lexicon of the two lan-
guages plus the grammatical categories of the two
languages.
Poplack (1980) and Sankoff and Poplack (1981)
also proposed two universal constraints on code
switching. The Free Morpheme Constraint prohibits
a switch between a stem and an affix unless the affix
has been phonologically integrated into the language
of the stem. Accordingly, mixed utterances such as in
example (20) are disallowed.
(20) *eat-iendo
‘eating’ (Poplack, 1980)
Their second principle, the Equivalence Constraint,
operates on surface structures. Its simplest form states
that the word order before and after a switch must be
possible in both languages. In the example below,
(21c) is the speaker’s utterance, (21a) and (21b) are
the corresponding English and Spanish forms, and
therefore the switch in (21c) is possible (Poplack,
1980: 586):
(21a) Eng: I told him that so that he would bring it
fast
(21b) Sp: (Yo) lo dije eso pa’ que (el) la trajero
ligero
I him told that so that he it bring fast
(21c) CS: I told him that PA’ QUE LA TRAJERO
LIGERO
However, the switch between the noun and adjective
in example (22) is ruled out since the noun-
adjective order is exclusive to Spanish:
(22) *the casa big
house
‘the big house’ (Woolford, 1983)
Despite their seminal work showing that code
switching is syntactically systematic and rule-
governed, Sankoff and Poplack’s model has been
criticized for falling short on two levels. On the con-
ceptual level, since every language requires a third
code mixed grammar, a trilingual speaker would be
carrying around seven grammars. This number jumps
to 15 for the quadrilingual. Such an increase in the
number of grammars seems unlikely.
Second, both of their proposed constraints have
been shown to be too strong. The equivalence con-
straint that operates on linear order disregards the
hierarchical relationship among categories and con-
stituents. Consequently, although the constraint ade-
quately predicts switches between Spanish and
English, it fails to predict possible switches in the
case of typologically dissimilar languages, such as
English (SVO) and Japanese (SOV). In example
(23), an English adverb is used in Hindi word order
and precedes the verb. Example (24) shows a Farsi
object DP (determiner phrase) following the verb. In
example (25), an English adjective follows an Irish
noun and in example (26) a Japanese postposition
follows an English DP.
(23) pušpa bahut quickly bat karh hai
Pushpa very word do-PROG
‘Pushpa talks very quickly.’ ( Hindi-Eng; Di
Sciullo et al., 1986)
(24) I love xormalu
persimmon.
‘I love persimmon.’ (Farsi-Eng; Mahootian,
1996a)
(25) Ta carr light green aige
be car at him
‘He has a light green car.’ (Ir-Eng; Stenson,
1990)
(26) I slept with her basement de.
in
‘I slept with her in the basement.’ (Jap-Eng;
Nishimura, 1985)
Second, the Free Morpheme Constraint proposed as
a general constraint on code switching predicts no
switching between a bound morpheme of one lan-
guage and a phonologically unassimilated lexical
item of another language. This prediction is not
borne out, as seen in the following examples from
Arabic-English (Prince and Pintzuk, 1984: 2), Irish-
English (Stenson, 1990: 180), and Japanese-English
(Nishimura, 1991: 31).
(27) inta hang-ha up
you -it
‘you hang it up’
(28) job-anna
-PL
‘jobs’
(29) one algebra question-o mark-shite
ACC -do
‘(you) mark one algebra question, and . . .’
The Sankoff and Poplack model accounts for exam-
ples such as (23)–(28) by designating the switches as
borrowings.

Principle-Based Approaches with Special
Mechanisms
The limitations of Sankoff and Poplack’s surface level
constraints led other researchers to look for more
principle-based constraints to account for code switch-
ing. Code switching was seen as an additional process
that needed to be accounted for by special rules/con-
straints outside the bilingual speaker’s two monolin-
gual grammars but motivated by universal principles
of grammar. Toward this end, a number of code
switching models were proposed: Woolford’s phrase
structure congruence model (1983), Bentahila and
Davies’ subcategorization restrictions model (1983).
Joshi’s closed-class item constraint (1985), Di Sciullo
et al.’s government constraint (1986), and Belazi et al.’s
Functional Head Constraint (1994).
Phrase Structure Congruence Model Woolford
(1983) argues for an account of code switching that
follows from ‘‘the manner which monolingual
grammars cooperate to produce hybrid sentences’’
(Woolford, 1983: 519). Woolford argues against an
autonomous code switching grammar, citing as evi-
dence the fact that we do not find utterances such as
(30b) where English lexical items in a Spanish struc-
ture produce an unacceptable utterance (Woolford,
1983: 521):
(30a) No estoy terca. (Spanish)
not am stubborn
‘I’m not stubborn.’
(30b) *Not am stubborn.
In this model, the lexicon and word formation rules
of the two languages are assumed to be separate and
cannot interact. Instead she proposes that the mono-
lingual grammars interact at D-structure at the level
of phrase structure rules, where ‘‘the two grammars
operate during code-switching just as they do during
monolingual speech’’ (Woolford, 1983: 522). There-
fore, while dropping the subject pronoun is acceptable
in Spanish (30a), pro-drop is not permitted in English
(30b). Woolford’s model, like her predecessors’, also
prohibits morphologically mixed French-English
lexical items such as *savoir-ing.
Terminal nodes of phrase structures can only be
filled from the lexicon of the grammar that generated
them. Code switches result when a phrase structure is
identical in both languages and ‘‘both lexicons have
equal access to terminal nodes created by common
rules’’ (Woolford, 1983: 524). For example, in both
Spanish and English the determiner precedes the
noun. Therefore, we should expect to get the four
following combinations the phrase ‘the old man’.
(31) the old man
Code Switching and Mixing 519
(32) el hombre viejo
the man old
‘the old man’
(33) the hombre viejo
(34) el old man
On the other hand, the rule that adjectives follow
nouns is unique to Spanish. Woolford’s model pre-
dicts we will get the utterance in (35) but not the ones
in (36)–(39):
(35) el hombre viejo
‘the old man’
(36) *el man viejo
‘the old man’
(37) *el hombre old
(38) *the old hombre
(39) *the man old
Although accepted and incorporated into others’
models of code switching, the noun-adjective pre-
diction was shown to be wrong by Mahootian and
Santorini (1994) and Santorini and Mahootian
(1995). Their account of switching between nouns
and adjectives uses the distinction between comple-
ments and adjuncts on the one hand and attributive
and predicative adjectives on the other, to account for
and predict noun-adjective switches between languages
with dissimilar NP structures such as Spanish and
English, Italian and English, and Irish and English:
(40) I want a motorcycle verde
green
‘I want a green motorcycle.’ (Sp-Eng; McClure,
1981: 87)
(41) Ma ci stanno dei smart italiani.
‘But there are smart Italians.’ (It-Eng, Di Sciullo
et al., 1986: 15)
(42) do gheansai deas pink
your sweater nice
‘your nice pink sweater’ (Ir-Eng; Stenson, 1990:
171)
The main criticism brought against Woolford’s
model is its inability to account for switches involving
structurally dissimilar languages. With the exception
of noun-adjective switches, Woolford’s approach
successfully accounts for Spanish-English, but like
Sankoff and Poplack’s equivalence constraint, its reli-
ance on the order of constituents in a phrase renders it
too strong when dealing with languages whose word
orders differ such as Hindi-English, Farsi-English,
Arabic-French, Irish-English, etc.
Although Woolford’s model does not account
for the full range of code-switching data, it captures
520 Code Switching and Mixing
two significant generalizations about the process of
code switching. First, code switching is an ordinary
language-use phenomenon that is part of our gram-
mar system and does not require a third grammar, and
second, switches involve cross-linguistically corre-
sponding categories. These two insights figure
prominently in models that followed a decade later.
Subcategorization Restrictions Intrasentential code
switches between Moroccan Arabic and French led
Bentahila and Davies (1983) to conclude that there
are no surface constraints on switching and that, for
at least Arabic-French, switching is constrained only
by language-specific subcategorization restrictions.
Accordingly, they were able to account for switches
within VP even where the structure of the two lan-
guages are dissimilar, as is the case of Moroccan
Arabic (VSO) and French (SVO). Although they do
not explicitly define it as such, in application their
notion of subcategorization restrictions is equal to
sisterhood. Accordingly, they allow for the switch in
(43), where an Arabic adjective (which subcategorizes
as postnominal) follows a French noun (Bentahila
and Davies, 1983: 321):
(43) un professeur aDim
a professor excellent
‘an excellent professor’
However, they wrongly block switches like the one in
example (44), where an Arabic adjective precedes a
French noun, thus violating the subcategorization
rule for Arabic adjectives. As mentioned earlier, these
types of switches were later addressed and accounted
for by Mahootian and Santorini.
(44) un aDim professeur
a excellent professor
‘an excellent professor’
The subcategorization model also prohibits switch-
ing at word-internal morpheme boundaries for which
they postulate a constraint similar to Sankoff and
Poplack’s Free Morpheme Constraint.
Bentahila and Davies’ model of switching has an
advantage over other models. Although they cannot
account for word-internal switches or the range of
possible noun-adjective switches, their model ac-
counts for a wide range of intrasentential switches
by simply invoking the universal principle of sub-
categorization restrictions.
The Closed-Class Item Constraint Joshi (1985) also
proposed a system for code switching where the
grammars of the two languages are kept separate.
There is no merging of the phrase structure rules or
lexicon of the two languages. Rather the proposed
switching constraints are grounded in basic principles
of language and grammar.
The system he presents involves a matrix language
Lm with a corresponding grammar Gm and an embed-
ded language Le with grammar Ge. He assumes a
correspondence between grammatical categories
across the two grammars so that the structure of a
DP in one corresponds to the structure of DP in the
other.
Joshi places three constraints on switching. The
first is asymmetry, which specifies that switching
can only occur in one direction: from matrix language
to embedded language. The second constraint pro-
hibits switches from occurring at the root node of
the matrix language (Sm). The third constraint, the
Closed-Class Item Constraint, prohibits switching of
closed-class items including determiners, quantifiers,
prepositions, possessive, Aux, Tense, etc., meaning
that all closed-class items must be in the matrix
language.
Two related problems have been noted with this
model. In the first place, the viability of the asymme-
try constraint is questioned. Asymmetry depends on
the distinction between matrix language and embed-
ded language. Joshi claims ‘‘speakers and hearers
usually agree on which language the mixed sentence
is ‘coming from’’’ (Joshi, 1985: 193). However, as
noted earlier, this criterion, along with others pro-
posed to distinguish matrix language from embedded
language, is unreliable. Consequently, since matrix
and embedded languages are not systematically dis-
cernible from each other, the closed-class item con-
straint loses its viability. The following are some
examples of switches that violate the predictions of
the Closed-Class Item Constraint.
(45) Anyway, I figured ke if I worked hard enough,
that
I would be finished by summer.
‘I figured that if I worked hard enough I would
be finished by summer.’ (Farsi-Eng;
Mahootian, 1993)
(46) elle te pique min fuq le drap
it bites you through the sheet
‘it bites through the sheet’ (Mor. Ar-Fr;
Bentahila and Davies, 1983)
(47) Where are they, los language things?
, the
‘Where are they, the language things?’ (Sp-Eng;
Poplack, 1980)
In sentence (45), a Farsi complementizer appears
between an English main clause and an English em-
bedded clause. In (46), a lone Arabic preposition
appears in the midst of a French sentence. In (47), a
Spanish determiner occurs in an all-English sentence.
 Code Switching and Mixing 521

In each case, the model would designate the language The model predicts that switches between a verb (V)
of the closed class item, i.e., the complementizer/ and COMP are prohibited, as shown in the Hindi/
preposition/determiner, as the matrix language, re- English examples (50) and (51) from Di Sciullo et al.
gardless of the fact that the rest of the sentence is (1986: 17):
syntactically and lexically in another language. De-
(50) I told him that ram bahut bimar hai.
spite these problems, the main insights motivating
Ram very sick AUX
this model remain valuable: that a third grammar ‘I told him that Ram was very sick.’
for switching is unnecessary; and that switching
results from the interaction between two grammatical (51) *I told him ki ram bahut bimar hai.
that Ram very sick AUX
systems with comparable categories.
‘I told him that Ram was very sick.’

The Government Constraint Di Sciullo et al.’s However, as the Farsi-English examples in (52) and
Government Constraint Model (1986) was an attempt (53) illustrate, switches do occur between V and
to account for switches found between languages with COMP. Farsi, like Hindi, is an SOV language.
dissimilar phrase structure rules, such as Hindi, Farsi, (52) I was implying ke in kar dorost nist.
Japanese (SOV), and English (SVO). In this model, that this act correct isn’t
switching is prohibited where there is a government ‘I was implying that this isn’t right.’
relation at S-structure between two elements. They (Mahootian, 1993: 104)
propose that elements in a government relation must
be in the same language, designated by the language (53) They don’t ke noh noh-ta haeštad-o
index q such that: if X governs Y, . . .Xq . . .Yq (5). Y is a know yek-e.
maximal projection, not a terminal node. The lan- that nine nine- eighty-and
guage index is assigned to the highest lexical element CLASS one-is
in a maximal projection. Government is defined ‘They don’t know that nine times nine is eighty-
one.’
through immediate c-command. For example, in the
prepositional phrase to school, the preposition and its They also predict that conjunctions such as and or but
complement would both bear the index q, and would will be in the same language as the clause being
have to be in the same language: joined, so we should get CPq CONJp CPp, but we
would not get *CPq CONJq CPp. However, this pre-
(48)
diction does not hold true. Examples (54) and (55)
show switching between a Farsi conjunction and
the following English CP conjunct, and an English
conjunction followed by a Farsi CP, respectively.
In the phrase to the school, however, the determiner
the is the highest lexical element in the governed DP (54) fekr kaerd-aem daest-aem
the school, and will therefore be the language index thought did-1st hand-1stPOS
carrier: to and the must be drawn from the lexicon of daerd begire vaeli it was fine.
the same language, school may or may not be in pain get-3rd but
‘I thought my hand would hurt but it was fine.’
another language. Example (49) illustrates:
(55) They are boys and adaem-e- smart-i-ye.
(49) morteza xeyli
morteza very person-EZ IND-is
‘They are boys and Morteza is a very smart
person.’
Halmari (1997) modifies and expands the Di Sciullo
This model successfully eliminates word order et al. model to accommodate Finnish-English code
equivalence as a criterion for switching and allows switches. In doing so, she strengthens the model and
for code switching between languages with dissimilar makes the apt observation that the Government model
word orders. However, a number of conceptual and is likely one of a number of models that can account
empirical problems have been noted. First, the notion for some of the structural outputs of code switching.
of language index that the model rests on is, from
a processing point of view, redundant and pointless The Functional Head Constraint Belazi et al. (1994)
for the monolingual speaker who may never be ex- propose a model that restricts switching between a
posed to another language. More importantly, the functional head and its complement: a functional
Government Constraint proves to be too strong. head f-selects its complement with regards to
522 Code Switching and Mixing
language as a feature, thereby ensuring a match be-
tween the language of the functional head and its
complement. Accordingly, switching is disallowed be-
tween C and IP, I and VP, Neg and VP, D and NP, and
Q and NP. Additionally, to account for noun/adjec-
tive switches, they posit the Word-Grammar Integrity
Corollary, according to which words from a given
language must obey the grammar rules of that lan-
guage and no other. So, for example, postnominal
modifiers cannot occur pronominally in a mixed ut-
terance. The Functional Head Constraint model is
similar to the Government Constraint model. Both
rest upon and exploit a special relationship between
certain elements (government/f-selection) and stipu-
late a language-sensitive component (language index/
language feature) as part of the relationship. From this
point, the two analyses turn in opposite directions
from each other, resulting in a striking (near-) com-
plementary distribution between Di Sciullo et al.
and Belazi et al.’s analyses. What the government
constraint rejects as switch points becomes fertile
switching grounds for the functional head constraint.
Examples (56)–(59) show reported switches that
violate the Functional Head Constraint.
C and IP
(56) il croyait bi?ana je faisais ça exprès.
he thought that I was doing that on purpose
‘He thought that I was doing that on purpose.’
(Mor. Ar.-Fr; Bentahila and Davies, 1983)
I and VP
(57) Nı́ dispute-alfaidh mé leat.
neg -FUT I with-you
‘I won’t dispute with you.’ (Ir-Eng;
Stenson, 1990: 180)
Neg and VP
(58) Pára que no talfenéen a la mištará.
so that NEG. phone they would to the police
‘So that they wouldn’t phone the police.’
(Hebr-Sp; Berk-Seligson, 1986)
D and NP
(59) Ha portato un cadeau.
(he) brought a present
‘He brought a present.’ (It-Fr; Di Sciullo et al.,
1986)
Q and NP
(60) Daban unos steaks tan sabrosos.
(they) served some so tasty
‘They served some steaks so tasty.’ (Sp-Eng;
Pfaff, 1979)
Code-Switching Models Based on Universal
Principles with No Special Mechanisms
In the early 1990s two new models emerged. One
makes use of a fundamental principle of grammar,
the Head-Complement Principle, to account for
intrasentential switches as well as word-internal
switches. (Mahootian, 1993, 1996a,b; Mahootian
and Santorini, 1996). The other, the Matrix Language
Frame model, relies on a matrix/embedded relation-
ship between the speaker’s two languages and on the
distinction between system and content morphemes.
(Myers-Scotton, 1993, 2002).
The MLF Model The Matrix Language Frame
(MLF) model for code switching (Myers-Scotton,
1993, 2002) explains code switching in terms of two
types of asymmetry: (a) the Matrix Language (ML)
vs. the Embedded Language (EL) and (b) content vs.
system morphemes. System morphemes overlap with
the members of the category traditionally referred
to as closed-class items. They carry the feature
[þQuantification]. System morphemes can be speci-
fiers, quantifiers, possessive adjectives, and inflection-
al morphemes. Content morphemes have the feature
["quantification] and are the morphemes that assign
or receive thematic roles. They may be either in the
ML or the EL. Content morphemes can be verbs,
nouns, descriptive adjectives, or prepositions.
The MLF model rests on four hypotheses (Meyers-
Scotton, 1993): the Matrix Language Hypothesis, the
Blocking Hypothesis, the Embedded Language Island
Trigger Hypothesis, and the Embedded Language
Implicational Hierarchy Hypothesis.
1. The Matrix Language Hypothesis: the grammati-
cal frame in intrasentential code switching is set by
the matrix language. This hypothesis is guided by
two principles. The Morpheme Order Principle
states that, in a mixed constituent, morpheme
order cannot violate the order of morphemes in
the ML. The System Morpheme Principle states
that the ML supplies the system morphemes in
mixed constituents.
2. The Blocking Hypothesis: switching is blocked
when content morphemes from the embedded lan-
guage do not meet ML congruency requirements.
3. The Embedded Language Island Trigger Hypothe-
sis: switching into a nonpermissible EL morpheme
forces an obligatory EL island, i.e., the constituent
must be completed in the EL.
4. The EL Implicational Hierarchy Hypothesis: idio-
matic, formulaic, or peripheral EL constituents
may occur and will not be barred by hypotheses
1, 2, or 3.
In the mixed constituents in examples (61)–(62), Irish
and Finnish are considered the matrix languages.
(61) Ni disputalfaidh me leat
neg dispute-FUT I with-you

‘I won’t dispute with you’ (Ir-Eng;
Stenson, 1990)
(62) Se oli semmosesta landistä.
it was such þELAT þELA
‘It was about a land.’ (Finn-Eng;
Halmari, 1997
In her revised MLF model, the 4-M model, Myers-
Scotton (2002) makes finer distinctions between system
and content morphemes. The 4-M model defines sub-
types of system morphemes, arguing that while this basic
dichotomy holds, the subtypes of morphemes have both
explanatory and predictive power.
The general objection brought against the MLF
model has to do with its reliance on the matrix-
embedded distinction. As discussed earlier, this dis-
tinction is not clearly defined. Although the MLF’s
first hypothesis is intended to systematize this distinc-
tion, it has been noted that the description contains a
certain amount of circularity: on the one hand, the
ML is recognized by the fact that system morphemes
are in the ML. On the other hand, the System Mor-
pheme Principle specifies that system morphemes
are supplied by the ML. Thus, examples such as
(63)–(65) would either have to be noted as counter-
evidence to the model or one must in each instance
assign ML status to the entire utterance based on a
single morpheme.
(63) Anyway I figured ke if I worked hard enough . . .
that
‘Anyway I figured that if I worked hard
enough . . .’ (Farsi-English; Mahootian, 1993)
(64) there wasn’t an item vos we didn’t have
that
‘there wasn’t an item that we didn’t have’
(Eng-Yidd; Prince and Pintzuk, 1984)
(65) Lawyer-et will tell you what to do.
2P-POSS
‘Your lawyer will tell you what to do.’
(Farsi-Eng; Mahootian, 1993)
The Head-Complement Principle Model The Head-
Complement Principle model followed in the foot-
steps of earlier researchers such as Bentahila and
Davies and Woolford in looking for a principle-
based approach. The model sets out to account for
the multitude of switches recorded between typologi-
cally dissimilar languages and for switches found be-
tween bound and free morphemes. The model builds
on three basic assumptions:
1. The same principles and derivational constraints
that produce monolingual utterances produce
mixed utterances, whether the switch involves a
bound morpheme, a single word, or an entire
Code Switching and Mixing 523
phrase. General principles of phrase structure,
rather than constraints specific to code switching,
produce code switched utterances.
2. No special third grammar is needed to account for
code switched utterances. A bilingual’s two gram-
mars are sufficient to generate code switching. The
two grammars remain distinct, both sociolinguis-
tically and syntactically. Their interaction is
accounted for by (1).
3. From a syntactic perspective, there is no formal
distinction between ‘code switching’ and ‘borrow-
ing’: both can be accounted for in the same way by
the same principles of grammar.
The principle itself is summed up below
(Mahootian, 1994, 1996a,b):
The Head-Complement Principle (HCP): heads deter-
mine the syntactic properties of their complements
in code switching and monolingual contexts alike:
heads determine the phrase structure position,
syntactic category, and feature content of their
arguments.
The HCP applies to both lexical and functional
heads. Consequently, switches are permissible be-
tween determiner (including Quantifiers) and NP,
Comp and IP, Infl and VP, V and PP, P and DP, and
other heads and their complements. Furthermore,
single-word switches and within-word switches,
often treated as borrowings and therefore left outside
of syntactic analysis, are accounted for in the HCP
model.
In the HCP model, maximal projection nodes are
the points at which switching occurs: switching may
occur where there is phrase structure label congru-
ence between languages. This is different from previ-
ous approaches that rely on word-order congruence
between the switching languages.
In line with numerous theories of grammar where
the lexicon plays a central role, this model adopts a
view of grammar where the lexicon projects phrase
structures. Lexical items of a language are repre-
sented as trees reflecting their language-particular
syntactic requirements in accordance with X-bar
theory. This view of language as a combination of
structures rather than strings allows for switches be-
tween languages with dissimilar word order that
other approaches have not been able to address. The
HCP model predicts:
. switches at all maximal projections (possible but
not obligatory),
. L1 word order with mixed L1/L2 words,
. L2 word order with mixed L1/L2 words,
. L1 word order with all L1 words,
. L2 word order with all L2 words.
524 Code Switching and Mixing

Application of the model is illustrated with the Farsi- A combination of (68a)–(68d) yields the English
English object-verb switch in (66). Farsi is an SOV phrase in (72):
language.
(72) gave ten dollars
(66) ten dollars dad
A number of other attested types of mixed utterances
gave
‘she gave ten dollars’ can also result from the phrase structures in (67) and
(68), for example, gave daeh dolar, gave daeh dollars,
Based on the assumptions of the model, the utter- ten dolar dad. Switches across morpheme boundaries
ance in (66) is derived from the Farsi structures are accounted for in the same manner.
shown in (67) and the English structures shown in The HCP model has some clear advantages over
(68). models that require mechanisms and rules specific
(67) to code switching. By applying principles of univer-
sal grammar, the model accurately predicts switch
points at clause, phrase, and within word levels. No
additional mechanisms or assumptions are required.
MacSwan (1999), inspired by the simplicity and
broad scope of application inherent in the HCP ap-
proach, recast the same insights and principles into a
(68) minimalist framework.

Bilingual Language Acquisition and Code

Lexical items project the structures in (67a)–(67d)
and (68a)–(68d). The combination of the tree in
(68b) þ (68c) þ (68d) yields the DP structure in
(69). This DP combines with the lexical structure for
dad-e ‘gave’, to yield a Farsi left-branching VP, ten
dollars dad, shown in (70).
(69)
(70)
Given the assumptions of this model, the same lexical
structures generate comparable monolingual utterances
in Farsi and English. By combining phrase structures
(67a)–(67d), we get the Farsi utterance in (71).
(71) daeh dolar dad
ten dollar gave
‘gave ten dollars’
Switching
‘Bilingual language acquisition’ refers to the simulta-
neous acquisition of more than one language during
the developmental stages of language acquisition.
One of the first documented studies of this process
was conducted by Ronjat (1913), who examined his
son’s simultaneous acquisition of German and French.
This was followed by a number of other longitudinal
studies. Of particular significance is Leopold’s seminal
four-volume detailed diary of his daughter’s acquisi-
tion of German and English (Leopold, 1939–1949).
Leopold’s study marked the beginning of focused
interest in child bilingualism. Since then, numerous
other studies have been conducted in this area.
One of the issues arising from research into child
bilingualism is the status of code switching. The main
theoretical question for researchers in this area is
whether children start out with a unitary language
system that gradually splits into two separate sys-
tems or whether they start out with two separate
systems. Proponents of the unitary system contend
that the words of both languages form a single lexicon
for the child and that mixed utterances at the two-
and three-word stage support a nondifferentiated
system. Researchers supporting the separate system,
also called the Independent Language Hypothesis,
maintain that children start out with two separate
systems and keep them differentiated. They show
that children typically keep their languages separated
when they are in monolingual contexts by using the
appropriate language for the context. To show an un-
differentiated system, they assert, a child would need
to use the two languages randomly in either context.

Another question regarding language mixing in early
acquisition stages concerns the similarity between the
types of switches found in children’s utterances and
those found in adult switches. Structurally, the
question is whether children mix their two languages
in the same way adults do. The answer to this
question has theoretical implications on a number of
fronts. One much debated issue in first language
acquisition is whether adult grammars are a continu-
ation of children’s grammars or if the two are sepa-
rate systems. The similarity between adults’ and
children’s code switches may bear on this question in
particular, and on the notion of language universals
in general.
A further insight gained from child code-switching
data concerns existing models of code switching. How
well do these models hold up when they set out
to account for children’s code switches? Of the
existing models, only a few, Mahootian’s HCP
model and Myers-Scotten’s MLF model, have been
successfully applied to children’s code-switching
data.
Examples (73)–(77) show mixed utterances pro-
duced by children. Children’s ages are noted in par-
entheses in years followed by months. Languages are
abbreviated as follows: Fr ¼ French, Germ ¼ German,
Russ ¼ Russian, Norw ¼ Norwegian.
(73) ça ça sonne (1;11, Fr-Germ; Köppe and
this this sun Meisel, 1995)
(74) das dort ne? (2;0, Germ-Fr; Köppe
this sleeps, and Meisel, 1995)
right?
(75) mer cookie (2;2, Norw-Eng; Lanza, 1997)
more
‘more cookie’
The following is a comparison between adult mixed
utterances and children’s mixed utterances showing
switches occurring at the same grammatical junctures
(Mahootian, 1999).
. Switches between Determiner and NP
(76) el same night
the
‘the same night’ (adult: Sp-Eng; Pfaff, 1979)
(77) That’s my kino.
cinema (movie)
‘That’s my movie.’ (child: 3; 4, Russ-Eng;
O’Neill, 1998)
. Switches between Verb and DP
(78) il ne faut pas changer ttwSe:l
the receipt
‘You must not change the receipt.’ (adult: Arab.
-Fr; Bentahila and Davies, 1983)
Code Switching and Mixing 525
(79) klappe hand
clap
‘clap hand’ (child: 2; 2, Swed.-Eng; Lanza, 1997)
. Switches between Subject DP and I0
(80) No you govorish, chto eto vozmozhno.
But say that that possible
‘But you say that it’s possible.’ (adult: Russ-Eng;
O’Neill, 1998)
(81) Jeg give it to Daddy
I
‘I give it to daddy’ (child: 2; 7, Norw-Eng;
Lanza, 1997)
. Switches between V and PP
(82) Nu vidish, Steven King zhil in a trailer.
well you see lived
So you see, Steven King lived in a trailer.’ (Adult:
Russ-Eng; O’Neill, 1998)
(83) on va maintenant zum krankenwagen
we go now to the ambulance
‘We now go to the ambulance.’ (child: 3; 7,2,
Germ.-Fr; Meisel, 1994)
. Switches between Roots and Affixes
(84) Eto na dresser-e.
That on -LOC-Sg
‘It’s on the dresser.’ (adult: Russ-Eng; O’Neill,
1998)
(85) It’s lop -en.
break-
‘It’s broken.’ (child: 3; 10, Russ-Eng; O’Neill,
1998)
See also: Bilingual Education; Bilingual Language Devel-
opment: Early Years; Bilingualism and Aphasia; Bilin-
gualism and Second Language Learning; Bilingualism;
Code Switching; Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bern-
stein); Identity and Language; Identity: Second Language;
Language Attitudes; Language Change and Language
Contact; Language Maintenance and Shift; Multicultural-
ism and Language; Relevance Theory; Rule Borrowing.
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Gumperz J J (ed.) Language and social identity.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Halliday M A K, McIntosh A & Strevens P (1964).
The linguistic sciences and language teaching. London:
Longman.
Halmari H (1997). Government and codeswitching:
explaining American Finnish. Amsterdam, Philadelphia:
John Benjamins.
Hasselmo N (1961). American Swedish. PhD. Thesis. Har-
vard University.
Hasselmo N (1970). ‘Codeswitching and modes of
speaking.’ In Gilbert G (ed.) Texas studies in bilingualsm.
Berlin: de Gruyter. 179–209.
Haugen E (1953). The Norwegian language in America: a
study in bilingual behaviour. Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press [Reprinted in 1969, Bloomington:
Indiana University Press].
Haugen E (1956). Bilingualism in the Americas: a bibliog-
raphy and research guide. Alabama: University of Ala-
bama Press.
Jakobson R (1960). Linguistics and poetics. In Sebeok T
(ed.) Style in language. New York: Wiley. 350–377.
Joshi A K (1985). ‘Processing of sentences with intrasenten-
tial code switching.’ In Dowty D R, Karttunen L &
Zwicky A M (eds.) Natural language parsing: psycho-
logical, computational, and theoretical perspectives.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 190–205.
Köppe R (1996). ‘Language differentiation in bilingual chil-
dren: the development of grammatical and pragmatic
competence.’ Linguistics 34(5), 927–954.
Köppe R & Meisel J (1995). ‘Code-switching in bilingual
first language acquisition.’ In Milroy L & Muysken P
(eds.) One speaker, two languages: Cross-disciplinary
perspective on code-switching. Cambridge, UK: Cam-
bridge University Press. 276–301.
Lanza E (1997). ‘Language contact in bilingual two-year
olds and codeswitching: language encounters of a differ-
ent kind?’ The International Journal of Bilingualism 1(2),
135–162.
Leopold W (1939–1949). Speech development of a bilingual
child: a linguists record (vols I–IV). Evanston: North-
western University Press.
MacSwan J (1999). A minimalist approach to intrasenten-
tial code switching. Outstanding Dissertations in Lin-
guistics. New York: Garland.
Mahootian S (1993). A null theory of codeswitching. Ph.D.
diss. Northwestern University.
Mahootian S (1996a). ‘Codeswitching and universal con-
straints: evidence from Farsi/English.’ World Englishes
15(3), 337–384.
Mahootian S (1996b). ‘A competence model of codeswitch-
ing.’ In Arnold J, Blake R, Davidson B, Schwenter S &
Solomon J (eds.) Sociolinguistic variation: data, theory,
and analysis: selected papers from NWAV23 at Stanford
University. Stanford: CSLI Publications.
Mahootian S (1999). Codeswitching and Universal Gram-
mar. Paper presented at the Second International Sympo-
sium on Bilingualism, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK.
Mahootian S (2005). ‘Linguistic change and social mean-
ing: codeswitching in the media.’ International Journal of
Bilingualism, Blackwell Publishers, Vol. 9.
Mahootian S & Santorini B (1994). Adnominal adjectives,
codeswitching and lexicalized TAG. In 3eColloque Inter-
national sur les Grammaire d’Arbre Adjoint(TAG þ 3)
rapport Technique TALANA-RT-94-01.
Mahootian S & Santorini B (1996). ‘Codeswitching and the
complement adjunct distinction.’ Linguistics Inquiry
27(3), 464–479.
McClure E (1981). Formal and functional aspects of the
codeswitched discourse of bilingual children. In Duran
R P (ed.) Latino language and communication behavior.
Norwood, NJ: ABLEX Publishing Corporation. 69–94.

Meisel J M (1994). ‘Code-switching in young bilingual
children: the acquisition of grammatical constraints.’
Studies in Second Language Acquisition 16, 413–439.
Myers-Scotton C (1993). Social motivations for codeswitch-
ing: evidence from Africa. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Myers-Scotton C (2002). Contact linguistics: Bilingual
encounters and grammatical outcomes. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Nishimura M (1985). Intrasentential codeswitching in
Japanese and English. Ph.D. diss., University of
Pennsylvania.
Nishimura M (1991). Varieties of Japanese/English bilin-
gual speech: Implications for theories of codeswitching
and borrowing. Unpublished manuscript, Georgetown
University.
O’Neill M (1998). ‘Support for the independent develop-
ment hypothesis: evidence from a study of Russian-
English bilinguals.’ BUCLD 22 Proceedings, 586–597.
Pfaff C (1979). ‘Constraints on language mixing.’ Language
55, 291–319.
Poplack S (1980). ‘Sometimes I start a sentence in English
y termino en espanol: toward a typology of code-
switching.’ Linguistics 18, 581–616.
Poplack S, Sankoff D & Miller C (1988). ‘The social corre-
lates and linguistic processes of lexical borrowing and
assimilation.’ Linguistics 26, 47–104.
Prince E & Pintzuk S (1984). Bilingual code-switching and
the open/closed class distinction. Unpublished paper,
University of Pennsylvania.
Coelho, Francisco Adolpho (1847–1919)
R Cavaliere, Universidade Federal Fluminense,
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Francisco Adolpho Coelho is the most important
19th-century name in the field of Portuguese linguis-
tic studies. He was born in Coimbra on January
15, 1847, and died in Carcavelos on February 9,
1919. Coelho distinguished himself as an extraordi-
nary, self-taught person during his basic education,
although it is known that he had attended classes at
the University of Coimbra between 1862 and 1864.
In Lisbon, Coelho entered the university as a student
of the Superior Course of Letters, in which he studied
at least from 1865 till 1866. In 1878, he began his
career as an assistant professor in this same course,
teaching general Indo–European linguistics. Due to
Coelho, Francisco Adolpho (1847–1919) 527
Reyes R (1974). Studies in Chicano Spanish. Ph.D. thesis,
Harvard University.
Romaine S (1995). Bilingualism. New York: Basil Blackwell,
Inc.
Ronjat J (1913). Le développement du langage observé chez
un enfant bilingue. Paris: Champion.
Sankoff D & Poplack S (1981). A formal grammar for code-
switching. Papers in Linguistics 14, 3–46.
Santorini B & Mahootian S (1995). ‘Codeswitching and
the syntactic status of adnominal adjectives.’ Lingua 96,
1–27.
Stenson N (1990). ‘Phrase structure congruence, govern-
ment, and Irish-English code-switching.’ In Hendrick R
(ed.) Syntax and semantics 23. New York: Academic
Press, Inc. 167–197.
Timm L (1975). ‘Spanish-English code-switching: el porque
y how-not-to.’ Romance Philology 28, 473–482.
Vihman M (1985). ‘Language differentiation by the
bilingual infant.’ Journal of Child Language 12,
297–324.
Volterra V & Taeschner T (1978). ‘The acquisition and
development of language by bilingual children.’ Journal
of Child Language 5, 311–326.
Weinreich U (1953). Languages in contact. New York:
Linguistic Circle of New York Publication No. 2.
Woolford E (1983). ‘Bilingual code-switching and syntactic
theory.’ Linguistics Inquiry 14(3), 520–535.
Coelho’s comparative research on Romance languages,
the thesis presented to the academic word by Friedrich
Diez in his Grammatik der romanischen Sprachen
has been applied in modern Portuguese linguistic
studies, and that is the reason why philology began
to be studied by more qualified people in Portugal
from that time on. His first published work, entitled
A lı́ngua portuguesa: fonologia, etimologia, morfolo-
gia e sintaxe (1868), is thus considered the initial step
of the historical–comparative school in Portugal.
Some years later, Coelho managed to publish two
other important works about descriptive grammar
based on the comparative method: Theoria da con-
jugação em latim e portuguez. Estudo de gramática
comparativa (1870) and Questões da lı́ngua portu-
guesa (the first part in 1874 and the second in 1889).
His bibliography, nevertheless, is not absolutely re-
stricted to the field of linguistics, since he had written

level. Code-switching is common in the young gener-
ation. This generation is also particularly exposed to
standard Indonesian and standard Malay. The
exposure to Indonesian comes from the media (Indo-
nesian TV) as well as from Bahasa Indonesia, which is
offered in school as a second language choice. The
influence of Malay comes less directly, from the status
that the language enjoys for literary and religious
reasons: in 2001 there were clearly normative voices
to be heard advocating a more standard form of
Malay to be spoken on the island. All these facts
considered, it is quite likely that Cocos Malay may
lose many of its particular traits in the near future.
Cocos Malay communities can also be found in
Western Australia (children have to move there to
complete their education after grade 10) as well as
in Sabah, Malaysia. Relocated from the original set-
tlements in different waves as the islands can only
sustain a limited population, these communities are
described as having lower proficiency in Cocos Malay
than that on Home Island. In particular, in Sabah it is
reported that convergence towards standard Malay
has taken place.
Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein)
A Capone, Barcellona, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Bernstein was among the first scholars to focus on the
correlation between the scholastic success (or failure)
of a learner and the social class he or she belonged
to. A student living in a well-off family, having many
cultural stimuli (books, newspapers, periodicals,
films, etc.) is bound to develop a rich and fully articu-
lated language (a so-called ‘elaborate code’), whereas
a student who belongs to a working-class family and
is exposed to poor linguistic and cultural stimuli,
develops a fragmented, poor, syntactically deficient
language (called a ‘restricted code’ by Bernstein) (see
Bernstein, 1971–1975).
Contrary to the Chomskyan theory that language
naturally develops in the brain, due to the interaction
of biologically innate structures and the environment
to which the child is exposed, may be that the data to
which the child is exposed are so poor and confused
that it is easy to demonstrate that the innate learning
program prevails over the environmental stimuli,
Bernstein emphasizes the predominant role played
by the environment in shaping the learning process.
Of course, the correlation between social class is not,
strictly speaking, without exceptions, because much
Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein) 507
See also: Australia: Language Situation; Bilingualism;
Code Switching and Mixing; Language Change and Lan-
guage Contact; Malaysia: Language Situation.
Bibliography
Adelaar K A (1996). ‘Malay in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’
In Nothofer B (ed.) Reconstruction, classification,
description. Festschrift in honour of Isodore Dyen.
Hamburg: Abera Network Asia Pacific. 23–37.
Bunce P (1988). The Cocos (Keeling) Islands. Singapore:
John Wiley & Sons Australia Ltd.
Gibson-Hill M A (1947). ‘Notes on the Cocos-Keeling
Islands.’ Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal
Asiatic Society XX(2), 140–202.
Hunt J G (1989). ‘The revenge of the Bantamese. Factors
for change in the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.’ Master’s
thesis, Australian National University.
Lapsley A D (1983). ‘Cocos Malay Syntax.’ Master’s thesis,
Monash University.
Lim L & Ansaldo U (2003). ‘Sounds Cocos.’ In Solé M J,
Recasens D & Romero J (eds.) Proceedings of the 15th
International Conference of Phonetic Sciences. Barcelona:
The 15th ICPhS Organizing Committee. 803–806.
of the learning process depends on the lifestyle of the
family under consideration. There are exceptional
working-class families where parents, contrary to all
expectations, have good knowledge of the language
and place great importance on culture, but the norm
is that, within working-class families, cultural stimuli
are less predominant than in more well-off families.
The problem, for sociologists, is how to offset the
disadvantages of the pupils belonging to working-
class families and how pedagogues (and teachers)
can have an antideterministic effect on such children.
A possible solution to the problem is to ensure that
the school (or the class) becomes another miniature
family and that the negative effects of the families are
compensated for by the pedagogical action of the
school. The school should, therefore, be a positive
environment in which pupils are exposed to positive
cultural and affective stimuli that help their person-
alities grow and come to maturity. In such a model of
the school, teachers lose their primary function of
being transmitters of notions (knowledge, in general)
and are required to take the roles of educators or
pedagogues who act as models and provisionally re-
place (at least within the boundaries of the school) the
family by setting good examples for the students, and,
in particular, exposing them to the positive aspects of
culture, intended as knowledge that interacts with the
508 Codes, Elaborated and Restricted (Bernstein)
individual to make him or her grow up intellectually
and emotionally. To compensate for the negative
effects of families, within which dialogue and conver-
sation have died, or are confined to adjacency pairs
consisting of questions/answers or orders/replies, tea-
chers have to play the role of communicators and
have to stimulate communication. It is, in my view,
impossible for a student to make progress in his or her
language (to develop a more articulated written or
oral mode of expression) unless he or she understands
the function of communication, which is that of
transmitting knowledge, but also of enhancing the
expressive as well as the interpersonal function.
To communicate is not only to express propositions
Code Switching
S Gross, East Tennessee State University, Johnson
City, TN, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In many bi- and multilingual communities around the
world, speakers need to choose, often at an uncon-
scious level, which language to use in their interac-
tions with other members of the community. One of
the choices that bilingual speakers often make is
to code-switch: that is, speakers switch back and
forth between languages (or varieties of the same
language), sometimes within the same utterance
(see Bilingualism; Code Switching and Mixing).
The motivations for code switching have often
been treated simply as lists of possible functions for
code switching. For example, Appel and Muysken
(1987) cite five such functions. First, code switching
may serve a referential function by compensating for
the speaker’s lack of knowledge in one language,
perhaps on a certain subject. Second, it may serve a
directive function by including or excluding the lis-
tener. Third, code switching may have an expressive
function by identifying the speaker as someone hav-
ing a mixed cultural identity. Fourth, it may have a
phatic function indicating a change in tone in the
conversation. And fifth, it may serve a metalinguistic
function when code switching is used to comment on
the languages involved.
While such lists are useful places to start, and no
one would deny that code switching can certainly
serve these functions, these types of lists fail to answer
the question of what motivates speakers to make the
choices they do at a particular point in a conversa-
tion. This article reviews the major proposals that
have been advanced regarding the following question:
(concerning others), but also to express propositions
concerning what we really are and feel, and, by so
doing, to interact with others, creating an intersub-
jective dimension in which social life is possible (see
Capone, 2003).
Bibliography
Bernstein B (1971–1975). Class, codes and control (3 vols).
London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Bernstein B (1990). The structuring of pedagogical dis-
course. London/New York: Routledge.
Capone A (2003). Pragmemes. Messina: Minerva.
why do speakers choose to engage in code switching
in the first place?
Code Switching as a Research Topic
The current interest in code switching can be dated to
a 1972 study of language use in Hemnesberget, a
small village in northern Norway, conducted by Jan
Blom and John Gumperz and described in a volume
on sociolinguistics edited by Gumperz and Hymes
(1972). In Hemnesberget, two varieties of Norwegian
are used: Ranamål, a local dialect, and Bokmål, the
standard variety (see Language and Dialect: Linguis-
tic Varieties). However, speakers’ decisions regarding
which variety to use are by no means arbitrary or
haphazard. In general, Ranamål, the local variety, is
used in local activities and relationships, reflecting
shared identities with the local culture. In contrast,
Bokmål is used in official settings such as school,
church, and the media, communicating an indivi-
dual’s dissociation from the local group, i.e., not
stressing his or her local ties.
Blom and Gumperz distinguish between two
main functions of code switching: situational and
metaphorical. In situational code switching, which
seems to be similar to the notion of diglossia, the
speaker’s choice of language is constrained by factors
external to her/his own motivations, for example, the
status of the interlocutor, the setting of the conversa-
tion, or the topic of conversation. So, in Hemnesber-
get, Blom and Gumperz observed that when an
outsider joins a group of locals engaged in a conver-
sation, the locals will often switch from the local
variety, Ranamål, to the standard variety, Bokmål.
In a later work, Gumperz (1982) introduces the dis-
tinction between ‘we’ and ‘they’ codes, which further

Meisel J M (1994). ‘Code-switching in young bilingual
children: the acquisition of grammatical constraints.’
Studies in Second Language Acquisition 16, 413–439.
Myers-Scotton C (1993). Social motivations for codeswitch-
ing: evidence from Africa. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Myers-Scotton C (2002). Contact linguistics: Bilingual
encounters and grammatical outcomes. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Nishimura M (1985). Intrasentential codeswitching in
Japanese and English. Ph.D. diss., University of
Pennsylvania.
Nishimura M (1991). Varieties of Japanese/English bilin-
gual speech: Implications for theories of codeswitching
and borrowing. Unpublished manuscript, Georgetown
University.
O’Neill M (1998). ‘Support for the independent develop-
ment hypothesis: evidence from a study of Russian-
English bilinguals.’ BUCLD 22 Proceedings, 586–597.
Pfaff C (1979). ‘Constraints on language mixing.’ Language
55, 291–319.
Poplack S (1980). ‘Sometimes I start a sentence in English
y termino en espanol: toward a typology of code-
switching.’ Linguistics 18, 581–616.
Poplack S, Sankoff D & Miller C (1988). ‘The social corre-
lates and linguistic processes of lexical borrowing and
assimilation.’ Linguistics 26, 47–104.
Prince E & Pintzuk S (1984). Bilingual code-switching and
the open/closed class distinction. Unpublished paper,
University of Pennsylvania.
Coelho, Francisco Adolpho (1847–1919)
R Cavaliere, Universidade Federal Fluminense,
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Francisco Adolpho Coelho is the most important
19th-century name in the field of Portuguese linguis-
tic studies. He was born in Coimbra on January
15, 1847, and died in Carcavelos on February 9,
1919. Coelho distinguished himself as an extraordi-
nary, self-taught person during his basic education,
although it is known that he had attended classes at
the University of Coimbra between 1862 and 1864.
In Lisbon, Coelho entered the university as a student
of the Superior Course of Letters, in which he studied
at least from 1865 till 1866. In 1878, he began his
career as an assistant professor in this same course,
teaching general Indo–European linguistics. Due to
Coelho, Francisco Adolpho (1847–1919) 527
Reyes R (1974). Studies in Chicano Spanish. Ph.D. thesis,
Harvard University.
Romaine S (1995). Bilingualism. New York: Basil Blackwell,
Inc.
Ronjat J (1913). Le développement du langage observé chez
un enfant bilingue. Paris: Champion.
Sankoff D & Poplack S (1981). A formal grammar for code-
switching. Papers in Linguistics 14, 3–46.
Santorini B & Mahootian S (1995). ‘Codeswitching and
the syntactic status of adnominal adjectives.’ Lingua 96,
1–27.
Stenson N (1990). ‘Phrase structure congruence, govern-
ment, and Irish-English code-switching.’ In Hendrick R
(ed.) Syntax and semantics 23. New York: Academic
Press, Inc. 167–197.
Timm L (1975). ‘Spanish-English code-switching: el porque
y how-not-to.’ Romance Philology 28, 473–482.
Vihman M (1985). ‘Language differentiation by the
bilingual infant.’ Journal of Child Language 12,
297–324.
Volterra V & Taeschner T (1978). ‘The acquisition and
development of language by bilingual children.’ Journal
of Child Language 5, 311–326.
Weinreich U (1953). Languages in contact. New York:
Linguistic Circle of New York Publication No. 2.
Woolford E (1983). ‘Bilingual code-switching and syntactic
theory.’ Linguistics Inquiry 14(3), 520–535.
Coelho’s comparative research on Romance languages,
the thesis presented to the academic word by Friedrich
Diez in his Grammatik der romanischen Sprachen
has been applied in modern Portuguese linguistic
studies, and that is the reason why philology began
to be studied by more qualified people in Portugal
from that time on. His first published work, entitled
A lı́ngua portuguesa: fonologia, etimologia, morfolo-
gia e sintaxe (1868), is thus considered the initial step
of the historical–comparative school in Portugal.
Some years later, Coelho managed to publish two
other important works about descriptive grammar
based on the comparative method: Theoria da con-
jugação em latim e portuguez. Estudo de gramática
comparativa (1870) and Questões da lı́ngua portu-
guesa (the first part in 1874 and the second in 1889).
His bibliography, nevertheless, is not absolutely re-
stricted to the field of linguistics, since he had written
528 Coelho, Francisco Adolpho (1847–1919)
many well-recommended texts about literature and
popular traditions. In this area, Coelho organized
several editions of popular Portuguese short stories
and texts for youths. His name is linked as well to
ethnographic and anthropological research, with
texts written under the brilliant knowledge of the
19th-century ethnolinguists, such as Exposição
Etnográfica Portuguesa (1896) and Os Ciganos de
Portugal;com um estudo sobre o calão (1892).
Inspired by Hugo Schuchardt’s ideas about dialects
and creole languages, Coelho proceeded with an
exhausting investigation about Portuguese-based
African and Asiatic creoles, in addition to having
published some studies on Brazilian Portuguese
(that, in his conception, should be called Brazilian
dialect). This segment of his bibliography has been
severely censured by some philologists of his time,
such as José Leite de Vasconcelos, who reproached
these papers for being the product of desk work only
due to the fact that Coelho didn’t endeavor to develop
field research methods. It is imperative to attribute
to Coelho the virtue of renovating the linguistic
thought in his country, whose bases still were, by the
middle of the 19th century, immersed in the rational
ideas of philosophical grammar. This revolutionary
trend contributed decisively to a new order in the
teaching of vernacular language in elementary
and middle levels. According to the Brazilian linguist
Serafim da Silva Neto, Coelho ‘‘has been a philoso-
pher-philologist, with the faithful purpose of as-
cending to general ideas.’’ Undoubtedly, his activity
in the 19th century linguistic scene opened the doors
of Glottology and Ethnolinguistics to those who
dedicated themselves to the study of the Portuguese
language, and even to the study of the Romance
languages in general, creating a great legion of
disciples not only in Portugal but also in Brazil.
See also: Diez, Friedrich (1794–1876); Indo–European Lan-
guages; Portuguese; Romance Languages; Schuchardt,
Hugo (1842–1927).
Bibliography
Cabral J P (1991). ‘A Antropologia em Portugal Hoje.’
In Difel (ed.) Os Contextos da Antropologia. Lisboa.
11–41.
Coelho F A (1868). A lingua portugueza: phonologia, ety-
mologia, morphologia e syntaxe. Coimbra: Imprensa da
Universidade.
Coelho F A (1870). Theoria da conjugação em latim e por-
tuguez. Estudo de grammatica comparativa. Lisboa: Typ.
Universal.
Coelho F A (1874). Questões da lingua portugueza. Porto:
Ernesto Chardron; Braga: Eugenio Chardron.
Coelho F A (1875). Bibliographia critica de historia e litter-
atura. Porto: Imp. Litterario-Commercial.
Coelho F A (1879). Contos Populares Portugueses. Lisboa:
F. Plantier.
Coelho F A (1881). A lingua portugueza: noçóes de glotto-
logia geral e especial portugueza. Porto: Magalhães &
Moniz.
Coelho F A (1881). Os dialectos romanicos ou neo-latinos
na África, Ásia e América. Lisboa: Casa da Sociedade de
Geografia.
Coelho F A (1884). ‘Les Ciganos. a propos de la communi-
cation de M. P. Bataillard ‘‘Les Gitanos d’Espagne
et les Ciganos de Portugal.’’’ Congrés International
d’Anthropologie et d’Archéologie Pré-Historique.
Compte-rendu de la Neuviéme Session à Lisbonne.
Lisboa: Academia das Ciências.
Coelho F A (1885). Tales of Old Lusitania, from folklore
of Portugal. London: Ywan Sonnenschein, trad. de
Henriqueta Monteiro.
Coelho F A (1885). ‘Tradições relativas às sereias e outros
mitos similares.’ Archivio per lo Studio delle Tradizioni
Popolari IV, 325–360.
Coelho F A (1890). Esboço de um programa para o estudo
antropológico, patológico e demográfico do povo portu-
guês. Lisboa: Tip. do Comércio de Portugal.
Coelho F A (1892). Os ciganos de Portugal; com um estudo
sobre o calão. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional.
Fernandes R (1973). As ideias pedagógicas de F. Adolfo
Coelho. Lisboa: Instituto Gulbenkian de Ciência/Centro
de Investigações Pedagógicas.
Gonçalves M J L (1947). ‘Contribuição para a Bibliografia
de Adolfo Coelho.’ Biblos. v. XXIII, 801–834.
Silva A C (1994). F. Adolfo Coelho e a gramática portu-
guesa. Funchal: [s. n.].
SilvaNeto S da (1957). Manual de filologia portuguesa. Rio
de Janeiro: Livraria Acadêmica.
Vasconcelos J L de (1920). ‘Adolfo Coelho e a etnografia
portuguesa.’ Lusa Jan-Mar, 98.

Cœurdoux, Gaston-Laurent (1691–1779)
K Karttunen, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The French missionary and pioneer of Indology
Gaston-Laurent Cœurdoux was born in Bourges,
France, in 1691 and died in Pondicherry in the colony
of French India in 1779. He joined the Jesuit order in
1715, departed for South India in 1732, and served as
a member of Madurai Mission until his death. In
1744 he was named superior of the mission, a role
he filled until 1751. Beside his missionary work,
he showed keen interest both in science and in lan-
guage studies. In addition to local Dravidian
languages (Tamil and Telugu), he learned Sanskrit
and was one of the first to note its resemblance with
classical Greek and Latin (and German). In a well-
known memoir, he demonstrated the relationship
between Sanskrit and European languages well before
Sir William Jones; he sent the text to Anquetil-
Duperron to Paris for publication, but it remained
in manuscript form and was printed only at the be-
ginning of the 19th century (in Histoire et Mémoires
de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 49,
1808: 647–667). Another work by Father Cœurdoux,
a detailed account of South Indian customs, remained
unpublished and was to a large extent copied by Abbé
Dubois in the book he then published under his own
name (published in French in 1825, in English trans-
lation 1817, rev. ed. Hindu manners, customs and
ceremonies 1897). The original version is preserved
in an abridged version that was published in 1987 by
Cognitive Anthropology
C Strauss, Pitzer College, Claremont, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cognitive anthropology is the study of cultural
knowledge and processes of cognition in a sociocul-
tural context. While most cultural anthropologists
study cultural knowledge, cognitive anthropologists
do so distinctively by asking how specific people in
a society think. Cognitive anthropology dates from
the late 1950s, although there were many earlier
precursors (e.g., the work of Evans-Pritchard).
Cognitive Anthropology 529
Sylvia Murr, who also showed Dubois’s complete
dependence on it. There are further some letters by
Cœurdoux published in Lettres édifiantes et curi-
euses, a manuscript dictionary ‘télougou–français–
samskroutam [i.e. Sanskrit],’ and some further
manuscript works.
See also: Missionary Linguistics.
Bibliography
Cœurdoux G-L (1987). Moeurs et coutumes des indiens
(1777). Un inédit du Père G.-L. Coeurdoux S. J. dans la
version de N.-J. Desvaulx. Texte établi et annoté par Sylvia
Murr. Publications de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient
146, L’Inde philosophique entre Bossuet et Voltaire 1.
Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient.
Dehergne J (1961). ‘Cœurdoux, Gaston Laurent.’ In
Dictionnaire de biographie française 9, 121.
Dubois A J A. Hindu manners, customs and ceremonies.
Translated from the author’s later French manuscript and
edited with notes, corrections and biography by Henry K.
Beauchamp. 3rd rev. edition, repr. by Oxford University
Press, Delhi, 1978.
Godfrey J J (1967). ‘Sir William Jones and Père C.:
A philological footnote.’ Journal of the American Orien-
tal Society 87, 57–59 (see also 89, 1969, 416f.).
Murr S (1987). L’indologie du père Cœurdoux: stratégies,
apologétique et scientificité. Publications de l’École
française d’Extrême-Orient 146, L’Inde philosophique
entre Bossuet et Voltaire 2. Paris: École française
d’Extrême-Orient.
In cognitive anthropology today, major schools can
be distinguished by their answers to two questions.
First, does the cultural part of cognition (D’Andrade,
1981) consist of mental representations or situated
practices? Second, how significant are panhuman
cognitive universals?
Cultural Cognition as Culturally Variable
Mental Representations
An early, influential statement of this approach, cul-
tural cognition as cross-culturally variable mental
530 Cognitive Anthropology
representations, is Goodenough’s definition of a soci-
ety’s culture as ‘‘whatever it is one has to know or
believe in order to operate in a manner acceptable
to its members’’ (Goodenough, 1957: 167). From
Goodenough on, language has been central to work
in this approach, as both evidence for and the content
of cultural knowledge, and linguistics has been an on-
going source of theoretical inspiration.
From the 1950s through the 1970s, a major focus
of research was lexical semantics (‘ethnosemantics’).
Typically, all of the terms in a domain (e.g., kin terms,
kinds of talk) are elicited, then an underlying mental
structure of defining or salient features is inferred
from contrasting patterns of use or judgments of sim-
ilarity. Influenced by phonologists’ decomposition of
sounds into distinctive features, componential ana-
lysts similarly analyzed word meanings as sets of
semantic features (e.g., BACHELOR ¼ þMALE,
#MARRIED). Systematic methods were developed
for eliciting terms and their relations (e.g., frame
and slot elicitation: What words can fill the blank in
a sentence like, ‘‘____is a kind of sport,’’ or pile sorts
and triads tests, analyzed with multidimensional scal-
ing, Weller and Romney, 1988). Work in this tradition
sometimes focused on biological classifications and
was called ‘ethnoscience’; however, that term covers
later folk science studies using other methods as well.
One current development of such work is the study
of cultural knowledge as consensus in responses to
standardized questions (Romney and Moore, 1998;
Romney et al., 1986). Cultural consensus analysis can
be used to determine patterns of disagreement as well
as consensus, which can highlight the social distribu-
tion of knowledge (see, e.g., Boster’s 1985 study of
the effect of kinship and residence on Aguaruna
women’s knowledge of manioc varieties).
While these methods have been extremely produc-
tive, a number of concerns arose about the older,
lexically focused methods (these objections do not
all apply to cultural consensus modeling). It was not
always clear that the analyst’s structures corre-
sponded to the mental representations of members
of the society in question; in some domains, a study
of key terms reveals only problematic cases, not the
taken-for-granted normal scenario (Holland and
Skinner, 1987); in many cases, lexical semantics
omits crucial elements of cultural knowledge (e.g.,
eliciting meanings of disease terms in English will
not reveal a germ theory of disease, D’Andrade,
1995); and distinctive features are not random assort-
ments of attributes, but co-occur in patterned wholes,
as discussed by Rosch and others (see summary in
D’Andrade, 1995). Schema theory was adopted
from the work of linguists such as Fillmore and Lan-
gacker and psychologists (e.g., Schank and Abelson)
to address these issues. Schemas (‘frames’) are mental
representations of an underlying, typical pattern of
features or connected set of ideas understood
holistically. For example, my MINIVAN schema
includes not only the features that distinguish it
from other vehicles, but also a mental image and
ideas about what sort of person is likely to drive
one. Shared schemas are cultural models (Holland
and Quinn, 1987). A speaker’s reference to one part
of a cultural model will activate the whole schema, as
well as related schemas, in a listener’s mind; hence,
much can be left unsaid when culture is assumed to be
shared. Cultural model researchers typically conduct
in-depth, semistructured interviews, inferring the im-
plicit understandings that are assumed in what is said
(Holland and Quinn, 1987; Quinn, in press).
While the focus of work in this approach has been
on contents of cultural knowledge, some researchers
have addressed cognitive processes and the way
knowledge is used: e.g, in memory and personal
narratives (e.g., Garro, 2000; see also memory re-
search in studies of linguistic relativity), metaphor
choice (Quinn, 1991), the pragmatics of opinion ex-
pression (Strauss, 2004), reasoning (Hutchins, 1980;
Quinn, 1996), and motivation (D’Andrade and
Strauss, 1992). Connectionist models have been pro-
posed to address how cultural knowledge, including
nonpropositional knowledge, is learned, changes,
and is sensitive to the context of its use (Strauss and
Quinn, 1997).
Cultural Cognition as Situated,
Distributed Practices
Cognitive processes, rather than cultural knowledge,
dominate the work of cognitive anthropologists who
study distributed cognition or ‘cognition in practice.’
They argue that studies in the first school neglect
emergent cognitive effects as people interact with
each other and the objects and structures in their
environment. Thus, the primary method employed
here is observation of ongoing activities (arithmetic
while shopping, Lave, 1988 or navigation on board a
ship, Hutchins, 1995), perhaps asking the person
being observed to think out loud while they are in
the midst of their activity. Drawing on Marxian
psychology (e.g., Vygotsky, and Leontiev’s Activity
Theory), some argue that a key way cognition is
‘cultural’ is that it depends on tools or ‘mediating
devices’: concrete objects, symbols, and activities
that are socially produced, and which evoke and

direct thought (Holland and Valsiner, 1988). One
example is Goody’s argument that the invention of
writing, especially lists and tables, created the possi-
bility for new structures of thought (but see Scribner
and Cole, 1981 on the cognitive effects of the Vai
script in Liberia). The means and social relations
of communication are also relevant ‘structuring
resources’ (Lave, 1988). Hutchins (1995), for exam-
ple, considered how the bandwidth of communica-
tions media, the social ranking of who talks to whom,
and the timing of their talk affect the propagation of
cognitive representations among the members of a
navigation team on a large ship (see Nardi, 1996 for
a useful comparison of different cognition-in-practice
approaches).
Universals in Human Cognition
Other cognitive anthropologists agree with the first
school in its focus on mental representations but dis-
agree with its emphasis on cross-cultural variability.
Thus, for example, Berlin and Kay (1969; Kay et al.,
1997) analyzed basic color terms (ones that are
monolexemic like ‘red,’ not subtypes of another
color, etc.) first in 20, then in 110 languages. They
found a restricted set of basic color terms with cross-
culturally stable focal referents, and comparable
composite color categories across all languages. In
addition, there is a fairly predictable relation between
the number of basic color terms in a language and
which colors are named. Atran (1990) and Berlin
(1992) observed cross-cultural and historical simila-
rities in classification of plants and animals. Lately,
empirical studies have been joined by theories prior-
itizing cognitive universals. These draw on Chomsky
and Fodor’s claims that human brains process much
information with specialized modules, and those of
evolutionary psychologists that human brains are the
result of evolutionary adaptation during the Pleisto-
cene, thus include innate knowledge and processing
rules that are useful for social cooperation and cate-
gorization, mate selection, foraging, and predator
avoidance (Cosmides, 1989; Hirschfeld and Gelman,
1994, but see criticisms by Donald, Karmiloff-Smith
and others). The research on cross-cultural cognitive
universals challenges extreme claims of linguistic
relativity.
Directions for the Future
Theoretical bridges have been proposed between cul-
tural models and practice theory; thus, Holland and
Cognitive Anthropology 531
Valsiner (1988) argued that learned schemas deter-
mine the purposes to which mediating devices are
put, Keller and Keller (1993) studied feedback be-
tween external events and internal representations
over the course of an extended activity, and Quinn
(1996) argued that cultural models are internal med-
iating devices. Similarly, cognitive anthropologists in
the first and last schools would agree that there are
both universals and variation in cultural knowledge
(see, e.g., D’Andrade, 1995; Romney and Moore,
1998; Sperber, 1985; Strauss and Quinn, 1997); the
only question is of what sorts. An underexplored
issue is differences in ways of knowing (Sperber,
1985; Strauss and Quinn, 1997: Chap. 8). Finally,
an interest that cuts across all three approaches is
what Sperber (1996) called the ‘‘epidemiology of
representations’’: how ideas spread among people in
groups, how they are transformed, and how they are
used as they move between internal and external
forms (Hutchins, 1995; Keller and Keller, 1993;
Strauss and Quinn, 1997).
See also: Activity Theory; Ethnoscience; Fillmore, Charles
J. (b. 1929); Frame Semantics; Human Language Proces-
sing: Connectionist Models; Langacker, Ronald (b. 1942);
Leont’iev, Aleksei Alekseevich (1936–2004); Modularity of
Mind and Language; Sapir, Edward (1884–1939); Schank,
Roger C. (b. 1946); Semantic Primitives; Vygotskii, Lev
Semenovich (1896–1934); Whorf, Benjamin Lee (1897–
1941); Wierzbicka, Anna (b. 1938).
Bibliography
Atran S (1990). Cognitive foundations of natural history:
towards an anthropology of science. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Berlin B (1992). Ethnobiological classification: principles
of categorization of plants and animals in traditional
societies. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Berlin B & Kay P (1969). Basic color terms: their universal-
ity and evolution. Berkeley: University of California
Press.
Boster J (1985). ‘‘‘Requiem for the omniscient informant’’:
there’s life in the old girl yet.’ In Dougherty J (ed.) Direc-
tions in cognitive anthropology. Urbana: University of
Illinois Press. 177–197.
Cosmides L (1989). ‘The logic of social exchange:
has natural selection shaped how humans reason?
Studies with the Wason selection task.’ Cognition 31,
187–276.
D’Andrade R (1981). ‘The cultural part of cognition.’ Cog-
nitive Science 5, 179–195.
532 Cognitive Anthropology
D’Andrade R (1995). The development of cognitive anthro-
pology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
D’Andrade R & Strauss C (1992). Human motives
and cultural models. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Garro L (2000). ‘Cultural knowledge as resource in illness
narratives: remembering through accounts of illness.’ In
Mattingly C & Garro L (eds.) Narrative and the cultural
construction of illness and healing. Berkeley: University
of California Press. 70–87.
Goodenough W (1957). ‘Cultural anthropology and
linguistics.’ In Garvin P (ed.) Report of the seventh
annual round table meeting in linguistics and lan-
guage study, monograph series on language and linguis-
tics, no. 9. Washington, DC: Georgetown University.
167–173.
Hirschfeld L & Gelman S (eds.) (1994). Mapping the mind:
domain specificity in cognition and culture. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Holland D & Quinn N (eds.) (1987). Cultural models in
language and thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Holland D & Skinner D (1987). ‘Prestige and intimacy: the
cultural models behind Americans’ talk about gender
types.’ In Holland & Quinn (eds.). 78–111.
Holland D & Valsiner J (1988). ‘Cognition, symbols,
and Vygotsky’s developmental psychology.’ Ethos 16,
247–272.
Hutchins E (1980). Culture and inference: a Trobriand
case study. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press.
Hutchins E (1995). Cognition in the wild. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Kay P, Berlin B, Maffi L & Merrifield W (1997). ‘Color
naming across languages.’ In Hardin C & Maffi L (eds.)
Color categories in thought and language. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 21–56.
Keller C & Keller J D (1993). ‘Thinking and acting with
iron.’ In Chaiklin S & Lave J (eds.) Understanding prac-
tice: perspectives on activity and context. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 125–143.
Lave J (1988). Cognition in Practice: mind, mathematics
and culture in everyday life. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Nardi B (1996). ‘Studying context: a comparison of ac-
tivity theory, situated action models, and distributed
cognition.’ In Nardi B (ed.) Context and consciousness:
activity theory and human-computer interaction.
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. 69–102.
Quinn N (1991). ‘The cultural basis of metaphor.’ In
Fernandez J (ed.) Beyond metaphor: the theory of tropes
in anthropology. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
56–93.
Quinn N (1996). ‘Culture and contradiction: the case
of Americans reasoning about marriage.’ Ethos 24,
391–425.
Quinn, Naomi. (In press). Finding culture in talk: a collec-
tion of methods. NY: Palgrave.
Romney A K & Moore C (1998). ‘Toward a theory of culture
as shared cognitive structures.’ Ethos 26, 314–337.
Romney A K, Weller S & Batchelder W (1986). ‘Culture as
consensus: a theory of culture and informant accuracy.’
American Anthropologist 88, 313–338.
Scribner S & Cole M (1981). The psychology of literacy.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Sperber D (1985). ‘Apparently irrational beliefs.’ In Sperber
D (ed.) On anthropological knowledge. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press. 35–63.
Sperber D (1996). ‘Anthropology and psychology: towards
an epidemiology of representations.’ In Sperber D (ed.)
Explaining culture: a naturalistic approach. Oxford:
Blackwell. 56–76.
Strauss C (2004). ‘Cultural standing in expression of opin-
ion.’ Language in Society 33, 161–194.
Strauss C & Quinn N (1997). A cognitive theory of
cultural meaning. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Weller S & Romney A K (1988). Systematic data collection.
Newbury Park, CA: Sage.
 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates 533
Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates
R Tincoff and M D Hauser, Harvard University,
Cambridge, MA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A defining feature of the human language faculty is its
limitless capacity for expressing ideas. We can pro-
duce an infinite number of new sentences, and we
can compose sentences of infinite length. This ability
reveals a powerful computational mechanism, a form
of recursion often termed discrete infinity. This re-
cursive mechanism entails a procedure or rule that
calls itself, specifically, combining the discrete store
of words or sentence constituents (e.g., Noun, Verb)
into hierarchical phrase structures that can be fur-
ther embedded within other hierarchically arranged
phrase structures. Computational mechanisms are
also involved in generating phonological and seman-
tic representations, as well as in the interfaces among
syntax, phonology, and semantics. Here we focus on
the language faculty and its evolution in terms of
these internal computational mechanisms instan-
tiated in the mind/brain of each language user. This
focus is conceptually separate from concerns about
the actual production and social use of language and
leads to a particular set of questions about language
evolution.
The significance of recursion for generating lin-
guistic representations and mapping between inter-
faces leads to the proposal that such a device must
be universal to all human languages and innately
endowed in human infants (Lenneberg, 1967;
Chomsky, 1988). These features, universal and in-
nate, raise an important question: how did our lan-
guage faculty evolve? Specifically, do phylogenetic
analyses reveal precursors to the language faculty in
other animals? This specific question is distinct from,
but complementary to, other approaches to studying
language evolution that consider historical or cultural
factors or employ mathematical models of potential
evolutionary scenarios (for a variety of approaches
see chapters in Christiansen and Kirby, 2003). In
addition, this question reflects a starting assumption
that, in the absence of hearing deficits, spoken lan-
guage is the default output form of the language
faculty. Comparative studies complement this start-
ing assumption as our knowledge of other species’
communication systems is largely based on ones using
the vocal-auditory channel (Hauser and Konishi,
1999). Additional methods will be necessary to explore
the language faculty as expressed by signed languages,
and to explore questions about why human language
has flexibility in its expressive form, an additional
defining feature that is lacking in nonhuman
communication systems.
Below, we describe why data from nonhuman
animals, particularly nonhuman primates (hereafter
‘primates’), are critical for explaining the patterns
and processes of language evolution. The general
conclusion we draw is that once the language faculty
is separated into its component systems, a wealth of
opportunities for comparative analysis opens up and
yields interesting insights into the origins of human
language (Hauser et al., 2002).
Applying the Comparative Method of
Evolutionary Biology to Language
Evolution
Evolutionary biology provides a method for deter-
mining the phylogenetic origins of traits and their
functions (for a detailed survey see Ridley, 2004).
This method selects species that share a trait and
then examines their evolutionary relationship.
Homologies are traits with similar structure or func-
tion that have descended from a common ancestor;
for example mammary glands used for lactation are
shared by humans and rats, and by our common
mammalian ancestor. Homologous traits are there-
fore derived from a common ancestor, tending to
arise most frequently among closely related species.
Homoplasies are traits shared by a pair of species, but
not present in their common ancestor; classic exam-
ples include the eye, which has evolved independently
in many different lineages, and the wing, which has
evolved independently in birds and mammals. Homo-
plasies provide the signature of convergent evolution,
and reveal the powerful role of selection in creating
adaptive solutions to common social and ecological
problems. Further comparisons of species will also
reveal phylogenetically novel traits that appear in
one species, or a cluster of species within a genus,
and exhibit a particular structure or function. The
comparative method allows researchers to lay out
the terrain of shared and unique traits among selected
species and then draw inferences about how those
traits evolved (for applications to cognition and
language see Gallistel, 1990; Shettleworth, 1998;
Hauser, 2000; Hauser, 2003; Fitch, in press).
The evolution of language presents a particular set
of problems to the comparative approach. First, there
are no other living human species and thus we cannot
follow the usual form of the comparative method,
comparing living, closely related species sharing simi-
lar behaviors. Second, the record of early hominids is
limited to fossil bits of vocal tract that provide few
534 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates
insights into the computational machinery underlying
what our hominid ancestors produced, while ancient
written records essentially represent language in its
modern form. Finally, no single nonhuman species
is equipped with a sufficiently inclusive set of abilities
to constitute a precursor to our full-blown language
faculty, and some traits appear to be absent altogether
(Hockett, 1960; Hauser, 1996; Hauser, 2000). How
do we study language evolution when the human spe-
cies is a poor model for the comparative method and
other species do not offer an equivalent repertoire?
Distinguishing the Shared and Unique
Components of the Language Faculty
In exploring language evolution from a comparative
perspective, there are three possible outcomes for
any given trait:
1. Trait X is not uniquely human, is a homology
evolved for an earlier function, directly inherited,
and therefore did not evolve for language;
2. Trait X is not uniquely human, but is a homoplasy
that evolved completely unrelated to language
or evolved for other purposes and was redesigned
for language;
3. Trait X is uniquely human, is a phylogenetically
novel trait that evolved only in hominid spe-
cies, possibly for language or possibly for another
cognitive capacity.
Hauser et al. (2002) lay out a comparative research
program for explaining the evolution of the language
faculty, separating it into a broad and a narrow sense.
The faculty of language in the broad sense (FLB) en-
compasses the sensory-motor (SM) system responsi-
ble for perceiving and producing the sound patterns
of spoken language, the conceptual-intentional (CI)
system involving conceptual representations and the
capacity to refer, and the faculty of language in the
narrow sense (FLN). FLN is the recursive system
responsible for the computations involved in narrow
syntax that generate internal representations and it
maps them into the systems of phonology (SM) and
semantics (CI); importantly, then, FLN entails recur-
sion and its interfaces with phonology and semantics.
The strict definition of FLN and its separation from
FLB, along with the available comparative evidence,
motivated the proposal that ‘‘most if not all of FLB
is based on mechanisms shared with nonhuman
animals . . . [but] . . . FLN – the computational mecha-
nism of recursion – is recently evolved and unique to
our species’’ (Hauser et al., 2002: 1573). This propos-
al represents ‘‘a tentative, testable hypothesis in need
of further empirical investigation’’ (Hauser et al.,
2002: 1578).
This empirical program targets comparative stud-
ies aimed at distinguishing homologies, homoplasies,
and phylogenetically novel mechanisms among the
components of the language faculty. The data sets
include nonhuman animals’ natural communication,
their noncommunicative problem-solving abilities,
and their perceptual sensitivities to speech stimuli
and the computational abilities that underlie lan-
guage organization. The methodologies include field
studies of natural behavior, laboratory studies build-
ing on those field studies, and, in the case of speech
stimuli, combining the two such that researchers em-
ploy spontaneous behavioral measures borrowed
from the field with carefully controlled laboratory
methods. The goal of using speech stimuli, by defini-
tion artificial for primate subjects, is to assess wheth-
er they have the perceptual and computational
abilities to extract the relevant dimensions such as
phonetic categories, prosodic rhythms, word-like
units, and grammatical structures. By employing the
comparative approach, researchers can triangulate on
the critical traits that contribute to the uniquely
human form of language.
Evidence of Homologous Mechanisms
The sensory-motor system includes abilities used in
vocal production, imitation, and auditory perception.
Here we highlight studies of auditory perception as
they provide strong evidence for homologous
mechanisms shared by humans and primates (Trout,
2001; Hauser et al., 2002). Vocal production and
imitation reveal a more complicated pattern of simi-
larities and differences across species (Rizzolatti and
Arbib, 1998; Fitch, 2000).
A classic set of findings reveals that categorical
perception, required for detecting the articulatory-
acoustic cues to phonetic boundaries, is shared
between humans and primates, along with other
mammalian and nonmammalian species such as
chinchilla and quail (for reviews see Harnad, 1987;
Hauser, 1996). These experiments entail carefully
controlled laboratory methods with trained responses
(e.g., shock avoidance, button pressing) and natural
or synthetic speech stimuli to test the animals’ dis-
crimination of cues signaling the boundaries between
phonetic categories. The general conclusion is that the
animals’ discrimination and labeling functions follow
those detailed in studies of human adults and infants.
For example, rhesus monkeys tested on a voice onset
time contrast showed, similarly to humans, that they
were most sensitive to differences close to the human
phonetic boundaries and less sensitive to differences
within a phonetic category. Laboratory and field
studies of categorical perception using species-
specific vocalizations, as opposed to speech, confirm
 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates 535
the general nature of this perceptual ability. These
findings lead to the conclusion that categorical per-
ception is shared among a broad range of species and
represents a general as opposed to a speech-specific
perceptual capacity. Comparative analysis thus
reveals that categorical perception is not unique to
humans, nor did it evolve for language.
More recent research has extended comparative
study of the language faculty in two significant direc-
tions: the implementation of nontraining methods
and the presentation of speech stimuli other than
phonetic categories. In a series of studies comparing
human neonates and adult cotton-top tamarins,
results suggest that these species share a perceptual
mechanism for discriminating the rhythmic classes of
spoken languages (for recent results and detailed
references see Tincoff et al., 2005). Early descriptions
of language rhythms separated them into three major
classes reflecting linguistic metrical timing units:
stress patterns, syllable length, and a subsyllabic
unit length termed the mora. More recently, a quanti-
tative analysis has been conducted of the acoustic
characteristics of consonant and vowel units in sever-
al spoken languages. This analysis largely confirmed
the early descriptive categories and revealed rhythmic
clusters such as English and Dutch (stress timed),
Spanish and Italian (syllable timed), and Japanese
(mora timed). Perceptual experiments with human
adults and newborns further confirmed this rhythmic
organization. Most recently, human newborns and
cotton-top tamarin species were tested in a habitua-
tion–discrimination paradigm using the same set of
human speech utterances drawn from languages with
different rhythmic structures (e.g., stress-timed Dutch
vs. mora-timed Japanese). The discrimination re-
sponse of human newborns was assessed with a
high-amplitude sucking measure that capitalized on
newborns’ natural sucking reflex. The discrimination
response of adult tamarin monkeys was assessed by a
head orientation measure that capitalized on tamar-
ins’ spontaneous tendency to orient to a sound source.
Results from both species showed that following ha-
bituation to one language (e.g., Dutch), individuals
responded more to new sentences from a different
rhythmic-class language (e.g., Japanese) than they
did to new sentences from the habituation language.
Both subject groups, however, failed to discriminate
within a rhythmic class (e.g., Dutch vs. English or
Spanish vs. Italian) and when the utterances were
played backwards, a manipulation that arguably dis-
rupts the rhythmic cues. Figure 1 presents the results
of the tamarin subjects across these test conditions.
The use of these natural spontaneous responses,
compared to arbitrary trained responses, lends
stronger support to the conclusion that the shared
Figure 1 Response to test utterances from New language
compared to test utterances from Same, habituated language.
Stippled bars indicate responses to different rhythmic class com-
parisons, Dutch vs. Japanese and Polish vs. Japanese. Solid bars
indicate responses to same rhythmic class comparison, Dutch vs.
American English. The top panel presents responses to utter-
ances played forward; the bottom panel presents responses to
utterances played backwards. Adult tamarins responded signifi-
cantly more to New language utterances than to Same language
utterances when the utterances were played forward and were
from different rhythmic classes (*p < 0.05). Tamarins failed to
discriminate New language utterances when they were played
backwards, and when played forward, but were from the same
rhythmic class. ( a percentage of subjects responding, bmean
percentage of responses across subjects).
discrimination ability is based on a homologous per-
ceptual mechanism.
Another perceptual domain that extends our know-
ledge of the sensory-motor system is cross-modal inte-
gration. Natural spoken language in face-to-face
interactions is both an auditory and a visual/
articulatory signal. Much research has documented
that humans integrate the acoustic and articulatory
sources of spoken syllables into a single percept.
Research testing human infants’ perception of multi-
modal stimuli such as sound–object matches, face–
voice matches, and auditory-visual vowels shows
that cross-modal integration is present from a
young age (for reviews see chapters in Lewkowicz
and Lickliter, 1994). Experiments with nonhuman
subjects, especially primates, are critical for explain-
ing the origins of this fundamental perceptual
mechanism and identifying possible homologues
or precursors. Recently, a laboratory experiment
revealed that rhesus monkeys can spontaneously
match the auditory signal of two of their natural
vocalizations with the video of the appropriate articu-
latory gesture: coos, produced by a rhesus monkey
caller with a small mouth opening and protruding
536 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates
lips, and aggressive threats, produced with a larger
mouth opening and no lip protrusion (Ghazanfar
and Logothetis, 2003). This finding provides the first
evidence that the perceptual mechanism for cross-
modal matching of acoustic-articulatory cues may
be homologous between humans and primates and
inherited from a common primate ancestor. It remains
an open question whether this mechanism can be used
by animals to detect cross-modal matches and
mismatches with speech and human faces, and simi-
larly, whether humans could detect correspondences
between rhesus faces and voices.
The above findings provide support for the conclu-
sion that at least three perceptual mechanisms utilized
by the sensory-motor system of the language faculty
evolved before humans, and are homologous with
mechanisms present in nonhuman primates and, in
the case of categorical perception, other vertebrates.
Importantly, these mechanisms evolved to solve more
general perceptual problems rather than those that
humans specifically encounter in processing speech.
These findings are consistent with the first part of
the language evolution hypothesis in Hauser et al.
(2002), emphasizing commonalities within FLB.
Evidence of Phylogenetically Unique Mechanisms
The conceptual-intentional system includes concep-
tual representations (e.g., number, animacy, color,
spatial referents), the capacity to attribute mental
states (e.g., beliefs, desires, intentions), and the ability
to form and extend a lexicon of words or word-like
signals. A long history of comparative research has
led to the general conclusion that nonhuman animals,
and perhaps especially chimpanzees, have a rich con-
ceptual system, including elements of a theory of
mind (see chapters in Heyes and Huber, 2000; Bekoff
et al., 2002; Tomasello et al., 2003). These animals
lack, however, the full-blown systems observed in
humans, and certainly lack the capacity to express
in sounds or gestures what they are thinking about
(Hauser et al., 2002). Here we focus further on the
lexical aspects of the conceptual-intentional system,
as they reveal striking differences.
The classic studies of vervet monkeys show that
they produce acoustically distinct behavioral and
vocal responses to different predator classes (leopards,
eagles, and snakes) (reviewed in Hauser, 1996;
Cheney and Seyfarth, in press). In particular, field
playback experiments demonstrated that vervets
could infer the context from the call alone. These
findings motivated the conclusion that animals might
produce signals that function like symbols, labeling
particular external referents or designating instruc-
tions for action. A strong claim building on this
conclusion proposes that signals such as vervet alarm
calls are evidence of precursors to human words.
A more cautious claim allows that these signals carry
significant information that can be decoded by the
listener in order to mediate adaptive responses in the
context of food, predation, and social relationships,
but that information is not intentionally encoded by
the sender to accommodate the listener’s beliefs or
desires (Cheney and Seyfarth, in press). We, along
with most in the field, consider this latter interpreta-
tion to be correct. Additionally, nonhuman vocaliza-
tions differ from human words in at least three
important ways: meaning, as reflected by acoustically
distinct calls produced in particular situations, is tied
to a narrow range of topics, survival and mating; the
calls are never produced in the absence of the referent;
and the lexicon is small and finite with no apparent
capacity to generate novel sounds with new meaning
(Hauser et al., 2002). The implication for the evolu-
tion of the language faculty is that our lexical capacity
likely stands as a phylogenetically novel trait; if cor-
rect, then models and simulations of language evolu-
tion that begin with the capacity for reference have
skipped over a fundamental evolutionary change. We
therefore need a better understanding of when and
how our species alone acquired the remarkable capac-
ity to learn words as young children, to generate new
words on the fly, and to use our words to refer to
absent, or even nonexistent and imagined, entities or
events.
FLN – and especially the mechanism of recursion –
was defined by Hauser et al. (2002)as a compu-
tational process that is responsible for the generative
and hierarchical properties of narrow syntax. In dis-
cussing this system, they leave open the possibility
that although the recursive machinery is essential to
language, it is also deployed, at least in some form,
in other domains. On this view, therefore, a much
broader array of investigations is likely to be useful
to our understanding of language evolution. For
example, comparative studies have explored the
generative or hierarchical mechanisms for number
and serial-order learning (Biro and Matsuzawa, 2001;
Terrace et al., 2003), tool use (Matsuzawa, 2001),
foraging and navigation (Shettleworth, 1998), and
human grammar (Fitch and Hauser, 2004; Newport
et al., 2004). We focus here on studies testing
primates’ processing of grammar as they provide
the most direct test of the FLN system used for
narrow syntax. These laboratory studies build on the
perceptual studies reviewed above using a familiariza-
tion–discrimination test paradigm with natural or
synthesized speech stimuli and the same spontaneous
orienting measure. The findings show that cotton-
toptamarin monkeys share with humans the basic
 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates 537
Figure 2 Mean response across subjects to test patterns that
violated familiarized grammar compared to test patterns consis-
tent with grammar. The top panel shows that tamarins familiar-
ized to the finite state grammar (FSG) responded significantly
more to violations than to grammar consistent patterns, but
tamarins familiarized to the phrase structure grammar (PSG)
did not discriminate violations from consistent patterns.
computational mechanisms for calculating transitional
probabilities (a cue to word boundaries) and extracting
algebraic rules (AAB vs. ABB), as well as other finite-
state grammars (ABn patterns). Unlike humans, how-
ever, tamarins fail to extract phrase structure grammars
(AnBn patterns) (Fitch and Hauser, 2004). In this exper-
iment, tamarins were first familiarized to sets of sylla-
bles following an AnBn grammar. They were then tested
with novel items, half violating the grammar, half con-
sistent with it. Tamarins responded equally to the test
items, failing to discriminate violations from grammar-
consistent items (see Figure 2). This failure cannot be
explained by task demands (identical to those used in
the finite-state grammar experiment), working memo-
ry, capacity to extract the relevant units for the compu-
tation (i.e., the syllables were previously used in
experiments testing finite-state grammar and algebraic
rules), or number. These results suggest that the mech-
anism for generating hierarchically embedded struc-
tures is a phylogenetically novel trait unique to
humans.
Conclusions and Open Questions
Although comparative studies related to the language
faculty have a long history, most of the core issues
associated with understanding the evolution of the
language faculty have only recently been approached.
One useful approach may be the theoretical frame-
work articulated by Hauser et al. (2002) in which the
language faculty is carved at several relevant joints,
including at the simplest level, the broad and narrow
sense with the associated component systems and its
interfaces. Comparative studies with nonhuman pri-
mates and other animals offer initial support that the
sensory-motor component of FLB is homologous. In
contrast, the available data suggest that the concep-
tual-intentional system of FLB is characterized by a
pattern of homologous, homoplasic, and phylogen-
etically unique traits. Finally, no strong evidence has
been gathered to argue for a nonhuman homologue
or homoplasy for FLN; FLN, as defined for narrow
syntax, is a strong candidate for a phylogenetically
unique human trait within the language faculty.
Despite these positive developments, the conclu-
sions presently rest on a sparse foundation due to
the paucity of species tested and the range of unrelat-
ed methods implemented. Furthermore, important
caveats must be raised for the identified behavioral
homologies. We know relatively little about the
neurophysiological substrates for any of the behav-
ioral phenomena described, or the genetic mechan-
isms that form these processes. Further probing could
reveal that the similar behavioral responses are gen-
erated by phylogenetically different underlying sys-
tems that yield convergent behavior. Alternatively,
further probing could reveal homologies throughout
the relevant neural, hormonal, or genetic mechan-
isms. An additional question is whether the target
mechanisms serve an adaptive function related to
language or if they are byproducts of other adapta-
tions that were co-opted by the language faculty.
Studies using neurophysiological preparations with
natural vocalizations and human speech, together
with studies involving molecular techniques, provide
important avenues for the future (for a perspective
on the recent mapping of the FOXP2 complex see
Marcus and Fischer, 2003). The study of language
evolution is an exciting and growing area of lin-
guistics and language behavior. Data from nonhu-
man animals will play a pivotal role in constraining
theories and designing experiments.
See also: Alarm Calls; Animal Communication: Overview;
Animal Communication: Vocal Learning; Apes: Gesture
Communication; Categorical Perception in Animals; Com-
munication in Grey Parrots; Communication in Marine
Mammals; Development of Communication in Animals;
Evolution of Phonetics and Phonology; Evolution of Prag-
matics; Evolution of Semantics; Evolution of Syntax; Indi-
vidual Recognition in Animal Species; Non-human
Primate Communication; Production of Vocalizations in
Mammals; Traditions in Animals.
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538 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates
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Hauser M D, Chomsky N & Fitch W T (2002). ‘The faculty
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Heyes C M & Huber L (eds.) (2000). The evolution of
cognition. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Cognitive Grammar
R W Langacker
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 590–593, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
‘Cognitive grammar ’ (originally called ‘space gram-
mar’) is a highly innovative theory of linguistic struc-
ture that has been developed and progressively
articulated since 1976. In stark contrast to modular
approaches, it regards language as an integral facet
of cognition, and grammar as being inherently mean-
ingful. It presupposes a ‘conceptualist’ account of
Hockett C F (1960). The origin of speech. Scientific
American 203, 88–96.
Lenneberg E H (1967). Biological foundations of language.
New York: John Wiley.
Lewkowicz D J & Lickliter R (eds.) (1994). The develop-
ment of intersensory perception: comparative perspec-
tives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Marcus G F & Fisher S E (2003). ‘FOXP2 in focus: what
can genes tell us about speech and language?’ Trends in
Cognitive Sciences 7(6), 257–262.
Matsuzawa T (2001). ‘Primate foundations of human intel-
ligence: a view of tool use in nonhuman primates and
fossil hominids.’ In Matsuzawa (ed.). 3–28.
Matsuzawa T (ed.) (2001). Primate origins of human cog-
nition and behavior. Tokyo: Springer-Verlag.
Newport E L, Hauser M D, Spaepen G & Aslin R A (2004).
‘Learning at a distance II: statistical learning of
non-adjacent dependencies in a non-human primate.’
Cognitive Psychology 49(2), 85–117.
Ridley M (2004). Evolution. Malden, MA: Blackwell
Science.
Rizzolatti G & Arbib M A (1998). ‘Language within our
grasp.’ Trends in Neurosciences 21, 188–194.
Shettleworth S J (1998). Cognition, evolution, and behav-
ior. New York: Oxford University Press.
Terrace H S, Son L K & Brannon E M (2003). ‘Serial
expertise of rhesus macaques.’ Psychological Science
14(1), 66–73.
Tincoff R, Hauser M, Tsao F, Spaepen G, Ramus F &
Mehler J (2005). ‘The role of speech rhythm in language
discrimination: further tests with a nonhuman primate.’
Developmental Science 8(1), 26–35.
Tomasello M, Call J & Hare B (2003). ‘Chimpanzees un-
derstand psychological states—the question is which
ones and to what extent.’ Trends in Cognitive Sciences
7(4), 153–156.
Trout J D (2001). ‘The biological basis of speech: what to
infer from talking to the animals.’ Psychological Review
108(3), 523–549.
linguistic semantics that properly recognizes our ca-
pacity for construing the same conceived situation in
alternate ways. With an appropriate view of meaning,
all grammatical elements are reasonably attributed
some kind of conceptual import. Grammar is thus
considered ‘symbolic’ in nature: it reduces to the
structuring and symbolization of conceptual content.
Linguistic Organization
The ultimate goal of linguistic research is to charac-
terize language as a cognitive entity. As envisaged in
cognitive grammar, linguistic structure ultimately
538 Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Nonhuman Primates
Biro D & Matsuzawa T (2001). ‘Chimpanzee numerical
competence: cardinal and ordinal skills.’ In Matsuzawa
(ed.). 199–225.
Cheney D L & Seyfarth R M (in press). ‘Constraints and
preadaptations in the earliest stages of language evolu-
tion.’ Linguistic Review.
Chomsky N (1988). Language and problems of
knowledge: the Managua lectures. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Christiansen M H & Kirby S (eds.) (2003). Language evo-
lution. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Fitch W T (2000). ‘The evolution of speech: a comparative
review.’ Trends in Cognitive Sciences 4(3), 258–267.
Fitch W T (in press). ‘The evolution of language: a compar-
ative review.’ Biology and Philosophy.
Fitch W T & Hauser M D (2004). ‘Computational con-
straints on syntactic processing in a nonhuman primate.’
Science 303, 377–380.
Gallistel C R (1990). The organization of learning.
Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books/MIT Press.
Ghazanfar A A & Logothetis N K (2003). ‘Facial expres-
sions linked to monkey calls.’ Nature 423, 937–938.
Harnad S (ed.) (1987). Categorical perception: the ground-
work of cognition. New York: Cambridge University
Press.
Hauser M D (1996). The evolution of communication.
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Hauser M D (2000). Wild minds: what animals really think.
New York: Henry Holt.
Hauser M D (2003). ‘Primate cognition.’ In Gallagher M &
Nelson R J (eds.) Handbook of psychology 3: biological
psychology. New York: John Wiley. 561–574.
Hauser M D & Konishi M (eds.) (1999). The design of
animal communication. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Hauser M D, Chomsky N & Fitch W T (2002). ‘The faculty
of language: what is it, who has it, and how did it evolve.’
Science 298, 1569–1579 (this article provided important
background for the present article).
Heyes C M & Huber L (eds.) (2000). The evolution of
cognition. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Cognitive Grammar
R W Langacker
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
This article is reproduced from the previous edition, volume 2,
pp. 590–593, ! 1994, Elsevier Ltd.
‘Cognitive grammar ’ (originally called ‘space gram-
mar’) is a highly innovative theory of linguistic struc-
ture that has been developed and progressively
articulated since 1976. In stark contrast to modular
approaches, it regards language as an integral facet
of cognition, and grammar as being inherently mean-
ingful. It presupposes a ‘conceptualist’ account of
Hockett C F (1960). The origin of speech. Scientific
American 203, 88–96.
Lenneberg E H (1967). Biological foundations of language.
New York: John Wiley.
Lewkowicz D J & Lickliter R (eds.) (1994). The develop-
ment of intersensory perception: comparative perspec-
tives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Marcus G F & Fisher S E (2003). ‘FOXP2 in focus: what
can genes tell us about speech and language?’ Trends in
Cognitive Sciences 7(6), 257–262.
Matsuzawa T (2001). ‘Primate foundations of human intel-
ligence: a view of tool use in nonhuman primates and
fossil hominids.’ In Matsuzawa (ed.). 3–28.
Matsuzawa T (ed.) (2001). Primate origins of human cog-
nition and behavior. Tokyo: Springer-Verlag.
Newport E L, Hauser M D, Spaepen G & Aslin R A (2004).
‘Learning at a distance II: statistical learning of
non-adjacent dependencies in a non-human primate.’
Cognitive Psychology 49(2), 85–117.
Ridley M (2004). Evolution. Malden, MA: Blackwell
Science.
Rizzolatti G & Arbib M A (1998). ‘Language within our
grasp.’ Trends in Neurosciences 21, 188–194.
Shettleworth S J (1998). Cognition, evolution, and behav-
ior. New York: Oxford University Press.
Terrace H S, Son L K & Brannon E M (2003). ‘Serial
expertise of rhesus macaques.’ Psychological Science
14(1), 66–73.
Tincoff R, Hauser M, Tsao F, Spaepen G, Ramus F &
Mehler J (2005). ‘The role of speech rhythm in language
discrimination: further tests with a nonhuman primate.’
Developmental Science 8(1), 26–35.
Tomasello M, Call J & Hare B (2003). ‘Chimpanzees un-
derstand psychological states—the question is which
ones and to what extent.’ Trends in Cognitive Sciences
7(4), 153–156.
Trout J D (2001). ‘The biological basis of speech: what to
infer from talking to the animals.’ Psychological Review
108(3), 523–549.
linguistic semantics that properly recognizes our ca-
pacity for construing the same conceived situation in
alternate ways. With an appropriate view of meaning,
all grammatical elements are reasonably attributed
some kind of conceptual import. Grammar is thus
considered ‘symbolic’ in nature: it reduces to the
structuring and symbolization of conceptual content.
Linguistic Organization
The ultimate goal of linguistic research is to charac-
terize language as a cognitive entity. As envisaged in
cognitive grammar, linguistic structure ultimately

reduces to recurrent patterns of neurological activity,
and owing to its multifaceted complexity, a language
is more aptly likened metaphorically to a biological
organism than to a computer program or a logical
deductive system. Thus it is not presumed that any
single formalism can capture all aspects of a given
phenomenon, or that any particular notation trans-
lates directly into specific psychological claims. The
various notations and descriptive formats devised in
cognitive grammar are meant to be precise within the
limits of our understanding and revelatory for partic-
ular descriptive and analytical purposes. They do not
however constitute a strict or uniquely privileged for-
malization, nor is the expectation of such a formalism
considered appropriate.
To the extent that a pattern of neurological activity
is ‘entrenched’ and readily elicited as a pre-established
whole, it is referred to as a ‘unit.’ Linguistic knowl-
edge or ability (i.e., a speaker’s grasp of linguistic con-
vention) comprises a vast array of such units, which
is structured in the sense that units participate in
excitatory and inhibitory relationships, and that some
units include others as components. This knowledge –
the ‘internal grammar’ – is not conceived as a genera-
tive or constructive device. The function of linguistic
units is rather to serve as templates for the ‘categoriza-
tion’ of expressions. An expression is simultaneously
categorized by a multitude of units, each of which
corresponds to a particular aspect of its structure and
represents a constraint on its possible well-formedness
(conventionality). Units compete for activation and
the privilege of categorization on the basis of entren-
chment and their degree of overlap with the target
expression.
Cognitive grammar imposes severe limitations on
the kinds of units ascribable to a linguistic system. On
the one hand, it posits only (a) semantic units, (b)
phonological units, and (c) symbolic units (in which
semantic and phonological units are linked by sym-
bolic relationships). This is the bare minimum needed
to accommodate the basic semiological function of
language, namely the symbolization of conceptualiza-
tions by means of phonological sequences. Symbolic
units are held sufficient for the description of lexicon,
morphology, and syntax, which form a continuum
(rather than discrete components). On the other hand,
cognitive grammar observes the ‘content requirement,’
which restricts linguistic units to (a) semantic, phono-
logical, and symbolic structures that occur overtly as
(parts of) expressions, (b) ‘schematizations’ of permit-
ted structures, and (c) ‘categorizing relationships’ be-
tween permitted structures (including ‘instantiation’ of
a schema and ‘extension’ from a prototype). By virtue
of these restrictions, the theory achieves naturalness,
conceptual unification, and theoretical austerity.
Cognitive Grammar 539
Semantic Structure
Cognitive grammar maintains that grammatical struc-
ture is ‘symbolic’ in nature, being fully describable in
terms of symbolic links between semantic and phono-
logical structures. The viability of this conception of
grammar depends on a particular view of linguistic
semantics.
Basic Tenets
Cognitive semantics rests on several fundamental
notions. First, meaning is not identified with truth
conditions, but with ‘mental experience’ or ‘concep-
tualization’ in the broadest sense of that term. Includ-
ed are novel conceptions (as well as established
concepts), all facets of sensorimotor experience, and
cognizance of the social, linguistic, and cultural con-
text. Second, a linguistic category is typically ‘com-
plex’: its adequate description requires not just a
single structure, but a set of structures linked by
relationships of instantiation and extension to form
a network. As a special case of this phenomenon,
lexical items are typically ‘polysemous.’ A lexeme’s
meaning comprises a network of related senses, some
being schematic relative to others, and some consti-
tuting extensions vis-à-vis more prototypical values.
Third, linguistic semantics is ‘encyclopedic’ in scope.
The meaning of a lexical item (even a single sense)
cannot in general be captured by a limited, dictionary-
type definition. Everything we know about an entity
can in principle be regarded as contributing to the
meaning of an expression that designates it, even
though certain specifications are far more central
and linguistically important than others. One cannot
motivate any sharp distinction (only one of degree)
between semantics and pragmatics, or between ‘lin-
guistic’ and ‘extralinguistic’ knowledge. Finally, an
expression’s meaning does not consist solely in the
conceptual content it evokes (let alone in truth condi-
tions or the objective situation it describes) – equally
significant is how that content is ‘construed.’ Two
expressions may invoke the same conceptual content
yet differ semantically by virtue of the construals they
impose.
Construal
Numerous aspects of construal have been identified.
They are conveniently grouped under several broad
rubrics: specificity, scope, background, perspective,
and prominence.
We have the capacity to conceive an entity or situa-
tion at varying levels of specificity and detail, as
witnessed by such hierarchies as thing > creature >
insect > fly > fruit fly. Each term in the hierarchy is
‘schematic’ for (and ‘elaborated’ by) the one that
540 Cognitive Grammar
follows, which characterizes the designated entity
with greater precision (finer resolution).
An expression’s ‘scope’ comprises the full array of
conceptual content that it specifically evokes and
relies upon for its characterization. The term ‘lid,’
for instance, evokes the schematic conception of a
container, as well as the notion of one entity covering
another. A conception of any type or any degree of
complexity is capable of being invoked as part of an
expression’s meaning. Numerous conceptions – called
‘cognitive domains’ – typically figure in the meaning
of a given expression, which may evoke them in a
flexible and open-ended manner (as determined by
context). Hence the starting point for semantic de-
scription is not a set of semantic features or concep-
tual primitives, but rather an appropriate array of
integrated conceptions, among them higher-order
structures representing any level of conceptual orga-
nization. At the lowest level, presumably, are cogni-
tively irreducible ‘basic domains’ such as space, time,
and the domains associated with the various senses
(e.g., color space).
Another aspect of construal is our ability to con-
ceive of one structure against the ‘background’
provided by another. Categorization is perhaps the
most fundamental and pervasive manifestation of this
ability. Another is the relationship between the source
and target domains of a metaphor. Words like even,
only, many, few, more, and less compare an actual
value to some norm or expectation, and the contrast
between the truth-functionally equivalent half-empty
and half-full is well known. More generally, such
phenomena as presupposition, anaphora, and the
given/-new distinction all involve construal against a
certain kind of background.
Perspective subsumes such factors as vantage point,
orientation, and the subjectivity or objectivity with
which an entity is construed. Vantage point and orien-
tation both figure in the two interpretations of Jack is
to the left of Jill, where Jack’s position may be reck-
oned from either the speaker’s perspective or from
Jill’s. By subjectivity or objectivity is meant the degree
to which an entity functions asymmetrically as the
‘subject’ or the ‘object of conception.’ The conceptua-
lizers (i.e., the speaker and addressee) are construed
subjectively in There’s a mailbox across the street,
where they remain implicit as ‘offstage’ reference
points. They construe themselves more objectively in
There’s a mailbox across the street from us.
The final aspect of construal is the relative ‘promi-
nence’ accorded to the different substructures of a
conception. Various kinds of prominence need to be
distinguished. One is the salience that comes with
objective construal and explicit mention, as in the
previous example. A second type of prominence is
called ‘profiling’: within the conception it evokes,
every expression singles out some substructure as a
kind of focus of attention; this substructure – the
‘profile’ – is the one that the expression ‘designates.’
For example, hypotenuse evokes the conception of
a rightangled triangle (its scope) and profiles (desig-
nates) the side lying opposite the right angle. Above
profiles the spatial ‘relationship’ between two entities.
A third type of prominence pertains to the participants
in a profiled relationship. One participant, termed the
‘trajector,’ is analyzed as the ‘figure’ within the pro-
filed relationship; an additional salient entity is re-
ferred to as a ‘landmark.’ For instance, because above
and below evoke the same conceptual content and
profile the same relationship, their semantic contrast
can only reside in figure/ground alignment. X is above
Y is concerned with locating X, which is thus the
trajector (relational figure), whereas Y is below X
uses X as a landmark to specify the location of Y.
Grammatical Structure
Grammar is claimed to be ‘symbolic’ in nature. Only
symbolic units (form-meaning pairings) are held nec-
essary for the description of grammatical structure.
Thus all valid grammatical constructs are attributed
some kind of conceptual import. Rather than being
autonomous in regard to semantics, grammar reduces
to the structuring and symbolization of conceptual
content.
Grammatical Classes
An expression’s grammatical class is determined by
the nature of its profile. The most fundamental dis-
tinction is between a ‘nominal’ and a ‘relational’
expression, which respectively profile a ‘thing’ and a
‘relationship.’ Both terms are defined abstractly.
A thing is characterized schematically as a ‘region in
some domain,’ where a ‘region’ can be established
from any set of entities (e.g., the stars in a constella-
tion) just by conceiving of them in relation to one
another. While physical objects occupy bounded
regions in space and are prototypical instances of the
thing category, the schematic characterization also
accommodates such entities as as unbounded sub-
stances (e.g., water), geographical areas (Wisconsin),
regions in abstract domains (stanza), collections of
entities (alphabet), points on a scale (F-sharp; 30! C),
conceptual reifications (termination), and even the
absence of some entity (intermission). The term ‘rela-
tionship’ is also broadly interpreted. It applies to
any assessment of entities in relation to one another,
regardless of their nature and status; in particular,
they need not be distinct, salient, or individually
recognized. Expressions classified as relational are

therefore not limited to those (like above) traditional-
ly considered two-place predicates. For instance, the
adjective blue profiles the relationship between an
object and a certain region in color space. When
used as a noun, square profiles the region comprising
a set of line segments arranged in a particular fashion
(or else the area they enclose). When used as an adjec-
tive, however, it profiles the complex relationship
among subparts of this geometrical figure (involving
perpendicularity, equal length of sides, and so on).
Expressions that profile things include such tradi-
tional classes as noun, pronoun, and noun phrase (for
which the term ‘nominal’ is adopted in cognitive
grammar). Relational expressions subsume those tra-
ditionally recognized as adjectives, prepositions,
adverbs, infinitives, participles, verbs, clauses, and
full sentences. On the basis of the intrinsic complexity
of their profiles, relational expressions can be divided
into those which designate ‘simple atemporal rela-
tions,’ ‘complex atemporal relations,’ and ‘processes.’
A simple atemporal relation is one that comprises a
single consistent configuration (or ‘state’ – hence it is
also called a ‘stative relation’). For example, adjec-
tives and many prepositions have this character.
A complex atemporal relation cannot be reduced to
a single configuration but can only be represented as
an ordered series of states. In She walked across the
field, for instance, the preposition across designates a
series of locative configurations defining the trajec-
tor’s path with reference to the landmark. A process is
a complex ‘temporal’ relation, i.e., one whose com-
ponent states are saliently conceived as being distrib-
uted through a continuous span of time, and whose
temporal evolution is viewed sequentially (rather
than holistically). Verbs and finite clauses designate
processes, whereas participles and infinitives impose
a holistic view on the process specified by a verb stem
and are thus atemporal.
Rules and Constructions
Grammar consists of patterns for combining simpler
symbolic structures into symbolic structures of pro-
gressively greater complexity. A symbolically complex
expression, e.g., cracked, represents a ‘grammatical
construction’ wherein two ‘component structures’
(crack and -ed) are ‘integrated’ to form a ‘composite
structure.’ Such integration, both phonological and
semantic, is effected by ‘correspondences’ established
between subparts of the component expressions, and
by the superimposition of corresponding entities.
Typically, one component structure corresponds to,
and serves to ‘elaborate,’ a schematic substructure
within the other. Thus -ed, being a suffix, makes sche-
matic phonological reference to a stem, which crack
elaborates to yield cracked. Semantically, the adjecti-
Cognitive Grammar 541
val sense of the past participial morpheme profiles the
final, resultant state of a schematically characterized
process, which corresponds to the specific process
profiled by crack. By superimposing the correspond-
ing processes, and adopting the profiling of the parti-
cipial morpheme, one obtains the composite semantic
structure of cracked, which profiles a stative relation
identified as the final state of crack.
It is usual for the composite structure to inherit its
profiling from one of the component structures, which
thereby constitutes the construction’s ‘head.’ The suf-
fix -ed is thus the head within the participial con-
struction cracked. A component that elaborates the
head is a ‘complement,’ hence complement of -ed by
virtue of elaborating the schematic process it invokes.
Conversely, a component that the head elaborates is
a ‘modifier.’ In blue square, for instance, blue modi-
fies square because the latter – the head – elaborates
blue’s schematic trajector (the entity located in the
blue region of color space).
Grammatical rules take the form of schematized
constructions. A ‘constructional schema’ is a symbol-
ically complex structure whose internal organization
is exactly analogous to that of a set of constructions
(complex expressions), but which abstracts away
from their points of divergence to reveal their
schematic commonality. For instance, the rule for
adjective þ noun combinations in English is a symbol-
ic structure parallel to blue square, cracked sidewalk,
playful kitten, etc., except that the adjective and
noun are schematic rather than specific: semantically,
the constructional schema specifies that the trajector
of the adjective corresponds to the profile of the
noun, which lends its profile to the composite struc-
ture; phonologically, it specifies that the adjective
directly precedes the noun as a separate word. A
constructional schema may be characterized at any
appropriate level of abstraction, and represents the
conventionality of a particular pattern of integration.
It is available for the categorization of novel complex
expressions and can also be thought of as a template
used in their assembly.
Other Grammatical Elements
The foregoing remarks indicate that grammatical
classes, rules, and such notions as head, complement,
and modifier can all be characterized in terms of
configurations of symbolic structures. The same is
true of other grammatical elements. For instance, a
‘nominal’ (noun phrase) profiles a thing and further
incorporates a specification of its relationship to the
‘ground’ (i.e., the speech event and its participants)
with respect to fundamental, ‘epistemic’ cognitive
domains; demonstratives, articles, and certain
quantifiers serve this function in English. Similarly, a
542 Cognitive Grammar
‘finite clause’ profiles a process grounded (in the case
of English) by tense and the modals. A ‘subject’
can then be characterized as a nominal which elabo-
rates the trajector of a process profiled at the clausal
level of organization, and a ‘direct object’ as a nomi-
nal that elaborates its primary landmark.
Grammatical markers are all attributed semantic
values, often quite schematic. For example, the deri-
vational morpheme -er (as in complainer) profiles a
thing characterized only as the trajector of a schematic
process; like most derivational morphemes, it is seman-
tically schematic for the class it derives, its primary
semantic value residing in the profile it imposes on the
specific conceptual content provided by the stem it
combines with. Besides schematicity, factors consid-
ered compatible with a grammatical marker’s meaning-
fulness include semantic overlap with other elements
(e.g., redundant marking, as in agreement), the lack of
any option (as in government), and failure to exhibit a
single sense in all its uses (polysemy being characteristic
of both lexical and grammatical elements – e.g., -ed has
distinct but related meanings in its adjectival, perfect,
and passive uses).
Assessment and Outlook
Cognitive grammar has been revealingly applied to a
steadily widening array of phenomena in a diverse set
of languages. It is rapidly being established as a viable
model of language structure, and in view of the re-
strictiveness and conceptual unification it achieves,
it merits serious attention from linguistic theorists. It
is fully compatible with ‘functional’ approaches to
linguistic structure, which help explain why certain
of the structures it permits have the status of proto-
types, or represent language universals or universal
tendencies. It also has a natural affinity to ‘connec-
Cognitive Linguistics
L Talmy, State University of New York, Buffalo,
NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Developing over the past two to three decades, cogni-
tive linguistics has as its central concern the represen-
tation of conceptual structure in language. This
relatively new field can initially be characterized
through a contrast of its conceptual approach with
two other familiar approaches, the formal and the
psychological. The formal approach focuses on the
tionist’ (or ‘parallel distributed processing’) models
of cognition, both because the distinction between
rules and data is only one of degree, and also because
grammatical structure reduces to form–meaning pair-
ings. The possibility of achieving this reduction has
extensive implications for language acquisition, mod-
els of language processing, and our conception of
the human mind.
See also: Cognitive Linguistics; Cognitive Pragmatics;
Cognitive Semantics; Construction Grammar; Grammati-
calization.
Bibliography
Haiman J (1980). ‘Dictionaries and encyclopedias.’ Lingua
50, 329–357.
Lakoff G (1987). Women, fire, and dangerous things: what
categories reveal about the mind. Chicago, IL: University
of Chicago Press.
Langacker R W (1986). ‘An introduction to cognitive gram-
mar.’ Cognitive Science 10, 1–40.
Langacker R W (1987a). Foundations of cognitive gram-
mar, vol. 1: theoretical prerequisites. Stanford, CA: Stan-
ford University Press.
Langacker R W (1987b). ‘Nouns and verbs.’ Language 63,
53–94.
Langacker R W (1988). Autonomy, agreement, and cognitive
grammar. In Brentari D et al. (eds.) Agreement in grammat-
ical theory. Chicago, IL: Chicago Linguistic Society.
Langacker R W (1990a). Concept, image, and symbol: the
cognitive basis of grammar. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Langacker R W (1990b). ‘Subjectification.’ Cognitive
Linguistics 1, 5–38.
Langacker R W (1991). Foundations of cognitive grammar,
vol. 2: descriptive application. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Rudzka-Ostyn B (ed.) (1988). Topics in cognitive linguis-
tics. Benjamins: Amsterdam.
overt structural patterns exhibited by linguistic
forms, largely abstracted away from any associated
meaning. The tradition of generative grammar has
been centered here, but has had limited involvement
with the other two approaches. Its formal semantics
has largely included only enough about meaning to
correlate with its formal categories and operations.
And its reach to psychology has largely considered
only the kinds of cognitive structure and processing
needed to account for its formal categories and opera-
tions. The psychological approach regards language
from the perspective of general cognitive systems such
542 Cognitive Grammar
‘finite clause’ profiles a process grounded (in the case
of English) by tense and the modals. A ‘subject’
can then be characterized as a nominal which elabo-
rates the trajector of a process profiled at the clausal
level of organization, and a ‘direct object’ as a nomi-
nal that elaborates its primary landmark.
Grammatical markers are all attributed semantic
values, often quite schematic. For example, the deri-
vational morpheme -er (as in complainer) profiles a
thing characterized only as the trajector of a schematic
process; like most derivational morphemes, it is seman-
tically schematic for the class it derives, its primary
semantic value residing in the profile it imposes on the
specific conceptual content provided by the stem it
combines with. Besides schematicity, factors consid-
ered compatible with a grammatical marker’s meaning-
fulness include semantic overlap with other elements
(e.g., redundant marking, as in agreement), the lack of
any option (as in government), and failure to exhibit a
single sense in all its uses (polysemy being characteristic
of both lexical and grammatical elements – e.g., -ed has
distinct but related meanings in its adjectival, perfect,
and passive uses).
Assessment and Outlook
Cognitive grammar has been revealingly applied to a
steadily widening array of phenomena in a diverse set
of languages. It is rapidly being established as a viable
model of language structure, and in view of the re-
strictiveness and conceptual unification it achieves,
it merits serious attention from linguistic theorists. It
is fully compatible with ‘functional’ approaches to
linguistic structure, which help explain why certain
of the structures it permits have the status of proto-
types, or represent language universals or universal
tendencies. It also has a natural affinity to ‘connec-
Cognitive Linguistics
L Talmy, State University of New York, Buffalo,
NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Developing over the past two to three decades, cogni-
tive linguistics has as its central concern the represen-
tation of conceptual structure in language. This
relatively new field can initially be characterized
through a contrast of its conceptual approach with
two other familiar approaches, the formal and the
psychological. The formal approach focuses on the
tionist’ (or ‘parallel distributed processing’) models
of cognition, both because the distinction between
rules and data is only one of degree, and also because
grammatical structure reduces to form–meaning pair-
ings. The possibility of achieving this reduction has
extensive implications for language acquisition, mod-
els of language processing, and our conception of
the human mind.
See also: Cognitive Linguistics; Cognitive Pragmatics;
Cognitive Semantics; Construction Grammar; Grammati-
calization.
Bibliography
Haiman J (1980). ‘Dictionaries and encyclopedias.’ Lingua
50, 329–357.
Lakoff G (1987). Women, fire, and dangerous things: what
categories reveal about the mind. Chicago, IL: University
of Chicago Press.
Langacker R W (1986). ‘An introduction to cognitive gram-
mar.’ Cognitive Science 10, 1–40.
Langacker R W (1987a). Foundations of cognitive gram-
mar, vol. 1: theoretical prerequisites. Stanford, CA: Stan-
ford University Press.
Langacker R W (1987b). ‘Nouns and verbs.’ Language 63,
53–94.
Langacker R W (1988). Autonomy, agreement, and cognitive
grammar. In Brentari D et al. (eds.) Agreement in grammat-
ical theory. Chicago, IL: Chicago Linguistic Society.
Langacker R W (1990a). Concept, image, and symbol: the
cognitive basis of grammar. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Langacker R W (1990b). ‘Subjectification.’ Cognitive
Linguistics 1, 5–38.
Langacker R W (1991). Foundations of cognitive grammar,
vol. 2: descriptive application. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Rudzka-Ostyn B (ed.) (1988). Topics in cognitive linguis-
tics. Benjamins: Amsterdam.
overt structural patterns exhibited by linguistic
forms, largely abstracted away from any associated
meaning. The tradition of generative grammar has
been centered here, but has had limited involvement
with the other two approaches. Its formal semantics
has largely included only enough about meaning to
correlate with its formal categories and operations.
And its reach to psychology has largely considered
only the kinds of cognitive structure and processing
needed to account for its formal categories and opera-
tions. The psychological approach regards language
from the perspective of general cognitive systems such

as perception, memory, attention, and reasoning.
Centered here, the field of psychology has also
addressed the other two approaches. Its conceptual
concerns have included semantic memory, the asso-
ciativity of concepts, the structure of categories, infer-
ence generation, and contextual knowledge. But it
has insufficiently considered systematic conceptual
structuring.
By contrast, the conceptual approach of cognitive
linguistics is concerned with the patterns in which and
processes by which conceptual content is organized in
language. It has thus addressed the linguistic structur-
ing of such basic conceptual categories as space and
time, scenes and events, entities and processes, motion
and location, and force and causation. To these it adds
the basic ideational and affective categories attributed
to cognitive agents, such as attention and perspective,
volition and intention, and expectation and affect. It
addresses the semantic structure of morphological
and lexical forms, as well as of syntactic patterns.
And it addresses the interrelationships of conceptual
structures, such as those in metaphoric mapping (see
Metaphor: Psychological Aspects), those within a
semantic frame, those between text and context, and
those in the grouping of conceptual categories into
large structuring systems. Overall, the aim of cogni-
tive linguistics is to ascertain the global integrated
system of conceptual structuring in language. Further,
cognitive linguistics addresses the formal properties of
language, accounting for grammatical structure in
terms of its representation of conceptual structure.
And, distinguishing it from earlier semantics, cogni-
tive linguistics relates its findings to the cognitive
structures of the psychological approach (see Psy-
cholinguistics: Overview). Its long-range trajectory
is to integrate the linguistic and the psychological
perspectives on cognitive organization in a unified
understanding of human conceptual structure.
Many of the major themes of cognitive linguistics
can be related in a way that shows the overall struc-
ture of the field. A beginning observation is that
language consists of two subsystems – the open-class
or lexical, and the closed-class or grammatical – that
have different semantic and functional properties.
Closed-class, but not open-class forms, exhibit great
semantic constraint, and do so at two levels. First,
their referents can belong to certain semantic cate-
gories, such as number, gender, and tense, but not to
others such as color or material. For example, inflec-
tions on a noun indicate its number in many lan-
guages, but never its color. Second, they can refer
only to certain concepts even within an acceptable
category like number – e.g., ‘singular,’ ‘dual,’ ‘plural,’
and ‘paucal,’ but never ‘even,’ ‘odd,’ or ‘dozen.’ Cer-
tain principles govern this semantic constraint, e.g.,
Cognitive Linguistics 543
the exclusion of reference to Euclidean properties
such as specificity of magnitude or shape. What large-
ly remain are topological properties such as the mag-
nitude-neutral distance represented by the deictics
(see Deixis and Anaphora: Pragmatic Approaches)
in This speck/planet is smaller than that speck/planet,
or the shape-neutral path represented by the preposi-
tion in I circled/zigzagged through the forest. The two
subsystems differ also in their basic functions, with
conceptual content represented by open-class forms
and conceptual structure by closed-class forms. For
example, in the overall conception evoked by the
sentence A rustler lassoed the steers, the three seman-
tically rich open-class forms – rustle, lasso, steer –
contribute most of the content, while most of the
structure is determined by the remaining closed-class
forms. Shifts in all the closed-class forms – as in Will
the lassoers rustle a steer? – restructure the concep-
tion but leave the cowboy-landscape content largely
intact, whereas a shift in the open-class forms – as in
A machine stamped the envelopes – changes content
while leaving the structure intact. The basic finding in
this ‘‘semantics of grammar’’ portion of cognitive
linguistics is that the closed-class subsystem is the
fundamental conceptual structuring system of lan-
guage (Talmy, 2000).
Such conceptual structure is understood in cogni-
tive linguistics as ‘schematic’, with particular
‘schemas’ or ‘image-schemas’ represented in individ-
ual linguistic forms – whether alone in closed-class
forms or with additional material in open-class
forms. The idea is that the structural specifications
of linguistic forms are regularly conceptualized in
terms of abstracted, idealized, and sometimes virtual-
ly geometric delineations. Such schemas fall into con-
ceptual categories that join in extensive ‘schematic
systems.’ Many of the substantive findings about
conceptual organization made by cognitive linguists
can be placed within these schematic systems. One
schematic system is ‘configurational structure,’ cover-
ing the structure of objects in space and events in time
– often with parallels between the two. For example,
inits category of ‘plexity’ – a term covering both
number and aspect – the object referent of bird and
the event referent of (to) sigh are intrinsically ‘uni-
plex’, but the addition of the extra forms in birds and
keep sighing triggers a cognitive operation of ‘multi-
plexing’ that yields multiplex referents. And in the
category ‘state of boundedness,’ the intrinsically un-
bounded object and event referents of water and (to)
sleep can undergo ‘bounding’ through the additional
form in some water and (to) sleep some to yield
bounded referents.
The second schematic system of ‘perspective’ cov-
ers the location or path of the point at which one
544 Cognitive Linguistics
places one’s ‘mental eyes’ to regard a represented
scene. For example, in There are some houses in the
valley, the closed-class forms together represent
a distal stationary perspective point with global
scope of attention. But the substituted forms in
There is a house every now and then through the
valley represent a proximal moving perspective
point with local scope of attention.
The third schematic system of ‘attention’ covers the
patterns in which different aspects of a linguistic ref-
erence are foregrounded or backgrounded. For exam-
ple, the word hypotenuse ‘profiles’ – foregrounds in
attention – its direct reference to a line segment
against an attentionally backgrounded ‘base’ of the
conception of a right triangle (Langacker, 1987). The
verb bite in The dog bit the cat foregrounds the ‘active
zone’ of the dog’s teeth. And over an expression of
a certain kind, the ‘Figure’ or ‘trajector’ is the most
salient constituent whose path or site is characterized
in terms of a secondarily salient constituent, the
‘Ground’ or ‘landmark.’ These functional assign-
ments accord with convention in The bike is near the
house, but their reversal yields the odd ?The house is
near the bike.
A fourth schematic system of ‘force dynamics’
covers such relations between entities as opposition,
resistance, overcoming, and blockage, and places
causation alongside permitting and preventing, help-
ing and hindering. To illustrate, the sentence The ball
rolled along the green is force dynamically neutral,
but in The ball kept rolling along the green, either the
ball’s tendency toward rest is overcome by something
like the wind, or its tendency toward motion over-
comes something such as stiff grass (Talmy, 2000).
Schemas from all the schematic systems, and the
cognitive operations they trigger can be nested to
form intricate structural patterns. To illustrate with
events in time, the uniplex event in The beacon
flashed can be multiplexed as in The beacon kept
flashing; this can be bounded as in The beacon
flashed 5 times in a row; this can be treated as a
new uniplexity and remultiplexed as in The beacon
kept flashing 5 times at a stretch; and this can in turn
be rebounded, as in The beacon flashed 5 times at a
stretch for 3 hours.
Further conceptual structuring is seen within the
meanings of morphemes. A morpheme’s meaning is
generally a prototype category whose members differ
in privilege, whose properties can vary in number
and strength, and whose boundary can vary in
scope (Lakoff, 1987). For example, the meaning of
breakfast prototypically refers to eating certain foods
in the morning, but can extend to other foods at that
time or the same foods at other times (Fillmore,
1982). For a polysemous morpheme, one sense can
function as the prototype to which the other senses
are progressively linked by conceptual increments
within a ‘radial category.’ Thus, for the preposition
over, the prototype sense may be ‘horizontal motion
above an object’ as in The bird flew over the hill, but
linked to this by ‘endpoint focus’ is the sense in Sam
lives over the hill (Brugmann, 1981).
These findings have led cognitive linguists to cer-
tain stances on the properties of conceptualization.
The conceptual structuring found in language is
largely held to be a product of human cognition and
imposed on external phenomena (where it pertains to
them), rather than arising from putative structure
intrinsic to such external phenomena and veridically
taken up by language. For example, in one type of
‘fictive motion,’ motion can be imputed to a shadow –
cross linguistically always from an object to its sil-
houette – as in The pole threw its shadow on the wall,
even though a distinct evaluative part of our cogni-
tion may judge the situation to lack physical motion.
An important consequence is that alternatives of con-
ceptualization or ‘construal’ can be applied to the
same phenomena. Thus, a person standing 5 feet
from and pointing to a bicycle can use either deictic
in Take away that/this bicycle, in effect imputing the
presence of a spatial boundary either between herself
and the bicycle or on the far side of the bicycle.
The notion of ‘embodiment’ extends the idea of
conceptual imposition and bases the imposed con-
cepts largely on experiences humans have of their
bodies interacting with environments or on psycho-
logical or neural structure (Lakoff and Johnson,
1999). As one tenet of this view, the ‘objectivist’
notion of the autonomous existence of logic and rea-
son is replaced by experiential or cognitive structure.
For example, our sense of the meaning of the word
angle is not derived from some independent ideal
mathematical realm, but is rather built up from our
experience, e.g., from perceptions of a static forking
branch, from moving two sticks until their ends
touch, or from rotating one stick while its end touches
that of another.
The cognitive process of conceptual imposition –
more general than going from mental to external
phenomena or from experiential to ideal realms –
also covers directed mappings from any one concep-
tual domain to another. An extensive form of such
imputation is metaphor, mainly studied in cognitive
linguistics not for its familiar salient form in literature
but, under the term ‘conceptual metaphor,’ for its
largely unconscious pervasive structuring of every-
day expression. In it, certain structural elements of
a conceptual ‘source domain’ are mapped onto
the content of a conceptual ‘target domain.’ The
embodiment-based directionality of the imputational

mapping is from a more concrete domain, one
grounded in bodily experience, to a more abstract
domain – much as in the Piagetian theory of cognitive
development. Thus, the more palpable domain of
physical motion through space can be mapped onto
the more abstract domain of progression through
time – in fact, in two different ways – as in We’re
approaching Christmas and Christmas is approach-
ing – whereas mappings in the reverse direction are
minimal (Lakoff, 1992).
Generally, mappings between domains are im-
plicit in metaphor, but are explicitly established
by linguistic forms in the area of ‘mental spaces.’ The
mapping here is again directional, going from a ‘base’
space – a conceptual domain generally factual for
the speaker – to a subordinate space that can be
counterfactual, representational, at a different time,
etc. Elements in the former space connect to cor-
responding elements in the latter. Thus, in Max thinks
Harry’s name is Joe, the speaker’s base space includes
‘Max’ and ‘Harry’ as elements; the word thinks sets up
a subordinate space for a portion of Max’s belief sys-
tem; and this contains an element ‘Joe’ that corre-
sponds to ‘Harry’ (Fauconnier, 1985). Further, two
separate mental spaces can map elements of their
content and structure into a third mental space that
constitutes a ‘blend’ or ‘conceptual integration’ of the
two inputs, with potentially novel structure. Thus, in
referring to a modern catamaran reenacting a century-
old voyage by an early clipper, a speaker can say At this
point, the catamaran is barely maintaining a 4 day lead
over the clipper, thereby conceptually superimposing
the two treks and generating the apparency of a race
(Fauconnier and Turner, 2002).
In terms of the sociology of the field, there is con-
siderable consensus across cognitive linguists on the
assumptions of the field and on the body of work
basic to it. No competing schools of thought have
arisen, and cognitive linguists engage in relatively
little critiquing of each other’s work, which mainly
differs only in the phenomena focused on.
See also: Cognitive Semantics; Componential Analysis;
Deixis and Anaphora: Pragmatic Approaches; Metaphor:
Psychological Aspects; Orality; Prototype Semantics;
Psycholinguistics: Overview; Spatiality and Language.
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Cambridge: MIT Press.
Tomasello M (ed.) (1998). The new psychology of lan-
guage: cognitive and functional approaches to language
structure (vol. 1). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Tomasello M (ed.) (2003). The new psychology of lan-
guage: cognitive and functional approaches to language
structure (vol. 2). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Cognitive Pragmatics
F M Bosco, University of Torino, Torino, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Cognitive pragmatics is concerned with the mental
processes involved in intentional communication.
Typically, studies within this area focus on cognitive
processes underlying the comprehension of a linguis-
tic speech act and overlook linguistic production or
extralinguistic communication.
As far as cognitive processes are concerned authors
in this field are interested in both the inferential
chains necessary to understand a communicator’s in-
tention starting from the utterance he proffered and
the different mental representations underlying the
comprehension of various communicative phenomena
as cognitive processes. Thus, a theory in cognitive
pragmatics aims to explain what mental processes a
person actually engages in during a communicative
interaction (see Shared Knowledge).
Relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson, 1986/1995)
is usually identified as the principal theoretical
framework in the area of cognitive pragmatics (see
Relevance Theory). Nonetheless, in the last decade,
other theories have been developed. These include a
far-reaching theory of the cognitive processes under-
lying human communication, known as the Cognitive
Pragmatics theory (Airenti et al., 1993a, 1993b; Bara,
2005), and the Graded Salience Hypothesis (Giora,
2003), a theory which focuses on mental inferences
underlying the comprehension of literal vs. figurative
language (see Cognitive Linguistics; Metaphor: Psy-
chological Aspects).
Describing the cognitive processes involved in com-
municative interaction is interesting not only for the
study of such processes as fixed states – an approach
Traugott E (1989). ‘On the rise of epistemic meanings in
English: an example of subjectification in semantic
change.’ Language 57, 33–65.
Verhagen A (2002). ‘From parts to wholes and back again.’
In van Wolde E (ed.) Job 28. Cognition in Context.
Leiden: Brill. 231–252.
Zubin D A & Kopcke K M (1986). ‘The gender marking of
superordinate and basic level concepts in German: an
analogist apology.’ In Craig C (ed.) Categorization and
Noun Classification. Philadelphia: Benjamins North
America. 139–180.
that takes into consideration exclusively the final
stage in healthy adult subjects – but also for the
consideration of how a given function develops
from infancy, through childhood, and to adulthood,
and how it eventually decays in subjects with brain
injuries (Bara, 1995). Such an approach makes it
possible to better comprehend, from a cognitive per-
spective, how pragmatic competence develops and
what neurocognitive structures might cause deficits
in people’s performance if damaged.
A closely related topic is the identification of the
cognitive components that contribute to the realiza-
tion of a complete pragmatic competence. From this
perspective, it is important to consider the role played
by a person’s Theory of Mind and by the Executive
Function (see below) during a communicative inter-
action.
Cognitive Pragmatics Theory
Airenti et al. (1993a, 1993b) presented a theory of
the cognitive processes underlying human communi-
cation aiming to provide a unified theoretical frame-
work for the explanation of different communicative
phenomena (Bara, 2005). The authors proposed that
their theoretical analysis holds for both linguistic and
extralinguistic communication, and thus introduced,
with reference to the interlocutors, the terms ‘actor’
and ‘partner’ instead of the classical ‘speaker’ and
‘hearer.’ The theory assumes that the literal meaning
of an utterance is necessary but not sufficient to the
partner in order for him or her to reconstruct the
meaning conveyed by the actor, and that in order to
understand the actor’s communicative intention, the
partner has to recognize a ‘behavior game’ the actor is
proposing for him (the partner) to play. The behavior
game is a social structure mutually shared by the
participants of the communicative interaction.
546 Cognitive Linguistics
Talmy L (2003). ‘The representation of spatial structure in
spoken and signed Language.’ In Emmorey K (ed.)
Perspectives on Classifier Constructions in Sign Lan-
guage. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. 169–195.
Talmy L (forthcoming). The attention system of language.
Cambridge: MIT Press.
Tomasello M (ed.) (1998). The new psychology of lan-
guage: cognitive and functional approaches to language
structure (vol. 1). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Tomasello M (ed.) (2003). The new psychology of lan-
guage: cognitive and functional approaches to language
structure (vol. 2). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Cognitive Pragmatics
F M Bosco, University of Torino, Torino, Italy
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Cognitive pragmatics is concerned with the mental
processes involved in intentional communication.
Typically, studies within this area focus on cognitive
processes underlying the comprehension of a linguis-
tic speech act and overlook linguistic production or
extralinguistic communication.
As far as cognitive processes are concerned authors
in this field are interested in both the inferential
chains necessary to understand a communicator’s in-
tention starting from the utterance he proffered and
the different mental representations underlying the
comprehension of various communicative phenomena
as cognitive processes. Thus, a theory in cognitive
pragmatics aims to explain what mental processes a
person actually engages in during a communicative
interaction (see Shared Knowledge).
Relevance theory (Sperber and Wilson, 1986/1995)
is usually identified as the principal theoretical
framework in the area of cognitive pragmatics (see
Relevance Theory). Nonetheless, in the last decade,
other theories have been developed. These include a
far-reaching theory of the cognitive processes under-
lying human communication, known as the Cognitive
Pragmatics theory (Airenti et al., 1993a, 1993b; Bara,
2005), and the Graded Salience Hypothesis (Giora,
2003), a theory which focuses on mental inferences
underlying the comprehension of literal vs. figurative
language (see Cognitive Linguistics; Metaphor: Psy-
chological Aspects).
Describing the cognitive processes involved in com-
municative interaction is interesting not only for the
study of such processes as fixed states – an approach
Traugott E (1989). ‘On the rise of epistemic meanings in
English: an example of subjectification in semantic
change.’ Language 57, 33–65.
Verhagen A (2002). ‘From parts to wholes and back again.’
In van Wolde E (ed.) Job 28. Cognition in Context.
Leiden: Brill. 231–252.
Zubin D A & Kopcke K M (1986). ‘The gender marking of
superordinate and basic level concepts in German: an
analogist apology.’ In Craig C (ed.) Categorization and
Noun Classification. Philadelphia: Benjamins North
America. 139–180.
that takes into consideration exclusively the final
stage in healthy adult subjects – but also for the
consideration of how a given function develops
from infancy, through childhood, and to adulthood,
and how it eventually decays in subjects with brain
injuries (Bara, 1995). Such an approach makes it
possible to better comprehend, from a cognitive per-
spective, how pragmatic competence develops and
what neurocognitive structures might cause deficits
in people’s performance if damaged.
A closely related topic is the identification of the
cognitive components that contribute to the realiza-
tion of a complete pragmatic competence. From this
perspective, it is important to consider the role played
by a person’s Theory of Mind and by the Executive
Function (see below) during a communicative inter-
action.
Cognitive Pragmatics Theory
Airenti et al. (1993a, 1993b) presented a theory of
the cognitive processes underlying human communi-
cation aiming to provide a unified theoretical frame-
work for the explanation of different communicative
phenomena (Bara, 2005). The authors proposed that
their theoretical analysis holds for both linguistic and
extralinguistic communication, and thus introduced,
with reference to the interlocutors, the terms ‘actor’
and ‘partner’ instead of the classical ‘speaker’ and
‘hearer.’ The theory assumes that the literal meaning
of an utterance is necessary but not sufficient to the
partner in order for him or her to reconstruct the
meaning conveyed by the actor, and that in order to
understand the actor’s communicative intention, the
partner has to recognize a ‘behavior game’ the actor is
proposing for him (the partner) to play. The behavior
game is a social structure mutually shared by the
participants of the communicative interaction.

Suppose, for example, that while you are working in
your office, a colleague walks in and says: [1] It’s
snowing outside. Although the literal meaning of the
utterance is completely clear, you probably are utterly
bewildered about how to respond. Only if [1] is un-
derstood as an invitation not to go outside, a request
to close the window, a proposal to go skiing next
week-end (that is, only if, in some way, the reason
or reasons for uttering the expression were evident),
will you be able to make the necessary inferences and
answer appropriately. The utterance, pure and sim-
ple, without a game to refer to, has in itself
no communicative significance whatsoever. Thus, an
utterance extrapolated from its context of reference
has no communicative meaning and cannot have any
communicative effect on the partner.
Starting from the assumption that the communica-
tive meaning of an utterance is intrinsically linked to
the context within which it is proffered, Bosco et al.
(2004a) defined a taxonomy of six categories of con-
text: Access, Space, Time, Discourse, Behavioral
Move, and Status. Using contextual information, the
partner can identify the behavior game bid by the
speaker, which allows him to fully comprehend
the actor communicative intention.
Following the tenets of the Cognitive Pragmatics
theory, Bucciarelli et al. (2003) proposed that two
cognitive factors affect comprehension of various
kind of pragmatic phenomena: the ‘inferential load’
and the ‘complexity of mental representations’ under-
lying the comprehension of a communicative act.
Inferential Load: Simple and Complex
Speech Acts
Searle (1975) claimed that in speech act comprehen-
sion, the literal interpretation of an utterance always
has priority with respect to any other interpretations
derived from it. According to Searle, understanding
an indirect speech act, e.g., [2] Would you mind
passing me the salt?, is harder than understanding a
direct speech act, e.g., [3] Please pass me the salt,
because it requires a longer inferential process.
Bara and Bucciarelli (1998) provided empirical evi-
dence that, beginning at two-and-a-half years of age,
children find direct speech acts such as [4] Please sit
down, and conventional indirects such as [5] Would
you mind closing the door? equally easy to compre-
hend. In a further study, Bucciarelli et al. (2003)
found that starting at age two-and-a-half years, chil-
dren find both direct and conventional indirect
speech acts easier to understand than nonconvention-
al indirect speech acts, such as the utterance [6]
Excuse me, I’m studying when it is a request to a
partner who is hammering in a nail to stop making
noise.
Cognitive Pragmatics 547
Using the tenets of Cognitive Pragmatics theory, it
is possible to abandon the distinction between direct
and indirect speech acts and adopt a new one based
on the difference between inferential processes
involved in comprehending simple as against complex
communicative acts (Bara and Bucciarelli, 1998).
According to the theory, the partner’s understanding
of any kind of speech act depends on the comprehen-
sion of the behavioral game bid by the actor; an agent
will interpret an interlocutor’s utterance based on the
grounds that are assumed to be shared. In this per-
spective, the partner’s difficulty in understanding a
communicative act depends on the inferential chain
necessary to refer the utterance to the game intended
by the actor. Direct and conventional indirect speech
acts make immediate reference to the game, and thus
are defined as ‘simple speech acts.’ On the other hand,
nonconventional indirect speech acts can be referred
to as ‘complex speech acts,’ because they require a
chain of inferential steps due to the fact that the
specific behavior game of which they are a move is
not immediately identifiable. For example, to under-
stand [4] and [5], it is sufficient for the partner to refer
to the ‘Ask for Something’ game. In order to under-
stand [6], a more complex inferential process is nec-
essary: the partner needs to share with the actor the
belief that when a person is studying, he needs silence
and that since hammering [6] is a request to stop is
noisy. Only then, the partner can attribute to
the utterance the value of a move in the ‘Ask for
Something’ game. Thus, if the problem is how to
access the game, the distinction between direct and
indirect speech acts is not relevant. It is the complexity
of the inferential steps necessary to refer the utterance
to the game bid by the actor that accounts for the
difficulties in speech act comprehension.
This distinction applies not only to standard com-
municative acts such as direct, conventional indirect,
and nonconventional indirect speech acts, but also to
nonstandard ones such as ironic and deceitful (Bara
et al., 1999a). The same distinction between simple
and complex standard, ironic, and deceitful commu-
nicative acts holds for extralinguistic communication
acts as well (see Irony). That is, the distinction holds
also when the actor communicates with the partner
only through gestures (Bosco et al., 2004b) (see Ges-
tures: Pragmatic Aspects).
The inferential load underlying a communicative
act may explain the difference in difficulty that exists
in the comprehension of different communicative acts
pertaining to the same pragmatic category, such as
between simple and complex standard communica-
tive acts. To explain the difference in difficulty that
might occur among communicative acts pertaining to
a different pragmatic category, such as between a
548 Cognitive Pragmatics
direct communicative act and a deceitful commu-
nicative act, is necessary to consider the complexity
of the mental representations involved in their
comprehension.
Complexity of Mental Representations
Still within the framework of Cognitive Pragmatics
theory and along with the same complexity of the
inferential load involved, Bucciarelli et al. (2003)
described an increasing difficulty in comprehending
simple communicative acts of different sorts: simple
standard, simple deceitful, and simple ironic commu-
nicative acts.
According to the theory, in standard communica-
tion, default rules of inference are used to understand
another person’s mental states; default rules are al-
ways valid unless their consequences are explicitly
denied. Indeed, in standard communication, what
the actor says is in line with his private beliefs. Direct,
conventional indirect, and nonconventional indirect
speech acts are all examples of standard communica-
tion. In terms of mental representations, to compre-
hend a standard communicative act, the partner has
to simply refer the utterance proffered by the actor to
the behavior game he bids.
On the other hand, nonstandard communication
such as irony and deceit involves the comprehension
of communicative acts via the block of default rules
and the occurrence of more complex inferential pro-
cesses that involve conflicts between the beliefs the
actor has shared with the partner and the latter’s
private beliefs. In the comprehension of irony and
deceit, the mental representations involved produce
a difference between what the actor communicates
and what he privately entertains. It follows that,
along with the same complexity of the inferential
load involved, standard communicative acts are easi-
er to deal with than nonstandard pragmatic phenom-
ena.
According to Bucciarelli et al. (2003), in the case of
the comprehension of deceit, the partner has to rec-
ognize the difference between the mental states that
are expressed and those the actor privately entertains.
Consider for instance the following example: Mark
and Ann share that the lecture they just attended was
incredibly boring. Later Ann meets John and tells him
that Mark and she attended a tedious lecture. In the
afternoon also Mark meets John, who asks him about
the lecture. Actually, Mark is annoyed with John
because John did not go to the lecture and he does
not want John to know that he feels he wasted the
whole morning. Mark does not know that John has
already met Ann, thus he answers: [7] It was really
interesting! John can understand that Mark is trying
to deceive him because he recognizes the difference
between the mental state that Mark is expressing and
the one that he truly and privately entertains.
A statement, instead, becomes ironic when, in ad-
dition to the awareness of this difference, the partner
also recognizes that the mental states expressed con-
trast with the scenario that he shares with the actor.
For example, some months later, during a chat with
Mark, Ann asks: Do you remember the lecture that
we attended some months ago? Mark answers: [8] It
was really interesting! What makes this utterance
ironic is the fact that both interlocutors share that
the lecture had actually been boring. Thus, the differ-
ence between irony and deceit lies not in the partner’s
awareness of the difference between the mental states
that the actor expressed and those that he actually
entertains, but in his awareness that he does or does
not share this difference with the actor.
In the case of irony, the partner has to represent not
only the discrepancy between the mental states that
the actor expressed and those that he privately enter-
tains, but also that such awareness is shared with the
actor. This makes an ironic communicative act more
difficult to comprehend than a deceitful one.
Bucciarelli et al. (2003) showed the existence of an
increase in difficulty in the comprehension of simple
standard communicative acts, simple deceits, and
simple ironies with an experiment carried out on
children from two-and-a-half to seven years of age.
The authors also pointed out that the same children
show a similar predicted gradation of difficulty in
understanding the same pragmatic phenomena, both
when these are expressed by linguistic speech acts
and when these are expressed by communicative ges-
tures. Regardless of the communicative channel used
by the actor, linguistic or extralinguistic, children find
simple standard speech acts easier to comprehend
than simple deceits, which are, in turn, easier to
comprehend than simple ironic communicative acts.
Finally, an overall consideration of the mentioned
results makes it possible to conclude that all of the
theoretical predictions (both derived from the Cogni-
tive Pragmatics theory and grounded on a person’s
cognitive processes underlying the communicative
comprehension) hold true for the same pragmatic
phenomena whether expressed by linguistic speech
acts or by gestures. These results seem to indicate
that linguistic and extralinguistic communicative
acts share the most relevant mental processes in
each of the specific pragmatic phenomena investi-
gated and suggest that pragmatic competence shares
the same cognitive faculty – regardless of the input
processed – be it linguistic or extralinguistic. It is
possible to interpret such empirical evidence as
being in favor of a unified theoretical framework of

human communication in which linguistic and extra-
linguistic communication develop in parallel being
different aspects of a unique communicative compe-
tence (see Bara and Tirassa, 1999; Bara, 2005) (see
Communicative Principle and Communication).
Cognitive Pragmatics and Development
In this section, we shall examine the empirical evi-
dence in favor of the existence of cognitive processes
of increasing complexity that underlie different prag-
matic phenomena. The developmental domain is par-
ticularly interesting for this aim because it makes it
possible to observe errors in the comprehension of
different kinds of pragmatics tasks that allow us to
falsify our hypotheses regarding the complexity of the
mental processes involved in specific phenomena.
However, adult subjects possess a fully developed
cognitive system and communicative competence,
and thus they do not show any interesting errors in
comprehending or producing different kinds of com-
municative acts; it is only possible to analyze their
time of reaction in solving such tasks.
On the other hand, if inferential processes and
mental representations of increasing complexity un-
derlie the comprehension of various kind of pragmat-
ic phenomena, then it is possible to explain why,
during the development of children’s communicative
competence, some communicative acts are under-
stood and produced before others are. For example,
children initially only understand sincere communi-
cative acts and only later on in their development do
they start comprehending, for example, deceit and
irony. Children’s ability to deal with mental represen-
tations and inferential chains of increasing complexi-
ty develops with age, and this fact helps explain the
development of their pragmatic competence.
From this perspective, the increasing capacity to
construct and manipulate complex mental represen-
tations is involved in the emergence of preschoolers’
and kindergarten student’s capacity to deceive.
A deceptive task could be made easier to comprehend
by reducing the number of characters, episodes, and
scenes involved in the task, and by including a decep-
tive context (Sullivan et al., 1994).
Likewise the ability to comprehend and produce
different forms of ironies involves an increasing and
sophisticated inferential ability. Lucariello and Mind-
olovich (1995) carried out a study on the ability of 6-
and 8-year-old children to provide ironic endings to
unfinished stories. The authors claimed that the rec-
ognition and the construction of (situational) ironic
events involve the ability to manipulate the represen-
tations of events. These representations have to be
critically viewed, and disassembled in order to create
Cognitive Pragmatics 549
new, different, and ironic event structures. Also, dif-
ferent forms of irony behave in different ways, as the
authors’ experiments show. Their results show that
older children construct more complex ironic deriva-
tions from the representational base than younger
children do.
Just as it is possible to better understand the devel-
opment of pragmatic competence by considering the
cognitive processes involved in a specific com-
municative act, it also is possible to explain deficits
in performance in cases of brain damage. The ability
of children with closed head injury to solve pragmatic
tasks is closely dependent (for a review, see Bara et al.,
1999b). These subjects performed worse than did
their normal peers in specific pragmatic tasks such
as bridging the inferential gap between events in ste-
reotypical social situations and tasks such as compre-
hending utterances that require inferential processes
because of their use of idiomatic and figurative lan-
guage (Dennis and Barnes, 1990).
Cognitive Pragmatics and Brain Damage
Neuropsychological diseases affect communicative
performance in various ways, depending on which
relevant cognitive subsystem is damaged. The infor-
mation obtained by studying these abnormal process-
es provides us with an opportunity to better
understand the architecture of the brain/mind and
its relationship to pragmatic competence (Tirassa,
1999; Bara and Tirassa, 2000). Acquired brain dam-
age impairs certain cognitive processes while leaving
others unaffected. For example, it is well-documented
in the literature that aphasic patients with left-brain
damage have residual pragmatic competence despite
their language impairment (see Language in the Non-
dominant Hemisphere).
On the other hand, what different cerebral injuries
have in common is a damaged capacity to deal with
phenomena that require complex mental processes in
order to be understood. In particular, if the tasks
require more complex inferences, then this capacity
seems to be more damaged than in other cases, as we
will show later in this section. Results like these seem
to confirm the assumption that different pragmatic
phenomena require the activation of increasingly
complex cognitive processes.
McDonald and Pearce (1996) found that traumatic
brain injured patients (TBI) do not have difficulty in
the comprehension of written sincere exchanges such
as [9] Mark: What a great football game!; Wayne: So
you are glad I asked you?, but they have several
problems, compared to the normal control subjects,
in comprehending ironic exchanges such as [10]
Mark: What a great football game!; Wayne: Sorry
550 Cognitive Pragmatics
I made you come. The authors gave the subjects the
same experimental material in auditory form and
found that the patients’ performance did not im-
prove. The authors concluded that TBI patients have
difficulty in comprehending irony and that, even if
the tone of voice usually facilitates the comprehen-
sion of ironic remarks, it is not sufficient on its own.
Furthermore, McDonald (1999) found that, sur-
prisingly, TBI patients have no problem understand-
ing written ironic utterances such as [11] Tom: That’s
a big dog; Monica: Yes, it’s a miniature poodle. The
author suggested that [11] might require a shorter
inferential chain compared to [10] in order to be
understood. Indeed, in comprehending [11], it is suf-
ficient to understand what Monica answers as mean-
ing that Tom’s statement meant the opposite of what it
said. In [10], however, Wayne’s response is not only a
rejection of the original comment, but an allusion to
Mark’s actual reaction to the game. Thus, there were
at least two necessary inferential steps in the compre-
hension process. Such findings are in line with the
proposal that different kinds of irony may vary in
their difficulty of being understood, according to the
complexity of the required inferential load (Bara et al.,
1999a).
Particularly interesting from our perspective are
studies that showed that the decay of pragmatic com-
petence in closed head injured subjects (CHI) reflects
the same type of development that is observed in
normal children, i.e., the capacities acquired later in
the development of the pragmatic ability are the most
damaged. Using a linguistic experimental protocol,
Bara et al. (1997) tested a group of CHI subjects
and found that specific pragmatic tasks such as the
comprehension of nonstandard communication, e.g.,
deceit and irony, are more difficult than tasks requir-
ing only simple mental representations, such as the
comprehension of standard communication involving
only direct, conventional, and nonconventional indi-
rect speech acts. In addition, the authors found no
differences in patients’ comprehension of direct and
conventional indirect speech acts. The same results
were observed in the performance of children aged
2 to 6 years old who were tested by the same experi-
mental protocol (Bara and Bucciarelli, 1998). It
should also be noted that Bara et al. (1997) presented
two classical tests on false belief to CHI patients in
order to measure their theory of mind, but did not
find any significant difference with the control
group of children who were not brain damaged.
Thus, the patients’ poor performance on pragmatic
tasks cannot be ascribed to a deficit of the Theory
of Mind; that is, their poor performance cannot
be ascribed to an inability to understand another
person’s mental states.
Moreover, Bara et al. (2000) used a similar extra-
linguistic version of the same pragmatic experimental
protocol and evaluated the comprehension of stand-
ard communication, i.e., simple and complex com-
municative acts, and nonstandard communication,
i.e., deceit and irony. Such a protocol contains video-
taped scenes wherein the pragmatic phenomena are
presented using extralinguistic means, such as point-
ing or clapping. The subjects were firstly a group
of children 2–6 years of age and secondly a group of
Alzheimer’s disease patients, and found that children
show the same tendency in the development of extra-
linguistc competence that was observed by Bara and
Bucciarelli (1998) in the linguistic domain. In addi-
tion, the authors observed a similar tendency toward
decay in the Alzheimer’s patients’ extralinguistic
competence: the nonstandard extralinguistic tasks
are understood less well than are the standard com-
municative tasks. Finally, the trend of decaying prag-
matic competence in the Alzheimer patient group
matched the results obtained by CHI patients, when
tested according to the same extralinguistic protocol
(Bara et al., 2001). The CHI subjects were also given
several neuropsychological tests, but no statistical
correlation between the subjects’ performance on the
pragmatic protocol and their performance on these
collateral neuropsychological tests was found. Thus,
the patient’s poor performance cannot be ascribed to
a deficit in their executive functioning.
As already observed for the development of prag-
matic linguistic and extralinguistic competence, the
empirical data concerning brain damaged subjects
seem to be in favor of the existence of a unified
pragmatic competence which is independent of the
input – whether it is linguistic or extralinguistic.
That is, the comprehension of speech acts and extra-
linguistic communicative acts shares the most rele-
vant mental processes when tested on different
pragmatic phenomena, and the pragmatic compe-
tence seems to be independent of the expressive
means used to realize it.
Cognitive Pragmatics and the Executive
Function
While the literature provides empirical evidence that
mental processes involved in various pragmatic tasks
can be ordered according to increasing difficulty, as we
have seen above, in order fully comprehend pragmatic
competence from a cognitive perspective, we need to
consider also a further factor affecting the human
ability to communicate: the executive functions.
The Executive Function is a cognitive construct
used to describe the goal-directed behaviors that
are mediated by the frontal lobes. The Executive

Function guides a person’s actions and enables him to
behave adaptively and flexibly; it includes cognitive
capacities such as planning, inhibition of dominant
responses, flexibility, and working memory.
Barnes and Dennis (2001) have shown that, in
addition to a deficient inferential ability, also a reduc-
tion of working memory and metacognitive skills
may be invoked to explain closed-head injured chil-
dren’s problems in comprehending stories. Working
memory provides the necessary resources for comput-
ing inference in ongoing text comprehension; meta-
cognitive skills are used when checking if, and when,
an inference needs to be made. The authors tested
children with severe to mild head injury on their
ability to comprehend brief written stories, and
found inferencing deficits in children with severe
(but not with mild) head injury; these children had
problems linking their general knowledge to the par-
ticular wording of the text. In general, when the
metacognitive demands and the pressure on working
memory were reduced, children with severe head
injuries did not show any deficiencies in inferencing
compared to the development in normal children or
their mildly head-injured peers. Working memory
also plays a role in explaining the poor ability to
comprehend written stories that is observed in chil-
dren with hydrocephalus, a neuro-developmental dis-
order accompanied by increased pressure of the
cerebrospinal fluid on the brain tissue. Children
with hydrocephalus, when compared to the control
group, show increasing difficulty drawing on infor-
mation from an earlier read sentence when trying to
understand a new sentence, the greater the distance
between the two texts. Thus, while these children do
not seem to have a fundamental problem in making
inferences, their poor performance is mainly due to a
deficit in their working memory (Barnes et al., 2004).
As to the role of other executive functions,
Channon and Watts (2003) examined the ability of
CHI patients to comprehend brief vignettes involving
pragmatic judgement and the relationship between
this activity and some executive functions: working
memory, inhibition, and the ability to organize and
plan appropriate responses in a certain context. The
authors found that only the ability to solve the inhi-
bition task, which required the subjects to inhibit
dominant words and generate words that completed
sentences with nonsensical endings, correlates with
the pragmatic comprehension task. No association
was found with the other executive skills.
From a neuropsychological perspective, intact
frontal lobes are critical to executive functioning,
and because traumatic brain injury often results in
damage to these areas, pragmatic deficits shown
by these patients can be explained by a principal
Cognitive Pragmatics 551
Executive Function impairment. From this perspec-
tive, the deficits in planning and monitoring of behav-
ior that are usually observed in such patients seem to
explain the difficulty these subjects have in adhering
to the structure of conventional discourse (McDonald
and Pearce, 1998).
To conclude, theoretical and empirical studies in
the literature seem to suggest that in order to explain
people’s pragmatic competence, it is necessary to take
into account the role played by at least three elements:
mental processes, namely, the inferential load and the
complexity of the mental representations; the Theory
of Mind; and the Executive Function whereas the
empirical studies mainly focus on the linguistic com-
petence that is needed to realize various pragmatic
tasks, the perspective should be widened to include a
methodical comparison with extralinguistic compe-
tence. In order to establish whether, or not, the cogni-
tive components that make these two different means
of communication are the same in both cases. Finally,
a complete theory in the cognitive pragmatic domain
should be able to explain not only adult normal
subjects’ ability to communicate, but also the devel-
opment and the decay of this capacity in brain-dam-
aged patients.
See also: Cognitive Grammar; Cognitive Linguistics; Cog-
nitive Semantics; Communicative Principle and Commu-
nication; Gestures: Pragmatic Aspects; Irony; Language
in the Nondominant Hemisphere; Meaning: Overview of
Philosophical Theories; Metaphor: Psychological As-
pects; Pragmatics: Overview; Relevance Theory; Shared
Knowledge; Speech Acts; Speech Acts, Literal and Nonlit-
eral.
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Bara B G & Bucciarelli M (1998). ‘Language in context: the
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Bara B G, Bucciarelli M & Geminiani G (2000). ‘Develop-
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Bara B G & Tirassa M (2000). ‘Neuropragmatics: brain and
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Barnes M A & Dennis M (2001). ‘Knowledge-based infer-
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Barnes M A, Faulkner H, Wilkinson M & Dennis M
(2004). ‘Meaning construction and integration in
children with hydrocephalus.’ Brain and Language 89,
47–56.
Bosco F M, Bucciarelli M & Bara B G (2004a). ‘The
fundamental context categories in understanding com-
municative intentions.’ Journal of Pragmatics 36(3),
467–488.
Bosco F M, Sacco K, Colle L, Angeleri R, Enrici I, Bo G &
Bara B G (2004b). ‘Simple and complex extralinguistic
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(eds.) Proceedings of the Twenty-Sixth Annual Confer-
ence of the Cognitive Science Society. Mahwah, NJ:
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. 44–49.
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
S Scott, Washington University in St. Louis,
St. Louis, MO, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Much contemporary philosophy of language can be
viewed as a synthesis of three major traditions: ideal
language philosophy, ordinary language philosophy,
and cognitivism. In the first three-quarters of the 20th
century, philosophers in both the ordinary and ideal
language traditions sought to solve or dissolve tradi-
tional philosophical problems through careful ex-
egesis of the meanings of words and sentences. For
ideal language philosophers, the project was to for-
mally describe how words and sentences ought to be
Bucciarelli M, Colle L & Bara B G (2003). ‘How children
comprehend speech acts and communicative gestures.’
Journal of Pragmatics 35, 207–241.
Channon S & Watts M (2003). ‘Pragmatic language inter-
pretation after closed head injury: relationship to execu-
tive functioning.’ Cognitive Neuropsychiatry 8, 243–260.
Dennis M & Barnes M A (1990). ‘Knowing the meaning,
getting the point, bridging the gap, and carrying the
message: aspects of discourse following closed head inju-
ry in childhood and adolescence.’ Brain and Language
39, 428–446.
Giora R (2003). On our mind: salience, context and figura-
tive language. New York: Oxford University Press.
Lucariello J & Mindolovich C (1995). ‘The development
of complex meta-representational reasoning: the case of
situational irony.’ Cognitive Development 10, 551–576.
McDonald S & Pearce S (1996). ‘Clinical insights into
pragmatic theory: frontal lobe deficits and sarcasm.’
Brain and Language 53, 81–104.
McDonald S & Pearce S (1998). ‘Requests that overcome
listener reluctance: impairment associated with executive
dysfunction in brain injury.’ Brain and Language 6,
88–104.
McDonald S (1999). ‘Exploring the process of inference
generation in sarcasm: a review of normal and clinical
studies.’ Brain and Language 68, 486–506.
Searle J R (1975). ‘Indirect speech acts.’ In Cole P &
Morgan J L (eds.) Syntax and semantics, vol. 3: Speech
acts. New York: Academic Press. 59–82.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1986/1995). Relevance. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Sullivan K, Zaitchik D & Tager-Flusberg H (1994).
‘Preschoolers can attribute second-order beliefs.’ Devel-
opmental Psychology 30, 395–402.
Tirassa M (1999). ‘Communicative competence and the
architectures of the mind/brain.’ Brain and Language
68, 419–441.
interpreted in scientific and philosophical discourse.
For ordinary language philosophers, the project was
to characterize the conventions underlying the actual
use of words and sentences in ordinary speech. Phi-
losophers in both traditions made a number of lasting
contributions to the philosophical and scientific study
of language, but they were not just studying language
for its own sake. Many philosophers in this period
considered the philosophy of language to be first phi-
losophy, the foundation on which other philo-
sophical inquiries are built, and they had other
philosophical issues in mind when developing their
accounts of language (see Epistemology and Lan-
guage; Metaphysics, Substitution Salva Veritate and
the Slingshot Argument).
552 Cognitive Pragmatics
Bara B G & Bucciarelli M (1998). ‘Language in context: the
emergence of pragmatic competence.’ In Quelhas A C &
Pereira F (eds.) Cognition and context. Lisbon: Instituto
Superior de Psicologia Aplicada. 317–345.
Bara B G, Bucciarelli M & Geminiani G (2000). ‘Develop-
ment and decay of extralinguistic communication.’ Brain
and Cognition 43, 21–27.
Bara B G, Cutica I & Tirassa M (2001). ‘Neuropragmatics:
extralinguistic communication after closed head injury.’
Brain and Language 77, 72–94.
Bara B G & Tirassa M (1999). ‘A mentalist framework
for linguistic and extralinguistic communication.’ In
Bagnara S (ed.) Proceedings of the 3rd European Confer-
ence on Cognitive Science. Roma: Istituto di Psicologia
del Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche.
Bara B G & Tirassa M (2000). ‘Neuropragmatics: brain and
communication.’ Brain and Language 71, 10–14.
Bara B G, Tirassa M & Zettin M (1997). ‘Neuropsychologi-
cal constraints on formal theories of dialogue.’ Brain and
Language 59, 7–49.
Barnes M A & Dennis M (2001). ‘Knowledge-based infer-
encing after childhood head injury.’ Brain and Language
76, 253–265.
Barnes M A, Faulkner H, Wilkinson M & Dennis M
(2004). ‘Meaning construction and integration in
children with hydrocephalus.’ Brain and Language 89,
47–56.
Bosco F M, Bucciarelli M & Bara B G (2004a). ‘The
fundamental context categories in understanding com-
municative intentions.’ Journal of Pragmatics 36(3),
467–488.
Bosco F M, Sacco K, Colle L, Angeleri R, Enrici I, Bo G &
Bara B G (2004b). ‘Simple and complex extralinguistic
communicative acts.’ In Forbus K, Gentner D & Regier T
(eds.) Proceedings of the Twenty-Sixth Annual Confer-
ence of the Cognitive Science Society. Mahwah, NJ:
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. 44–49.
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
S Scott, Washington University in St. Louis,
St. Louis, MO, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Much contemporary philosophy of language can be
viewed as a synthesis of three major traditions: ideal
language philosophy, ordinary language philosophy,
and cognitivism. In the first three-quarters of the 20th
century, philosophers in both the ordinary and ideal
language traditions sought to solve or dissolve tradi-
tional philosophical problems through careful ex-
egesis of the meanings of words and sentences. For
ideal language philosophers, the project was to for-
mally describe how words and sentences ought to be
Bucciarelli M, Colle L & Bara B G (2003). ‘How children
comprehend speech acts and communicative gestures.’
Journal of Pragmatics 35, 207–241.
Channon S & Watts M (2003). ‘Pragmatic language inter-
pretation after closed head injury: relationship to execu-
tive functioning.’ Cognitive Neuropsychiatry 8, 243–260.
Dennis M & Barnes M A (1990). ‘Knowing the meaning,
getting the point, bridging the gap, and carrying the
message: aspects of discourse following closed head inju-
ry in childhood and adolescence.’ Brain and Language
39, 428–446.
Giora R (2003). On our mind: salience, context and figura-
tive language. New York: Oxford University Press.
Lucariello J & Mindolovich C (1995). ‘The development
of complex meta-representational reasoning: the case of
situational irony.’ Cognitive Development 10, 551–576.
McDonald S & Pearce S (1996). ‘Clinical insights into
pragmatic theory: frontal lobe deficits and sarcasm.’
Brain and Language 53, 81–104.
McDonald S & Pearce S (1998). ‘Requests that overcome
listener reluctance: impairment associated with executive
dysfunction in brain injury.’ Brain and Language 6,
88–104.
McDonald S (1999). ‘Exploring the process of inference
generation in sarcasm: a review of normal and clinical
studies.’ Brain and Language 68, 486–506.
Searle J R (1975). ‘Indirect speech acts.’ In Cole P &
Morgan J L (eds.) Syntax and semantics, vol. 3: Speech
acts. New York: Academic Press. 59–82.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1986/1995). Relevance. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Sullivan K, Zaitchik D & Tager-Flusberg H (1994).
‘Preschoolers can attribute second-order beliefs.’ Devel-
opmental Psychology 30, 395–402.
Tirassa M (1999). ‘Communicative competence and the
architectures of the mind/brain.’ Brain and Language
68, 419–441.
interpreted in scientific and philosophical discourse.
For ordinary language philosophers, the project was
to characterize the conventions underlying the actual
use of words and sentences in ordinary speech. Phi-
losophers in both traditions made a number of lasting
contributions to the philosophical and scientific study
of language, but they were not just studying language
for its own sake. Many philosophers in this period
considered the philosophy of language to be first phi-
losophy, the foundation on which other philo-
sophical inquiries are built, and they had other
philosophical issues in mind when developing their
accounts of language (see Epistemology and Lan-
guage; Metaphysics, Substitution Salva Veritate and
the Slingshot Argument).

As the limitations of the ordinary and ideal lan-
guage traditions became apparent and their influence
began to decline, the cognitivist tradition in the
scientific study of language was growing. Cognitivists
view the mind as a computational and representa-
tional system and bring a wide variety of empirical
evidence to bear on their investigations into the
structure and processing of linguistic knowledge in
the mind. The synthesis of cognitive science and
philosophy of language, or as I shall call it, the new
philosophy of language, integrates the formalisms of
the ideal language tradition with the careful attention
to the nuances of use that characterized the ordinary
language tradition. But as cognitivists, many contem-
porary philosophers of language also take results
from linguistics into account and share with other
cognitive scientists a commitment to producing the-
ories that are consistent with available psychological
and neuroscientific evidence. What follows is a very
brief account of the three traditions and their synthe-
sis into the new philosophy of language, ending with
a review of some recent work on proper names that
exemplifies this new synthesis.
The Ideal Language Tradition
Ordinary speech is a rich source of vagueness, ambi-
guity, puzzles, and paradoxes, most of which go un-
noticed by most speakers. This may not matter all
that much for the purposes of ordinary conversation,
but in scientific and philosophical discourse the
imprecision of ordinary language is not to be toler-
ated. So said Bertrand Russell, Gottlob Frege,
W. V. O. Quine, and the philosophers of the ideal
language tradition (see Frege, Gottlob (1848–1925);
Quine, Willard van Orman (1908–2000); Russell,
Bertrand (1872–1970)). According to them, ordinary
language contains certain deficiencies and the philo-
sopher’s job is to provide remedies (Russell, 1919:
172, describes one such ‘‘deficiency’’ as a ‘‘disgrace
to the human race’’). The goal of these philosophers
was to standardize and regiment language, explain
away puzzles and paradoxes, and formally character-
ize ambiguities. Their aim was to transform ordinary
language into something closer to an ideal language –
one that scientists and philosophers could use to ex-
press their hypotheses about the world. The strengths
and weaknesses of their approach can be illustrated
using Russell’s theory of proper names.
Example: Proper Names
The idea that scientific hypotheses are about the
world was key for the ideal language philosophers.
Sentences in science and philosophy, not to mention
ordinary conversation, often attribute properties to
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language 553
objects in the real world (see Objects, Properties, and
Functions). Accordingly, a defining feature of ideal
language philosophy was the idea that the relation-
ship of reference is a basic unit of meaning (see Refer-
ence: Philosophical Theories), and the starting point
was the analysis of simple property attribution sen-
tences such as:
(1a) Venus is round.
(1b) Venus is a star.
Here are some basic intuitions: Sentence (1a) is true
because the planet Venus has the property of being
round, and sentence (1b) is false because the planet
Venus does not have the property of being a star.
Here is a simple analysis that respects those intui-
tions: In both sentences, the proper name Venus refers
to an object (see Proper Names: Philosophical
Aspects; Proper Names: Semantic Aspects), the
remaining words is round and is a star attribute prop-
erties to that object, and the sentences refer to the
propositions that Venus is round and that Venus is a
star, respectively (see Propositions). This analysis is
shown more formally in (2), where VENUS denotes
the actual object Venus, not a word or an idea.
Simple Analysis of (1)
(2a) round(VENUS)
(2b) star(VENUS)
This analysis of simple sentences can be developed
into a powerful system for characterizing the seman-
tics of much more complex and interesting sentences.
But, unfortunately, it also runs into fatal problems
with certain sentences that seem just as simple as
those in (1). For instance, it is not easy to see how to
extend the analysis to cover:
(3) Vulcan is round.
This sentence was once thought to be true by astron-
omers who postulated the existence of a planet,
tentatively named Vulcan, to explain the observed
perturbations in Mercury’s orbit. It is now known
that there is no such planet or, to put it another
way, that Vulcan is an empty name (see Empty
Names). So, although (3) is clearly meaningful and
has a grammatical form that parallels the sentences
in (1), the simple analysis will not work in this case.
Recall that (1a) is true because the object referred
to by the name Venus has the property of roundness.
But in (3), there is no object named Vulcan and
therefore nothing to which any such property can be
applied.
Here we have the makings of a puzzle – if reference
is as basic to meaning as it appears to be, then how
is it possible to say meaningful things using words
that have no referents? One option is to allow that
554 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
nonexistent things such as Vulcan, Santa Claus,
unicorns, and so on really do have some kind of
objecthood. But most philosophers would reject this
option because, as Russell (1919: 169) put it, ‘‘logic
. . . must no more admit a unicorn than zoology
can; for logic is concerned with the real world just
as truly as zoology.’’ Another option is to just bite the
bullet and accept that (3) does not express a proposi-
tion and is therefore meaningless. Although some
contemporary philosophers of language have taken
this route (e.g., Adams and Stecker, 1994), the ideal
language philosophers did not want to take that way
out either because to do so would be to render many
important scientific and philosophical hypotheses
meaningless.
Russell’s Theory of Descriptions
Russell found a solution to the problem of empty
names (and other philosophical puzzles) in his theo-
ry of descriptions (see Descriptions, Definite and In-
definite: Philosophical Aspects). Briefly, Russell held
that names such as Vulcan and Venus do not directly
refer but instead are shorthand for definite descrip-
tions such as the planet causing perturbations in Mer-
cury’s orbit and the second planet from the sun,
respectively. That is, names are disguised definite
descriptions. So, when scientists utter sentences such
as those in (1) and (3), what they assert is something
more like:
Step One of Russell’s Analysis of (1) and (3)
(4a) The second planet from the sun is round.
(4b) The second planet from the sun is a star.
(4c) The planet causing perturbations in Mercury’s
orbit is round.
On the face of it, it looks like (4c) has the same
problem as (3) – descriptions such as The planet
causing perturbations in Mercury’s orbit seem like
they should be interpreted as namelike referring
expressions. But Russell did not think so. He thought
that descriptions such as these should be analyzed as
general, quantificational statements about what
exists in the world. In the case of (4c), the correct
interpretation, according to Russell, is that there is
exactly one planet causing perturbations in Mercury’s
orbit and all such planets are round. This analysis is
expressed in quantificational notation in (5), where
pm() stands for the property of being a planet that
causes perturbations in Mercury’s orbit. (Some of the
inessential details have been simplified in a way that
Russell might have objected to, but that does not
matter for current purposes.)
Step Two of Russell’s Analysis of (3)
(5a) There exists exactly one planet x that is the
cause of the perturbations in Mercury’s orbit,
and it is round.
(5b) 9x (( 8y ( pm(y) $ y ¼ x )) & round(x))
In this final analysis, there is no longer any element in
the proposition corresponding to the name Vulcan and
no role available for any referent, and thus the puzzle of
empty names disappears. To recap: Names are short-
hand for disguised definite descriptions, and sentences
that contain definite descriptions express general
propositions about the world and the things in it rather
than singular propositions about particular entities.
Limitations of the Ideal Language Approach
Russell’s analysis of proper names, as clever and influ-
ential as it is, runs afoul of ordinary intuitions. Sen-
tence (3) seems to have a very simple subject-predicate
form, but the proposition in (5) that provides the
meaning for (3) bears no resemblance to that form.
Furthermore, (5) is false because it asserts the exis-
tence of something that does not exist (i.e., it asserts
the existence of a planet that causes perturbations in
Mercury’s orbit, but there is no such planet). But it is
not clear to everybody that (3) really is false (see
Strawson, 1950; and the reply by Russell, 1957).
To many people, questions such as Is Vulcan round?
have the same kind of problem as questions such as
Have you stopped cheating on exams yet? – to answer
either ‘‘yes’’ or ‘‘no’’ would be to accept a problematic
premise.
Russell was not driven to this analysis of simple
sentences as an attempt to characterize how ordinary
speech works but as an attempt to dissolve an appar-
ent logico-scientific puzzle that arises when we take
the referential commitments of ordinary speech seri-
ously. But the analysis ends up providing no account
of the fact that people seem quite capable of making
what appear to be true claims about nonexistent
things.
(6a) Santa Claus usually wears a red suit.
(6b) Pegasus looks a lot like a horse.
Russell’s theory of disguised definite descriptions makes
the sentences in (6) come out false, contrary to most
people’s intuitions. His theory preserves the apparent
meaningfulness of these sentences, and does so without
maintaining any problematic commitments to entities
such as Pegasus and Santa Claus, but at the price of a
theory that may not have much to say about their
ordinary use.

The Ordinary Language Tradition
As vague, ambiguous, and rife with semantic puz-
zles as ordinary language is, it also contains a wealth
of information that philosophers cannot afford
to ignore. In order to discover anything meaning-
ful about important philosophical topics such as
Truth, Knowledge, and Justice, philosophers need to
know what truth, knowledge, justice, and other related
words actually mean in ordinary language. This was the
perspective of Gilbert Ryle, H. P. Grice, J. L. Austin,
P. F. Strawson, Ludwig Wittgenstein (in his later works),
and the philosophers of the ordinary language tradition
(see Austin, John Langshaw (1911–1960); Grice, Her-
bert Paul (1913–1988); Strawson, Peter Frederick (b.
1919). According to them, philosophers must pay care-
ful attention to the nuances of ordinary language use
and must be particularly wary of misusing ordinary
language expressions in their philosophical theories.
In many ways, this tradition was radically opposed to
the ideal language tradition: whereas the ideal language
project was a prescriptive project, concerned with leg-
islating how language ought to be understood, the
ordinary language approach was purely descriptive,
concerned with the investigation of how language is
actually used; whereas ideal language philosophers
sought to construct a theory of meaning based on
reference to things in the world, ordinary language
philosophers sought to construct a theory of meaning
based on conventions of ordinary use (see Use Theories
of Meaning). But despite these differences, both tradi-
tions shared a common motivation, namely, the analy-
sis of language in order to help solve or dissolve
philosophical problems. It is just that in pursuing this
common aim, ideal language philosophers were busy
constructing a new language while ordinary language
philosophers were busy pointing out how philosophers
tended to misuse the old one.
Example: Ryle on Free Will
Ordinary language philosophers thought that the
meaning of an expression is the conventions govern-
ing its use. Thus, to get at the meaning of an expres-
sion, we have to examine how it is ordinarily used.
The standard technique is to assemble a list of sen-
tences containing a given expression and then try to
find conditions under which it would be inappropri-
ate or nonsensical to use those sentences. Whatever
those conditions turn out to be, their negation must
be part of the meaning of the word in question. (No-
tice that this makes short work of the puzzle of empty
names. Because the meaning of a word is the conven-
tions governing its use, names can have meaning
whether they have a referent or not.)
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language 555
As an example of ordinary language analysis in
action, consider Ryle’s (1949) investigation of the
word voluntary. Ryle noted that philosophers often
characterize free will (another important philosophical
topic) based on the distinction between voluntary and
involuntary actions – free will is said to be involved in
an action when it is performed voluntarily and not
when it is performed involuntarily. So voluntary
(along with grammatical variants such as voluntarily)
is an important word in philosophy, but what does
it actually mean in ordinary language? Consider the
following sentences:
(7a) Benazir went to school voluntarily.
(7b) Hussein ate the sandwich voluntarily.
(7c) Ahmad watched Seinfeld voluntarily.
As Ryle observed, such uses of voluntary and its gram-
matical variants seem odd or wrong in any situation in
which there is no reason to believe that the person in
question ought not to have performed the action. So if
Benazir has been banned from campus or hates school
or is supposed to be doing something else, then (7a)
might make sense. But if there is no reason to suppose
anything like that, then the word voluntarily should
be left out. Ditto for (7b) and (7c). From these sorts of
considerations, Ryle concluded, part of the meaning
of the word voluntary must include the condition that
it can only be used in the description of an action that
for some reason ought not to have been performed.
To bring this back to the philosophical problem of
free will, Ryle noted that philosophers who worry
about what it could mean to eat a sandwich or
watch Seinfeld voluntarily, absent any kind of con-
text, are systematically misusing ordinary English. As
he put it, they engage in an ‘‘unwitting extension of
the ordinary sense of ‘voluntary’ and ‘involuntary’ ’’
(Ryle, 1949: 69). The conclusion that Ryle drew from
these and other considerations was that there is no
problem of free will. The appearance of the problem
arises only when philosophers misuse ordinary lan-
guage words such as voluntary. The whole problem
just dissolves under ordinary language analysis.
Limitations of the Ordinary Language Approach
The ordinary language philosophers tended to be less
likely to make use of formalisms for characterizing
the meanings of words or sentences. The nature of
ordinary language analysis was such that it produced
accounts of word or sentence meaning that tended
to be less rigorous than those produced by philoso-
phers working in the ideal language tradition. Fur-
thermore, the use theories of meaning pursued by
ordinary language philosophers had little to say
about the relationship between language and reality,
556 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
and were thereby limited in their ability to account
for reference and truth conditions, whether in scien-
tific, philosophical, or ordinary discourse. The ordi-
nary language philosophers demonstrated many of
the important and subtle ways in which philosophi-
cally interesting words are employed in ordinary lan-
guage, but they did so at the price of having neither a
systematic, precise account of meaning nor a theory
of the relationship between language and the world.
The ordinary language tradition ultimately met its
demise at the hands of its own adherents. In his 1967
lectures on ‘Logic and Conversation,’ Grice (1989)
gave a strong voice to many philosophers’ growing
misgivings about the project. He argued for a sharp
distinction between what is said by a speaker on a
particular occasion and what the speaker might have
meant by what was said. For Grice, what is said is the
literal, truth-evaluable, relatively invariant portion of
meaning. To use one of his examples, suppose Alyssa
happens upon Cliff, who has run out of gas on the
highway, and utters:
(8) There’s a gas station around the corner.
What Alyssa has said, in Grice’s sense (literally
expressed, truth-conditional meaning) is the proposi-
tion that around the indicated corner is a gas station.
Alyssa said nothing further about whether the gas
station is open, has gas to sell, and so on. But assum-
ing she is sincerely trying to help Cliff out, it will be
inappropriate for her to use that sentence unless she
believes that the gas station is open and has gas to sell.
Based on this latter observation, an ordinary lan-
guage philosopher might be tempted to conclude
that these further conditions are part of the meaning
of (8). But that, Grice argues, is a mistake.
Grice’s alternative is that the further propositional
content about the gas station being open and having
gas to sell is not part of the literal meaning of (8),
but is what he called a conversational implicature
(see Implicature). This conversational implicature is
part of what Alyssa means to communicate with (8),
but she expects Cliff to be able to pick up on it
without requiring her to state it explicitly. The details
of how Cliff might do that is beyond the scope of the
current discussion (see Grice, 1989; Sperber and Wil-
son, 1995), but to get a sense of the reasonableness of
the distinction between what is said and what is
conversationally implicated, consider how Alyssa
could have tacked an extra clause onto (8) to take
back both what she implicated and what she said.
Clauses That Cancel Implicatures
(9a) There’s a gas station around the corner, but it’s
not open.
(9b) There’s a gas station around the corner, but it’s
out of gas.
The sentences in (9) both have (8) embedded in them,
and the fact that they do not seem contradictory
indicates that the material in the final clause must
not be opposed to any part of the meaning of (8).
Now suppose Alyssa had instead uttered one of the
sentences in (10).
Clauses That Contradict What Is Said
(10a) There’s a gas station around the corner, but it’s
not a gas station.
(10b) There’s a gas station around the corner, but it’s
not around the corner.
The fact that these sentences are clearly contradictory
indicates that the added clauses must be opposed to
some part of the literal meaning of (8). So there is
strong intuitive support for the distinction between
what Alyssa has said, as shown by the contradictory
clauses in (10), and what she conversationally has
implicated, as shown by the noncontradictory clauses
in (9).
On the basis of this distinction, Grice argued for
caution when moving from facts about how words are
used to facts about the meanings of those words. It
would have been inappropriate for Alyssa to utter (8)
if she thought the gas station was closed, but that does
not tell us anything about what (8) means. Evidence
about use can, in principle, indicate something about
the literal meaning of words and sentences, but not
always in such a simple way. Ryle, in particular, was
probably wrong to jump from facts about the use of
the word voluntary to facts about its meaning (and
then to the denial of the problem of free will). Grice
thought that ordinary language analysis could still be
useful but that philosophers needed to pay more at-
tention to separating what an expression can be used
to communicate from what that expression actually
means in the language – a project that turns out to
be exceedingly difficult (see Semantics–Pragmatics
Boundary).
The Cognitivist Tradition
Language is a fascinating topic of study in its own
right, regardless of its role in helping philosophers do
their work. It is now clear that the production of even
very simple speech behaviors is far more complex
than was once thought and working out how linguis-
tic knowledge is structured and processed in the
human mind should be a central goal in the scientific
study of language. That is what linguists working in
the cognitivist tradition tend to think. According to
them, the goal of linguistic inquiry is not primarily
to account for reference and truth or to characterize
conventions of use but rather to find out what it is

about the human mind that makes language what it
is. Cognitivism is actually a cross-disciplinary tradition
concerned with the study of the human mind in general,
not just language. Leading figures in the birth and early
development of the cognitivist tradition included com-
puter scientists (e.g., Marvin Minsky; psychologists
(e.g., George Miller), linguists (e.g., Noam Chomsky;
see Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928)), and philosophers (e.g.,
Hilary Putnam, Jerry Fodor, Daniel Dennett; see Fodor,
Jerry (b. 1935)).
There are four features that, taken together, loosely
define the cognitivist approach to the study of mind
and language: (1) an adherence to computational and
representational theories of mind, (2) a rejection
of most forms of behaviorism, (3) an openness to em-
pirical evidence from a wide variety of sources, and (4)
a tendency toward identifying linguistic meanings with
mental states rather than with things in the world
or patterns of ordinary use. Each of these aspects is
discussed next.
Computational and Representational
Theories of Mind
Cognitivists model the mind/brain as an information
processing system that performs computations on
structured representations of the world. In other
words, the mind/brain is a kind of computer, analo-
gous in many ways to a digital computer. Many peo-
ple find this claim jarring at first, but actually it is
quite natural to suppose that, at least in some circum-
stances, people use computers to do their thinking for
them. Whenever an accountant uses a spreadsheet to
prepare tax forms, a pilot flies using an automatic
guidance system, or a librarian searches an electronic
catalog, computers are being used to perform tasks
that would require mental effort if performed by
human beings. When people use a computer to per-
form a task, they avoid some of the thinking that
would have been required if they had performed the
task unaided.
Digital computers accomplish their apparently
mental feats by executing algorithms that manipulate
data structures. An algorithm is a set of fully explicit,
step-by-step instructions for accomplishing a given
task, and a data structure is a package of information
about some aspect of the world. For example, a data
structure might contain information about a social
hierarchy, the layout of a city, or the structure of a
sentence. Algorithms contain instructions for how
to use those data structures to decide, for example,
who to approach for a loan, how to get from down-
town to the suburbs, or what a speaker might mean
by uttering a particular sentence. Cognitivists claim
that human thought consists of computational
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language 557
processes (analogous to algorithms) that operate on
mental representations of the external world (analo-
gous to data structures), although there remains
much debate over the nature of those processes and
representations.
Like a digital computer, the mind/brain can be
analyzed at a number of different levels (Dawson,
1998; Marr, 1982). At the physical level, digital com-
puters are instantiated in electronic circuitry and
minds are instantiated in brains. By investigating the
brain, we can figure out what kinds of mental repre-
sentations and computational processes it supports
and what parts of it may or may not be involved in
language. At the algorithmic level, digital computers
run programs that specify the details of their behav-
ior. The bold conjecture of cognitive science is that
minds are the programs that run on the physical
circuitry of the brain. By performing psychological
experiments, we can shed light on how linguistic
knowledge is represented in the mind and what
computational processes are involved in using that
knowledge (see Psycholinguistics: Overview). Finally,
there is the task level. The programs that digital com-
puters run can only be made sense of in light of
knowledge about their connections to the world and
the tasks they were designed to solve. Similarly, in
order to understand how the mind uses language, it
is necessary to have a theory of what language is and
what knowledge is involved in language use.
These three levels of analysis thus define a multi-
disciplinary program of research into the nature of
human language, with different research questions
posed at each level (see Table 1). Cognitivist linguists
focus most of their attention on the algorithmic and
task levels, concentrating on the difficult problems of
identifying the knowledge required to produce well-
formed grammatical utterances, determining how
that knowledge must be represented in the minds of
the speakers, and identifying which elements of that
knowledge are learned and which are innate (see
Table 1 Three-level research program
Level Questions
Task How are natural languages structured? What must
people know and what must they know how to
do in order to produce and understand human
speech?
Algorithmic How is knowledge of language represented in the
mind? What computational processes are
involved in producing and understanding
speech?
Physical How are these representations and computational
processes implemented in the hardware of the
brain?
558 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
Innate Knowledge). But as cognitivists, they remain
open to, and sometimes make use of, evidence from
the physical level as well.
The Rejection of Linguistic Behaviorism
Prior to the establishment of the cognitivist tradition
in the 1960s and 1970s, the dominant approach to
the study of the mind and language was behaviorism.
Many philosophers at the time endorsed or were
influenced this approach, including prominent repre-
sentatives of both the ideal language and ordinary
language traditions. Behaviorism comes in a number
of varieties (see Behaviorism: Varieties), but what all
behaviorists agree on is a rejection of internal mental
states as something that can be scientifically studied or
appealed to in explanations of language and behavior.
For psychologists such as B. F. Skinner, this meant that
linguistic behavior was to be explained as a complex
pattern of responses to environmental stimuli. Verbal
responses were thought of as being under the control of
certain stimuli in the environment (Skinner, 1957).
Skinner’s view of language was subjected to ruth-
less criticism from Chomsky, who pointed out the
complexity of linguistic behavior and the wide variety
of possible responses to a given stimulus:
A typical example of stimulus control for Skinner would
be the response to . . . a painting with [the utterance]
Dutch. . . Suppose instead of saying Dutch we had said,
Clashes with the wallpaper, I thought you liked abstract
work, Never saw it before, Tilted, Hanging too low,
Beautiful, Hideous, Remember our camping trip last
summer? (Chomsky, 1959, p. 31)
Once the nonstimulus-bound nature of linguistic be-
havior is fully appreciated, said Chomsky, the prospect
of arriving at an account of linguistic behavior without
involving an appeal to mental states is completely
hopeless. Cognitivism pointed the way out of behavior-
ism by providing a method of formally characterizing
those mental states.
The Open Evidence Base
The cognitivist tradition is an empirical tradition.
The sources of evidence available to the linguist in-
clude the judgments of native speakers, the process of
first-language acquisition, the controlled psychologi-
cal study of speech production and comprehension,
the study of acquired and genetic language deficits,
and the study of the neurological features of language
use in healthy adults, to name but a few. These sources
of evidence can be used to investigate language at the
task, algorithmic, and physical levels (see Table 2).
This is not to say that it is the current practice of
linguists to make use of all of these sources of evi-
dence. Indeed much work in theoretical linguistics
Table 2 Sources of evidence for the three levels
Level Example sources of evidence
Task Judgments of native speakers
Which strings of words are grammatical and
which are not?
What meanings can a sentence have and not
have?
Algorithmic Developmental psychology
How do children acquire language?
What are the common patterns of language
development?
Cognitive psychology
How do adults react to linguistic stimuli under
controlled conditions?
Physical Clinical studies
What kinds of brain injuries and diseases cause
language deficits?
What specific language deficits are caused by
specific brain injuries and diseases?
Anatomical and functional studies
What parts of the brain are involved in language
use?
How are these parts interconnected?
proceeds using only the grammaticality judgments
of the linguists themselves. But there is a general
commitment both to the idea that a complete theory
of language has to be consistent with all these sources
of evidence and to the idea that the evidence base for
linguistics is open – that is, there are no principled
limits on the kinds of evidence that might bear on the
structure of linguistic knowledge.
The commitment to an open evidence base has
important consequences. For behaviorists, the study
of language had to be grounded in observable behav-
ior only. As Quine (1960) pointed out, it turns out that
this leads to the conclusion that linguistic knowledge
and meaning cannot be unambiguously determined.
From this, he drew the conclusion that there is simply
no fact of the matter about how to specify the
mapping from words and sentences to their meanings
(see Indeterminacy, Semantic). A famous response to
Quine, again from Chomsky (1969), is based on the
notion of the open evidence base. According to
Chomsky, Quine reached his radical conclusions
about semantic indeterminacy by accepting in ad-
vance the behaviorist notion that only observable
behavior and responses to environmental stimuli
may be used as the data for theories of linguistic
meaning. But, as Chomsky points out, no other sci-
ence places such a priori limits on the kinds of evi-
dence that can be used to decide between competing
theories. As long as the evidence base in linguistics
remains open, the possibility of discovering further
evidence that will help determine linguistic meaning
is open as well.

Meanings as Mental States
The establishment of a viable theory about mental
states and mental processing opened the door to a
new class of theories of linguistic meaning based
on the pairing of words in the public language
with mental states of speakers. The general idea of
a mental state theory of meaning is at least as
old as Aristotle (see Aristotle and Linguistics), but the
computational and representational theory of mind
gave it new life by providing a story about what mental
states might be like and how they might be processed in
the mind. In addition to endorsing a mental state ac-
count of meaning, some cognitivists also harbor a deep
mistrust of the reference-based theories pursued in the
ideal language tradition. The semanticist Ray Jackend-
off (2002) argues that the only kind of reference a
cognitivist theory of language can countenance is refer-
ence to other mental states (see Jackendoff, Ray S. (b.
1945)), whereas Chomsky (2000) suggests that refer-
ence, as originally construed by ideal language philoso-
phers, is not a suitable topic for scientific inquiry at all.
Jerry Fodor (1975) has proposed that words
and sentences come by their meaning through being
paired with internally represented formulae in what
he calls the Language of Thought (see Language of
Thought), or Mentalese (see Mentalese). Mentalese is
not a public language such as English. It is more like a
computer language – a formal system with a combi-
natorial syntax and an expressive power that equals
or surpasses that of a public language. Fodor pro-
poses that words and sentences express mental states,
but, unlike Chomsky and Jackendoff, he takes the
further step of attempting to scientifically character-
ize the meanings of expressions in Mentalese as rela-
tionships to objects and properties in the external
world (see Representation in Language and Mind;
Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning). Fodor’s
theory of meaning thus has two parts: (1) words
inherit their meanings from the mental states they
express, and (2) most of those mental states get their
meanings through reference to the external world. An
important alternative cognitivist account of meaning
as mental states is offered by connectionism, although
a full discussion of that approach is beyond the scope
of this article (see Human Language Processing: Con-
nectionist Models).
The Limitations of Cognitive Science
It is not yet clear how far cognitive science can go, and
there are philosophers who dispute the claim that
studying the structure and processing of linguistic
knowledge in the human mind can tell us much
about the nature of language itself (see Barber,
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language 559
2003). But the computational and representational
theory of mind, as a working hypothesis, has given
rise to a productive research program producing theo-
ries of mind and language rich and predictive enough
that, at the very least, they should not be ignored. The
cognitivist approach to the study of mind and lan-
guage is widely regarded by philosophers as the only
approach currently worth taking seriously.
The New Philosophy of Language
The new philosophy of language emerged in the
1970s as a synthesis of the ideal language, ordinary
language, and cognitivist traditions. From the ideal
language tradition comes the use of rigorous formal-
isms and a concern for the connection between lan-
guage and reality. From the ordinary language
tradition comes the descriptive nature of the project
and careful attention to the nuances of ordinary use,
as well as Grice’s distinction between what is said and
what is implicated by an utterance. And from the
cognitivist tradition comes an adherence to computa-
tional and representational theories of the mind, a
rejection of linguistic behaviorism, an attention to
the mental states of the language user, and a concern
with making semantic and pragmatic theories consis-
tent with the relevant empirical results concerning
language and the mind.
The boundaries between linguistics and the philoso-
phy of language have become blurred in this new
synthesis. Whereas phonology (the sounds of lan-
guage), morphology (the structure of words), and syn-
tax (the structure of sentences) remain a concern
mostly of linguists, semantics (the meaning of lan-
guage) and pragmatics (the communicative use of
language) are studied by both linguists and philoso-
phers. There has also been considerable cross-
fertilization between linguistics and philosophy.
Linguists have adopted the formalisms of the ideal
language tradition and the Gricean view of the rela-
tion between semantics and pragmatics that arose
out of the ordinary language tradition. Philosophers,
on the other hand, have adopted the linguistic account
of syntax and feel an obligation to relate the semantic
interpretation of a sentence to its syntactic form. In
addition, the cognitivist approach to linguistics also
throws up a host of difficult conceptual issues that
demand a rigorous philosophical treatment (see Phi-
losophy of Linguistics), for example, the place of ref-
erence in semantic theory (see Externalism about
Content), the nature of linguistic knowledge (see In-
nate Knowledge; Tacit Knowledge), and the connec-
tion between language and thought (see Thought and
Language: Philosophical Aspects).
560 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
Two More Theories of Proper Names
How might a practitioner of the new philosophy of
language tackle a traditional semantic problem
such as the content of proper names? Two theories
of proper names are presented by Tyler Burge
(1973) and Larson and Segal (1995). These two theo-
ries agree with one another in many important
respects – so much so that we might be tempted to
suppose that they are merely variants of one another.
But, as Gabriel Segal (2001) points out, there are a
number of pieces of relevant evidence from the task,
algorithmic, and physical levels of cognitive analysis
that may be used to adjudicate between the theo-
ries. (A caution: The semantic issue is actually more
technical than the following discussion suggests,
concerning points of difference between semanticists
working in the formal framework of truth-theoretic
semantics. Because there is no room to introduce
the details of that framework here, the accounts of
the rival theories are somewhat sketchy, although,
I hope, detailed enough to make it clear how empirical
evidence can be used to decide between them.)
Burge’s approach to proper names is a variation on
Russell’s disguised definite descriptions. Burge pro-
poses that proper names are actually a kind of com-
mon noun, that is, words such as table and cat that
encode properties that apply to large numbers of
objects. In Burge’s account, if we have a cat named
Sylvester, then that object has both the property of
being a cat (a property it shares with other cats) and
the property of being a Sylvester (a property it shares
with other Sylvesters). In defense of this idea, Burge
points out that, like common nouns, names can be
pluralized and paired with determiners such as the
and a:
(11a) There are very few Sylvesters in the world.
(11b) There were three Madelines at the party.
(11c) There’s a Bartholomew Kropotnik here to see
you.
(11d) The Jessica I met today was a real jerk.
This idea encounters an immediate difficulty. Burge
says that names are common nouns, even when they
occur unmodified and on their own:
(12) Fido wants to chase Sylvester.
But other common nouns cannot be used that way in
English:
(13) *Dog wants to chase cat.
Sentence (13) only works if we interpret dog and cat
as unusual names rather than as common nouns. So
proper names seem to be unlike common nouns in
at least this respect. Burge resolves the discrepancy
by suggesting that bare, unmodified names actually
have hidden determiners attached. A name such as
Fido, when used on its own is, unbeknown to the
speaker, actually the phrase That Fido or The Fido
in disguise.
The rival view is Segal’s contention that proper
names are not common nouns but instead are a
special kind of word, paired in each speaker’s mind
with a special kind of mental representation – an
individual concept. These individual concepts are men-
tal representations that encode information about the
individuals named. So the name David Bowie is paired
with an individual concept of David Bowie, perhaps
containing the information that he sings, plays the
saxophone, is married to a runway model, has proba-
bly had plastic surgery, and so on. Names, in Segal’s
account, are not at all like common nouns, encoding
predicates that can apply to more than one person.
Rather, they are labels that attach to conceptual infor-
mation about particular individuals. There are not
many David Bowies sharing one name. Rather, there
are potentially many names David Bowie, each linked
to a different individual concept.
Empirical Evidence
It might seem that in the end, the differences between
the two theories do not amount to much. Burge says
that the name Fido can be applied to anything that is a
Fido, whereas Segal says that it only applies to one
individual and that the reason why there seem to be
so many Fidos is that there are many names for dis-
tinct individuals that happen to sound the same (call
these names Fido1, Fido2, etc.). Is there any real dif-
ference between these two theories? A behaviorist
such as Quine might be inclined to think that, as
long as each can be integrated into a larger theory of
equal power in predicting linguistic behavior, then
there is no fact of the matter about which is correct.
But a cognitivist would rather suppose that there is a
way to tell how the language system works, reflected
in the biology and psychology of language, and that
at most only one of the two suggestions can be cor-
rect. And it seems, at least at first glance, that the
evidence from the task, algorithmic, and physical
levels supports Segal’s theory over Burge’s.
At the task level, cognitivists consult the intuitions
of native speakers to determine the characteristics of
the language that they speak. In the case of proper
names, the two theories under consideration make
different predictions about the syntax of English.
Burge’s theory predicts that bare names actually
have a hidden determiner word attached to them.
But this view has some trouble accounting for com-
mon intuitions about how names and common nouns

can be used. For example, why is it that determiners
can go unpronounced when attached to names, but
not when attached to common nouns, as shown by
(13)? And why is it that sometimes special contexts
are required to insert the determiner in front of a
name? For example, to the question ‘‘Where do you
live?’’ the response in (14a) seems natural whereas
(14b) sounds awful. If Saint Louis is really short for
a phrase such as that Saint Louis, then why can we
not say (14b)?
(14a) I live in Saint Louis.
(14b) *I live in that Saint Louis.
At the algorithmic level, cognitivists look at psycho-
logical evidence regarding how linguistic knowledge
is represented and processed. Again, the two theories
make different predictions about the psychology of
names. Burge predicts that names that sound the same
are the same name, whereas Segal predicts that each
individual’s name is distinct. If Segal is right, there
should be evidence that people tend to expect identi-
cal-sounding names to apply only to a single individual.
Again, there is some evidence that supports Segal’s
prediction. It seems that children learning English as a
first language expect there to be a class of nouns that
refer to only one thing and make use of syntactic clues
such as the presence or absence of determiners to decide
whether to apply new words to other objects or not.
For example, when told that a novel object is wuzzle
(with no determiner), children are reluctant to apply
the new word to other novel objects, even when they
are highly similar to the original. But when told that
the novel object is a wuzzle, they will happily generalize
the term to other objects that seem to share some salient
properties with the original – just like ordinary com-
mon nouns.
Burge’s theory also predicts that names are not a
special kind of noun, whereas Segal predicts that they
are. If Segal is right, we should expect to find psycho-
logical differences between names and common
nouns. We might also expect some physical-level dif-
ferences. (Recall that at the physical level, cognitivists
look to neurological evidence for or against the kinds
of representation and processing they propose in their
algorithmic-level theories.) Again, the evidence seems
to support Segal’s view over Burge’s. As previously
noted, children seem to be prewired to look for names
as well as common nouns. In addition, psychological
studies on adults reveal that proper names are much
harder to recall than common nouns, suggesting dis-
tinct storage and/or processing. And at the physical
level, certain kinds of brain damage can cause people
to lose their ability to use proper names while leaving
their ability to use common nouns intact, and vice
versa (see Aphasia Syndromes). This strongly suggests
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language 561
that names are a special kind of word stored in a
separate area of the brain.
In fact, things are not as bad as all that for Burge’s
theory. Segal (2001), in his much more complete and
sober account, correctly points out that the psycho-
logical and neurological evidence is still quite sketchy
and open to interpretation. It is quite possible that a
committed Burgian could find a way to keep the com-
mon noun theory of names alive. The main point of
this example has been to show how, in principle,
multidisciplinary evidence from all three levels of cog-
nitive analysis can bear on an issue in semantics.
Whereas a behaviorist might be content with two
theories that are equally good at describing some as-
pect of linguistic behavior, the new philosopher of
language looks deeper to try and find out which theo-
ry does a better job of accounting for the cognitive
aspects of language.
Final Words
The work on proper names reviewed here nicely illus-
trates the main features of the new philosophy of
language. Burge and Segal’s truth-theoretic approach
to semantics is as rigorously formal as any theory
in the ideal language tradition; the attention to ordi-
nary speaker intuitions in mediating between seman-
tic theories echoes the approach of the ordinary
language philosophers; the mentalistic nature of the
theory, the formal, computational nature of truth
theories, and the openness to evidence from all levels
of cognitive analysis clearly places the work in the
cognitivist tradition.
But is this new hybrid approach really philosophy
of language, or is it just a branch of linguistics or
psychology? There are still those who hold out the
hope that analysis of language will eventually help
with the resolution of issues in other branches of
philosophy, even if only in providing a starting
point, and most contemporary philosophers of lan-
guage remain sensitive the philosophical puzzles and
paradoxes that drove the ideal and ordinary language
philosophers. Indeed, one of the selling points of both
Burge’s and Segal’s theories of proper names is that
they can account for the meanings of empty names.
But heeding Grice’s lesson about the difficulties of
determining what is said and heeding the lessons
from contemporary linguistics about the complexities
of ordinary language, few still believe any philosophi-
cal problem will be solved or dissolved with just a
little bit of armchair reflection on conventions of use.
The new philosophy of language promises progress
on some of the difficult traditional problems in phi-
losophy of language (and perhaps on more general
philosophical problems) by combining careful
562 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
conceptual analysis with detailed attention to empiri-
cal results from the scientific study of language, the
mind, and the brain.
See also: Aphasia Syndromes; Aristotle and Linguistics;
Austin, John Langshaw (1911–1960); Behaviorism: Vari-
eties; Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning;
Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Cognitive Science: Overview;
Congo, Republic of: Language Situation; Descriptions,
Definite and Indefinite: Philosophical Aspects; Empty
Names; Epistemology and Language; Externalism
about Content; Fodor, Jerry (b. 1935); Frege, Gottlob
(1848–1925); Grice, Herbert Paul (1913–1988); Human
Language Processing: Symbolic Models; Implicature;
Indeterminacy, Semantic; Innate Knowledge; Jackend-
off, Ray S. (b. 1945); Language of Thought; Mentalese;
Metaphysics, Substitution Salva Veritate and the Sling-
shot Argument; Objects, Properties, and Functions;
Proper Names: Philosophical Aspects; Proper Names:
Semantic Aspects; Propositions; Psycholinguistics:
Overview; Quine, Willard van Orman (1908–2000); Ref-
erence: Philosophical Theories; Representation in Lan-
guage and Mind; Russell, Bertrand (1872–1970);
Semantics–Pragmatics Boundary; Strawson, Peter Fre-
derick (b. 1919); Tacit Knowledge; Thought and Lan-
guage: Philosophical Aspects; Use Theories of Meaning.
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New York: W. W. Norton.
Grice H P (1989). Studies in the way of words. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Jackendoff R (2002). Foundations of language: Brain, mean-
ing, grammar, evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Larson R K & Segal G (1995). Knowledge of meaning: An
introduction to semantic theory. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Marr D (1982). Vision: A computational investigation
into the human representation and processing of visual
information. San Francisco, CA: W. H. Freeman.
Quine W V O (1960). Word and object. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Russell B (1919). Introduction to mathematical philosophy.
London: George Allen & Unwin.
Russell B (1957). ‘Mr. Strawson on referring.’ Mind 66,
385–389.
Ryle G (1949). The concept of mind. New York: Barnes &
Noble.
Segal G (2001). ‘Two theories of proper names.’ Mind and
Language 16(5), 547–563.
Skinner B F (1957). Verbal behavior. New York: Appleton-
Century-Crofts.
Soames S (2003). Philosophical analysis in the 20th century
(vols 1–2). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1995). Relevance: Communication
and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.
Strawson P F (1950). ‘On referring.’ Mind 59, 320–344.
Trask R L (1999). Language: The basics (2nd edn.). New
York: Routledge.
Valentine T, Brennan T & Brédart S (1996). The cognitive
psychology of proper names: The importance of being
earnest. New York: Routledge.
to act in a timely fashion in a changing world? How
do they solve novel problems? How do they manage
to learn new skills? And how do they understand
one another? In addressing these questions, most
researchers assume that the human mind is some
kind of computational device, containing representa-
tions. Modeling human language capacities has been
a central goal within cognitive science; relevant
research draws on a wide range of empirical and
562 Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language
conceptual analysis with detailed attention to empiri-
cal results from the scientific study of language, the
mind, and the brain.
See also: Aphasia Syndromes; Aristotle and Linguistics;
Austin, John Langshaw (1911–1960); Behaviorism: Vari-
eties; Causal Theories of Reference and Meaning;
Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Cognitive Science: Overview;
Congo, Republic of: Language Situation; Descriptions,
Definite and Indefinite: Philosophical Aspects; Empty
Names; Epistemology and Language; Externalism
about Content; Fodor, Jerry (b. 1935); Frege, Gottlob
(1848–1925); Grice, Herbert Paul (1913–1988); Human
Language Processing: Symbolic Models; Implicature;
Indeterminacy, Semantic; Innate Knowledge; Jackend-
off, Ray S. (b. 1945); Language of Thought; Mentalese;
Metaphysics, Substitution Salva Veritate and the Sling-
shot Argument; Objects, Properties, and Functions;
Proper Names: Philosophical Aspects; Proper Names:
Semantic Aspects; Propositions; Psycholinguistics:
Overview; Quine, Willard van Orman (1908–2000); Ref-
erence: Philosophical Theories; Representation in Lan-
guage and Mind; Russell, Bertrand (1872–1970);
Semantics–Pragmatics Boundary; Strawson, Peter Fre-
derick (b. 1919); Tacit Knowledge; Thought and Lan-
guage: Philosophical Aspects; Use Theories of Meaning.
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Barber A (ed.) (2003). The epistemology of language.
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Behavior.’ Language 35(1), 26–58.
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Essays on the work of W. V. Quine. Dordrecht: D. Reidel.
53–68.
Cognitive Science: Overview
J Oberlander, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Cognitive science is the interdisciplinary scientific
study of the mind. Many questions therefore fall
within its scope. For instance, how do people perceive
the world through their senses? How do they manage
Chomsky N (2000). New horizons in the study of mind and
language. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Dawson M R W (1998). Understanding cognitive science.
Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Fodor J A (1975). The language of thought. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Fodor J A (1990). A theory of content and other essays.
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Gazzaniga M S, Ivry R B & Mangun G R (2002). Cognitive
neuroscience: The biology of the mind, second edition.
New York: W. W. Norton.
Grice H P (1989). Studies in the way of words. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Jackendoff R (2002). Foundations of language: Brain, mean-
ing, grammar, evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Larson R K & Segal G (1995). Knowledge of meaning: An
introduction to semantic theory. Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press.
Marr D (1982). Vision: A computational investigation
into the human representation and processing of visual
information. San Francisco, CA: W. H. Freeman.
Quine W V O (1960). Word and object. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Russell B (1919). Introduction to mathematical philosophy.
London: George Allen & Unwin.
Russell B (1957). ‘Mr. Strawson on referring.’ Mind 66,
385–389.
Ryle G (1949). The concept of mind. New York: Barnes &
Noble.
Segal G (2001). ‘Two theories of proper names.’ Mind and
Language 16(5), 547–563.
Skinner B F (1957). Verbal behavior. New York: Appleton-
Century-Crofts.
Soames S (2003). Philosophical analysis in the 20th century
(vols 1–2). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1995). Relevance: Communication
and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.
Strawson P F (1950). ‘On referring.’ Mind 59, 320–344.
Trask R L (1999). Language: The basics (2nd edn.). New
York: Routledge.
Valentine T, Brennan T & Brédart S (1996). The cognitive
psychology of proper names: The importance of being
earnest. New York: Routledge.
to act in a timely fashion in a changing world? How
do they solve novel problems? How do they manage
to learn new skills? And how do they understand
one another? In addressing these questions, most
researchers assume that the human mind is some
kind of computational device, containing representa-
tions. Modeling human language capacities has been
a central goal within cognitive science; relevant
research draws on a wide range of empirical and

computational methods. This brief overview first
characterizes the subject and then sketches a brief
history of it. In indicating the current state of play,
key issues in mental representation, modularity,
and computational architecture are noted, and some
current directions in cognitive research are indicated.
Characterizing the Discipline
Christopher Longuet-Higgins is credited with invent-
ing the term ‘cognitive science’ in 1973 (Darwin,
2004). The term was apparently used in 1975 during
a meeting in Abbaye de Royaumont, which hosted a
celebrated debate between Noam Chomsky and Jean
Piaget. The term covered a then-emerging research
field that drew together researchers from diverse
backgrounds, including artificial intelligence and
computer science, linguistics, psychology, philosophy,
the neurosciences, and anthropology. One thing that
united these researchers was an interest in the under-
pinnings of intelligent human behavior and a recog-
nition that researchers in different disciplines, such as
linguistics and psychology, were already studying
common phenomena, albeit from distinct perspec-
tives. The idea was that, by pooling expertise, deeper
understanding could be achieved.
The core objects of cognitive science study are the
normal cognitive capacities of a typical adult (Von
Eckardt, 1993), so it is most common to experiment
on, and model, such individuals. In practice, the
majority of experimental participants are probably
undergraduate students in the United States, although
cognitive science has also benefited greatly from
comparative techniques. For instance, comparisons
can be made regarding linguistic competence in adults
and children (Tomasello, 2000), ability to attribute
mental states to others in normal and autistic children
(Baron-Cohen et al., 2000), conscious awareness
of visual objects in normal adults and in blindsight
persons with specific brain lesions (Weiskrantz
et al., 1974), problem solving in adults with varying
working-memory capacities (Carpenter et al., 1990),
generalization abilities in humans and cotton-top
tamarins (Hauser et al., 2002), and reading processes
in Hebrew and English (Pollatsek et al., 1981).
Whether working with adult normal typical sub-
jects or carrying out one or other type of comparative
study, the vast majority of cognitive scientists can be
seen to share two substantive assumptions (Von
Eckardt, 1993): (1) the human cognitive mind or
brain is a computational device (computer) and (2)
it is a representational device. Exactly what kind of
computer it is remains more open to dispute, as we
shall see. However, most would agree with Von
Eckardt that a computer is a device ‘‘capable of
Cognitive Science: Overview 563
automatically inputting, storing, manipulating, and
outputting information in virtue of inputting, storing,
manipulating and outputting representations of that
information’’ (Von Eckardt, 1993: 50). A device is
taken to be representational if it has states or entities
inside it that function as representations; however,
there is rather less agreement in the field about what
constitutes a representation.
Given that computation and representation are
basic to cognitive science, there is clearly a special
link between the analytic goals of cognitive science
and the synthetic goals of artificial intelligence (AI).
Most researchers in AI aim to develop computer pro-
grams that help a machine exhibit behavior that, if it
were the behavior of a human, would be called intel-
ligent. For instance, some researchers experiment
with systems that can participate in natural language
dialogues to help users buy products, such as airline
tickets. By contrast, most researchers in cognitive
science are not in the business of building smarter
software (or hardware) agents; rather, they want to
know more about human cognitive capacities. How-
ever, an important tool in this effort is the use of
computational modeling.
If we have a theory of how someone achieves cer-
tain performance (such as understanding written
words, or solving a novel problem), then a computer-
based model can be built to test the theory. If the
theory is expressed in terms of algorithms and data
structures, a computer model can be given data as
input, and both its output behavior and its internal
processes can be compared with human behavior and
information about the internals underlying that
behavior. A computational model has virtues, both
theoretical and practical: it requires a theory to be
made explicit enough to implement, and it renders
that theory testable. Indeed, with explicit theories of
sufficient complexity or power, it may well be that
a computational simulation is the only way to deter-
mine in a timely fashion what the predictions are in
some given scenario.
It can therefore be seen that there is two-way traffic
between artificial intelligence and cognitive science.
AI supplies both terminology and tools, such as algo-
rithms, programs, and simulation environments.
Cognitive scientists can use these in their modeling.
In the other direction, cognitive scientists develop
models of human cognitive capacities that demon-
strate that certain computational tasks can be solved
under particular conditions, and how these tasks are
solved. Such demonstrations can help AI researchers
build better systems. It is worth noting, incidentally,
that cognitive models of human performance can help
builders of computer systems in ways other than by
inspiring the design of AI systems. For instance,
564 Cognitive Science: Overview
by taking human memory limitations into account,
specialists in human–computer interaction can build
more usable computer interfaces, and they can
also use empirical methods borrowed from cognitive
science to help evaluate the usability of their systems.
There is one final point to make about the goals of
cognitive science. Most cognitive scientists (whatever
their disciplinary background) are interested in how
people carry out particular cognitive tasks. That is,
they want to find out what representations and pro-
cesses underlie the acquisition and execution of the
relevant skilled behavior. Some are also interested in
where the representations and processes are located.
On the one hand, this includes neuroscientists, who
consider individual behavior and seek to locate the
relevant brain areas, neural circuits, and chemical
pathways. On the other hand, researchers who
study distributed cognition are interested in group
behavior, and they seek to locate external representa-
tions (such as documents) and processes (e.g.,
manipulating objects) occurring in the physical envir-
onments in which people work and play (Hutchins,
1995). There are connections between this approach
and that which focuses on embodied cognition,
whereby the (possibly changing) physical properties
of an agent strongly influence the development of its
cognitive capacities (Clark, 1997).
Yet there is also a recent move toward studying
why people have specific representations and pro-
cesses. This is the province of evolutionary psy-
chology (Barkow et al., 1992), which casts the
interdisciplinary net even wider than before, and
draws on anthropology, archaeology, and paleontol-
ogy to try to explain why modern humans have, for
instance, acquired the kinds of reasoning biases that
seem to make them depart from the canons of proba-
bility theory. Given the incompleteness of our knowl-
edge of even recent human history, evolutionary
approaches remain necessarily speculative. However,
advances in genetics and bioinformatics may broaden
the interdisciplinary range still further. But before
considering current directions in cognitive science, it
is worth sketching some history.
The Rise of Cognitivism
In the 19th century, researchers such as Hermann von
Helmholtz and Hermann Ebbinghaus studied human
thought and developed systematic methods for mea-
suring relevant processes, such as the conduction of
nerve signals, or the rate of forgetting. Others, such as
Wilhelm Wundt, maintained that controlled intro-
spection could also deliver useful insights into the
workings of people’s minds. However, in the late
19th and early 20th centuries, introspection fell into
disrepute. It took with it most theories involving ‘un-
observable’ mental entities, whether they had been
objectively observed or not. It is true that the cognitive
tradition did continue, thanks to Russian researchers
such as Alexander Luria and Lev Vygotskii. But in
North America and most of Europe, the behaviorist
school, led by researchers such as John Watson,
Edward Thorndike, and B. F. Skinner, argued that
the only proper objects of psychological study were
the externally observable stimuli and responses of
humans and other animals.
In the mid- to late 20th century, behaviorism
fell from favor. One reason was the perception that
– although it had developed some sophisticated ex-
perimental methods, such as various forms of condi-
tioning for studying learning – it was not actually
delivering useful psychological generalizations. An-
other reason was that it came under heavy attack:
Noam Chomsky (1959), for example, argued that
skilled behavior – linguistic behavior in particular –
required mediating mental entities to explain it.
Behaviorism might still have survived, but by then
there was a respectable alternative.
The alternative arose from the invention, during
World War II, of computers. Alan Turing’s prewar
mathematical and metamathematical work had laid
the theoretical foundations for modern computing.
According to (one formulation of) the thesis of the
American mathematician Alonzo Church, all com-
putable functions are Turing computable; what are
now known as ‘Turing machines’ are theoretical
devices for effectively computing mathematical func-
tions. During the war, actual computing machines
were built for code-breaking purposes and for other
numerically intensive calculations; Turing was instru-
mental in this effort in the United Kingdom, along
with John von Neumann in the United States. After
the war, Turing (1950) laid out a vision of machine
(or artificial) intelligence. It maintained that what
mattered for attributing intelligence to an unknown
agent was (as before) its observable behavior; it
would be considered intelligent if it passed what
subsequently became known as the ‘Turing test.’ But
now, this behavior could be generated by a machine
that transformed input data into output data by
following an internally stored algorithm.
These ideas gave birth to the fields of computer
science and artificial intelligence, the latter of which
was nurtured by, among others, John McCarthy and
Marvin Minsky, who proposed an artificial intelli-
gence summer project for 1956 at Dartmouth College,
New Hampshire. Turing’s ideas also had a huge im-
pact in the philosophy of mind, a growing influence in
psychology, and soon led to significant interactions
between linguistics and computer science (Chomsky,

1957). Turing machines had a relatively simple archi-
tecture, but alternative ways of designing computers
were soon being developed. von Neumann’s architec-
ture was slightly more complex: a single central pro-
cessor consulted a special part of the computer’s
memory to find which program instruction to carry
out next; on the basis of the instruction, it manipu-
lated other parts of its memory, which were dedicated
to storing data. At about the same time, McCulloch
and Pitts (1943) developed a very different computer
architecture, inspired by the relations between neu-
rons in brains: rather than a single (powerful) proces-
sor, with access to large amounts of program and data
memory, they perceived that a useful computer can be
composed of a large number of rather simple proces-
sors with small amounts of memory, so long as the
processing nodes are properly interconnected; simple
rules could be followed for updating the nodal states,
on the basis of the neighboring states.
The von Neumann machine architecture dominated
both computer science and cognitive science for
decades. As a result, researchers focused on the
types of representations that were naturally manipu-
lated within this kind of architecture. Whereas, at
low levels, computers might store information in bi-
nary digital form, they could be programmed to in-
terpret and generate sequences of symbols. The
logical roots of computing reach back at least to
Gottlob Frege (1848–1945), and the language and
logic of first-order predicate calculus came to
function as a symbolic lingua franca for many
researchers, providing models for both language and
reason.
The idea that computers could run programs that
led to intelligent behavior was a special gift to philo-
sophers, such as Hilary Putnam. Computers appear to
furnish solutions to a number of crucial problems,
including the mind–body problem and the homuncu-
lus problem. The mind–body problem concerns the
relation between mental states and events and bodily
states and events. For instance, are all mental events
really just physical events, differently described? Is
there a special kind of mental substance? If so, how
does it interact with physical substances? The homun-
culus problem concerns the relation between mental
representations and the minds that contain them. If
my representation of a pig is a mental image of a pig,
who looks at the mental image? Traditionally, it was
suggested that the mind would have to contain a
viewer who inspected the image; the ‘homunculus,’
or ‘little man,’ was needed to fulfill this role. But since
the homunculus also had to contain a mental image,
he also contained another homunculus. With an infi-
nite regress threatening, the homunculus looks like a
nonexplanation.
Cognitive Science: Overview 565
Computers appear to help solve the mind–body
problem because they provide a beautiful analogy:
the brain is to the mind as the computer is to the
program. A program has a purely physical instantia-
tion, because it is stored in the computer’s memory.
But when the program runs, interesting – sometimes
even intelligent – behavior can occur. Taken further,
perhaps the human brain (or the whole body contain-
ing the brain) really is just a computer, and the mind is
therefore the product of programs running on the
computing machine. Computers appear to solve the
homunculus problem because they contain internal
representations that do not need a smart little man
to read them. A very complex program can be decom-
posed into a finite set of simple instructions. Each of
those instructions can be carried out by a very simple
processor of limited powers. There is no little man in
the machine.
Central Issues in Cognitive Science
With the computational metaphor to empower it,
the study of human psychology was liberated from
the constraints of behaviorism. From the 1950s to the
1970s, information-processing models were devel-
oped to cover a range of human cognitive capacities,
such as memory, attention, reasoning, and problem
solving (Miller, 1956; Broadbent, 1958; Johnson-
Laird and Wason, 1970; Newell and Simon, 1972).
Marr’s (1982) work on vision encapsulated the
strength of cognitive science, framing three key levels
of explanation: the computational, algorithmic, and
implementational. The first of these involves the be-
havior of a human agent given a specific task, the
second involves the cognitive or affective systems
underlying a given computational task (it is at this
level that mental processes and representations are
traditionally located), and the third involves the
basic biological systems underlying the algorithmic
level (such as the brain). Sometimes computational
behavior can be explained directly in terms of imple-
mentational things and events (explanations involv-
ing localized brain damage sometimes take this form),
but more frequently, the algorithmic level is required
to identify common causes of computational-level
behavior.
Modeling human language processing was a cen-
tral goal for cognitive scientists, and in this context, a
number of larger issues emerged. Jerry Fodor played
an important role in bringing at least three key issues
into focus. One issue concerns the nature of internal
mental representations. Fodor (1975) argued that to
explain human conceptual learning, we had to posit
the existence of ‘mentalese,’ a language of thought
having properties that reflected those of natural
566 Cognitive Science: Overview
languages. Others, such as Pylyshyn (1973), revived
an old debate about the nature of mental imagery, to
argue that evidence in favor of image-like mental
representations could be explained purely in terms
of language-like mental representation. Most recent-
ly, however, the pendulum has swung in the opposite
direction, and many researchers are now pursuing
the idea that language processing draws on mental
representations that have imagistic (perceptually
oriented) components and motoric (action-oriented)
components (Pulvermüller, 1999).
A second issue concerns the relationships between
our various mental capacities. Fodor (1983) revisited
the notion of faculty psychology, arguing that the
human mind is modular in nature, with relatively
limited communication between specialized modules.
Language processing, in particular, was taken to
involve modules that operated automatically, very
different in kind from the operation of central (con-
scious) reasoning. Ideas about the extent and origin of
modularity of mind have been very influential and are
related to the nativist/empiricist debate (Pinker, 1994;
Elman et al., 1996). Modularity has been adopted by
evolutionary psychologists such as Leda Cosmides.
The massive modularity hypothesis suggests that the
mind is highly modularized and that the domain-
specific modules correspond to evolutionary adapta-
tions, acquired by our ancestors in solving persistent
problems in the relatively recent past. Although these
modules may be adaptations, they may not remain
adaptive, and this constitutes part of the explanation
as to why humans do not always reason in accor-
dance with the canons of probability theory. Evolu-
tionary psychology has its problems, however, not the
least of which is the paucity of data concerning the
environment of evolutionary adaptation. In the face
of this, alternative explanations for apparent anoma-
lies in human reasoning are still being developed,
some of which draw explicitly on the idea that
reasoning and language interpretation are intimately
intertwined (Stenning and van Lambalgen, 2004).
A third and final issue concerns the computational
architecture underlying the human mind. Although
the von Neumann architecture has prevailed in com-
puter science and cognitive science, the neural archi-
tecture proposed by McCulloch and Pitts ran a more
checkered career. The neural architecture lends itself
very naturally to learning how to compute functions
that transform stimuli into responses. Turing had
emphasized that for practical purposes, an intelligent
machine would have to be a learning machine. But
results from Marvin Minsky and Seymour Papert in
the 1960s suggested that there were fundamental lim-
its to what neutrally inspired perceptrons could learn
to compute. It was not until the early 1980s that work
by David Rumelhart and James McClelland and col-
laborators revived the approach, under the banner of
‘parallel distributed processing,’ or more generally,
‘neo-connectionism.’ The development of effective
learning algorithms allowed connectionist machines
to alter the strengths of connections between nodes,
either with or without supervision from outside, and
to accomplish a much broader range of computation-
al tasks. The distinction between traditional and neu-
ral architectures is sometimes drawn in terms of the
representations used by the machines. As already
noted, traditional architectures usually store (at least
some) information about the world in sentence-like
symbolic structures, composed of symbols represent-
ing real-world entities and the relations between
them. By contrast, connectionist architectures are
sometimes considered nonsymbolic or subsymbolic:
in some systems, processing nodes may correspond
directly to specific real-world entities; but in distribu-
ted representation systems in particular, a given node
may participate in representing many different real-
world objects or relations, and representing a given
object may require the activation of many processing
nodes.
There has been a vast amount of subsequent work
on connectionist modeling of human cognitive tasks.
The models have two special virtues: unlike symbolic
approaches, learning is built in. This is good, because
learning is core to many cognitive abilities. And un-
like symbolic approaches, damaging a network leaves
residual function. This means that is possible to
simulate the effects of lesions in the brain. Many
successful models do just this, such as the models of
dyslexia by Plaut and Shallice (1994). On the other
hand, there are some things that symbolic systems
do better than neural systems. For instance, certain
properties of language, such as constituency and
recursion, are taken to be dealt with quite naturally
by symbolic systems, but to pose problems for
connectionist systems (Fodor and Pylyshyn, 1988).
Considerable effort has consequently been devoted
to showing that connectionist systems can indeed
process languages with such properties. It has also
been argued that connectionist systems are better
models of humans because neural networks are more
similar to brains than von Neumann architectures
are. Against this, neural networks abstract away
from many (in fact, nearly all) features of real brain
circuitry, and many of the learning algorithms used
are biologically implausible. On the other hand,
some algorithms are indeed deliberately modeled
on processes in neural circuits, such as Hebbian
reinforcement (Hebb, 1949).

Current Directions
The past decade has seen an explosion in the number
of studies that use at least one brain imaging tech-
nique. These include positron emission tomography,
functional magnetic resonance imaging, and transcra-
nial magnetic stimulation. The last of these goes be-
yond straightforward (but computationally intensive)
imaging and actively alters brain states in experimen-
tal participants (for an introduction to work relevant
to language, see, for instance, Poeppel and Hickok
(2004)). Cognitive neuroscience started from an in-
terest in pathologies, such as blindsight, but imaging
technologies have progressed to the point where
many studies are carried out on normal individuals
executing simple cognitive tasks. As a result, there is a
popular conception that cognitive science is brain
science. But, given Marr’s three levels of explanation,
implementation in brains is only part of the overall
picture, and, equally, it is perfectly possible to study
the brain without being interested in cognitive pro-
cesses. What cognitive studies bring to brain science is
the ability to demarcate a coherent set of cognitive
capacities, and it is these that can (sometimes) be
localized within particular brain areas.
Imaging is also, at least in part, responsible for the
rehabilitation in recent years of the study of con-
sciousness and emotion. New measurement technol-
ogies allow even those researchers who are suspicious
of subjective or introspective reports to begin to in-
vestigate empirically brain states and events asso-
ciated with consciousness. The study of emotion and
other affective states has also progressed consider-
ably, allowing interactions between affective and cog-
nitive processes to be traced with increasing precision
(Davidson and Irwin, 1999). The rapprochement be-
tween affect and cognition is particularly notable; for
instance, new work on personality and individual
differences takes account of imaging results in explic-
itly advocating cognitive models of personality traits
such as anxiety (Matthews et al., 2000).
Another line of development generalizes from one
aspect of connectionism: learning from data. The
increasing availability of online corpora (of images,
speech, and text) has encouraged researchers to ex-
plore how far statistical learning techniques can
model cognitive performance in real-world domains.
From an engineering point of view, substantial suc-
cesses have been achieved. For instance, both speech
processing and, more recently, text processing have
been revolutionized by the recruitment of statistical
techniques. These successes are mirrored by develop-
ments in cognitive science, in language processing,
and beyond. On the language side, approaches such
Cognitive Science: Overview 567
as latent semantic analysis have been developed to
form the basis of psychological theories of textual
meaning (Landauer and Dumais, 1997). More gener-
ally, the rational analysis of cognition proposes that a
cognitive system operates as a probabilistic engine, to
optimize the adaptation of the organism’s behavior
to its environment (Anderson, 1990; Chater and
Oaksford, 1999).
A final area of burgeoning interest arises from
progress in genetic research enabled by developments
in bioinformatics. Most researchers do not expect to
find a one-to-one mapping from genes to specific
cognitive capacities or dispositions. Thus, the idea
that there might be a single ‘language gene’ is increas-
ingly considered unsophisticated. However, as geneal-
ogy, molecular biology, behavioral genetics, and
language research are brought together, significant
results are already beginning to emerge. In 2001,
FOXP2 was isolated as a gene in which a point
mutation correlates with language (and other) disor-
ders in affected members of the intensively studied
three-generation KE family (Lai et al., 2001). The
gene codes for a transcription factor, and changes in
its structure may therefore have a broad effect on the
expression of genes during cognitive development. As
might be expected, imaging techniques have also been
brought to bear on the KE family (Liégeois et al.,
2003), but for current purposes, this recent progress
on FOXP2 is merely the harbinger of changes to
come.
Cognitive science has always had the computation-
al metaphor at its core. But with increasingly sophis-
ticated hardware, ever larger online corpora, and
more powerful software for processing that data, it
seems that computational power is more important
than ever for future progress in the interdisciplinary
scientific study of the mind.
See also: Cognitive Linguistics; Cognitive Pragmatics;
Cognitive Science and Philosophy of Language; Cog-
nitive Technology; Computer-Mediated Communication:
Cognitive Science Approach; Consciousness, Thought
and Language; Distributed Cognition and Communica-
tion; Helmholtz, Hermann Ludwig Ferdinand von (1821–
1894); Human Language Processing: Connectionist Mod-
els; Human Language Processing: Symbolic Models;
Human Reasoning and Language Interpretation; Lan-
guage Development: Overview; Language, Visual Cogni-
tion and Motor Action; Latent Semantic Analysis;
Modularity of Mind and Language; Natural Language Pro-
cessing: Overview; Piaget, Jean (1896–1980); Psycholin-
guistics: Overview; Rational Analysis and Language
Processing; Stroop Effect in Language; Turing, Alan
Mathison (1912–1954); Vygotskii, Lev Semenovich (1896–
1934); Writing and Cognition; Wundt, Wilhelm (1832–1920).
568 Cognitive Science: Overview
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Cognitive Semantics
J R Taylor, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Cognitive Linguistics and Cognitive
Semantics
Cognitive semantics is part of a wider movement
known as ‘cognitive linguistics.’ Prior to surveying
the main characteristics of cognitive semantics, it
will be advisable to clarify what is meant by cognitive
linguistics. As a matter of fact, the term is open to
different interpretations. On a broad understanding,
any approach that views language as residing in the
minds of its speakers and a linguistic description as a
hypothesis about a speaker’s mental state would merit
the designation ‘cognitive.’ Chomsky’s career has
been devoted to pursuing cognitive linguistics on
this broad understanding. On the narrower, and
more specialized interpretation intended here, cogni-
tive linguistics refers to a movement that emerged in
the late 1970s and early 1980s, mainly as a reaction
to certain tendencies of Chomskyan, and, more gen-
erally, formalist linguistics. Linguists who were prom-
inently associated with the emergence of cognitive
linguistics, in this narrow sense, were George Lakoff,
Ronald Langacker, and Leonard Talmy.
Rather than a specific theory, cognitive linguistics
can best be described as an approach, or cluster of
approaches to language study, whose practitioners
nevertheless share a basic outlook on the nature of
language. Several common aspects can be identified:
. Cognitive linguists are skeptical of the idea, promot-
ed within Chomskyan linguistics, that human lan-
guage might be associated with a language-specific
module of the mind. Their starting point, rather, is
that language is embedded in more general cognitive
abilities and processes. According to the editorial
statement of the monograph series Cognitive linguis-
tics research (published by Mouton de Gruyter, Ber-
lin), the guiding assumption is that ‘language is an
integral facet of cognition which reflects the inter-
action of social, cultural, psychological, communi-
cative and functional considerations, and which can
only be understood in the context of a realistic view
of acquisition, cognitive development and mental
processing.’ Special attention, therefore, has been
directed towards studying language, its structure,
acquisition, and use, from the perspective of such
topics as perception, categorization, concept for-
mation, spatial cognition, and imagery. Although
these capacities might well be subject to highly
Cognitive Semantics 569
specialized elaboration in human language, they
are not per se linguistic capacities.
. Cognitive linguistics signaled a return to the basic
Saussurean insight that language is a symbolic sys-
tem, which relates signifiers (that is, language in its
perceptible form, whether as sound, marks on
paper, or gesture) and signifieds (that is, meanings).
Indeed, Langacker (1987: 11) characterized a lan-
guage as ‘an open-ended set of linguistic signs [. . .],
each of which associates a semantic representation
of some kind with a phonological representation.’
Importantly, semantic representations, i.e., ‘mean-
ings,’ are taken to be mental entities, or, perhaps
more appropriately, mental processes. Thus, Lan-
gacker prefers to refer not to ‘concepts’ (a term that
suggests that meanings are static, clearly individu-
ated entities) but to ‘conceptualizations,’ where the
deverbal nominal emphasizes the dynamic, proces-
sual character of the phenomenon.
. A third feature of cognitive linguistics follows
from the view of language as a symbolic system,
namely that syntax and morphology – patterns for
the combination of words and morphemes into
larger configurations – are themselves symbolic,
and hence inherently meaningful. The same goes
for the elements over which syntax and morphology
operate – lexical and phrasal categories, for exam-
ple – as well as the kinds of relations that can hold
between these elements, i.e., relations such as sub-
ject (of a clause), modification, complementation,
apposition, subordination. The view, current in
many linguistic theories, that syntax and morphol-
ogy constitute autonomous levels of linguistic or-
ganization is therefore rejected. Indeed, a major
thrust of cognitive linguistic research over the past
couple of decades has been, precisely, the attempt
to offer a conceptual characterization of formal
aspects of language organization.
It will be apparent that the orientation of cognitive
linguistics, as characterized above, was bound to have
considerable influence on the ways in which mean-
ings (whether of words, sentences, syntactic patterns,
etc.) have been studied. One aspect has already been
mentioned, namely, that meanings are taken to be
mental entities. In this, cognitive linguistics contrasts
strikingly with other approaches, such as logical
approaches, which have focused on logical aspects
of sentences and the propositions they express; with
truth-conditional approaches, which focus on the re-
lation between propositions and states of affairs in
the world; with structuralist approaches, which view
meaning in terms of semantic relations within the
570 Cognitive Semantics
language; with behaviorist approaches, which view
meaning in terms of stimulus-response associations;
and, more generally, with theories of meaning as use.
What these alternative approaches to meaning have
in common is their avoidance of mentalism, i.e., the
characterization of meanings as ‘things in the head.’
The remainder of this article surveys some impor-
tant themes and research topics in cognitive seman-
tics. It should be mentioned that the survey is by no
means comprehensive; for broader coverage, the
reader is referred to the introductions to cognitive
linguistics listed at the end of this article. Some topics,
such as metaphor and metonymy, are dealt with else-
where in this encyclopedia and for this reason are
discussed only briefly. It should also be borne in
mind that cognitive semantics, like cognitive linguis-
tics itself, does not constitute a unified theory, but
is better regarded as a cluster of approaches and
research themes that nevertheless share a common
outlook and set of assumptions.
Meaning Is Encyclopedic in Scope
Many semanticists, especially those who see the lan-
guage faculty as an encapsulated module of the mind,
insist on the need to make a distinction between the
dictionary and the encyclopedia, that is, between
what one knows in virtue of one’s knowledge of a
language and what one knows in virtue of one’s
knowledge of the world. Cognitive semantics denies
the validity of such a distinction. On the contrary,
meaning is taken to be essentially encyclopedic in
scope. A person’s linguistic knowledge would there-
fore, in principle, be coextensive with the person’s
total world knowledge. An individual word, to be
sure, provides access to only a small segment of ency-
clopedic knowledge. No clear bounds, however, can
be set on how far the relevant knowledge network
extends.
The encyclopedic nature of linguistic semantics is
captured in the notions of profile, base, domain, and
Idealized Cognitive Model (or ICM).
The terms ‘profile’ and ‘base’ are due to Langacker
(1987). A linguistic expression intrinsically evokes a
knowledge structure, some facet of which is profiled.
Take the word hypotenuse. The word designates a
straight line. Whatever we predicate of hypotenuse
is predicated of a hypotenuse qua straight line, as
when we assert The hypotenuse is 3 cm. long. Obvi-
ously, the notion of a straight line does not exhaust
the meaning of the word. The straight line in question
is part of a larger structure, namely, a right-angled
triangle. Although hypotenuse does not designate the
triangle, the notion of a triangle is essential for the
understanding of the word (Figure 1). Notice that
Figure 1 Notion of hypotenuse.
the concept designated by the word cannot be identi-
fied with the profile – as mentioned, the profile is
simply a straight line. The concept resides in the
profiling of a facet of the base.
For other examples that illustrate the profile-base
relation, consider words such as thumb (profiled
against the conception of a human hand), top (pro-
filed against a schematic notion of a three-dimension-
al entity), island (a mass of land profiled against
the surrounding water). In fact, it is axiomatic, in
cognitive semantics, that all expressions achieve
their meaning through profiling against the relevant
background knowledge.
Returning to the hypotenuse example, it will be
apparent that the base – the notion of a triangle –
itself presupposes broader knowledge configurations,
namely, those pertaining to planar geometry, which
themselves are based in notions of space and shape.
These broader knowledge configurations are referred
to as ‘domains.’ Some domains may be basic, in the
sense that they are not reducible to other domains.
Examples include time, space, color, temperature,
weight, etc. Otherwise, a knowledge structure of
any degree of complexity can function as a domain,
for example, the rules of a game, a scientific theory,
kinship networks, gender stereotypes, educational,
political, and legal systems. Domains may also be
constituted by deeply held beliefs about life, nature,
causation, the supernatural, and so on.
Most concepts are characterized against a ‘matrix’
of more than one domain. Uncle, for example, pro-
files a male human being against the base of a (por-
tion of a) kinship network, specifically, that part of
the network that relates the uncle to his nephews/
nieces. The notion of kinship itself rests on notions
of gender, procreation, marriage, inheritance, etc. At
the same time, uncle profiles a human being, which is
understood against multiple domains pertaining to

life forms, to three-dimensional bodies and their vari-
ous parts, with their features of weight, extension,
shape, and so on. If we add to this the fact that, in
many societies, uncles may have special rights and
obligations vis-à-vis their nephews/nieces, we may
appreciate that even a single word, if its meaning is
fully explored, can take us into the farthest reaches of
our knowledge and cultural beliefs.
It will be apparent that the distinction between
base and domain is not a clear-cut one. The base
may be defined as a knowledge structure that is
inherently involved in profiling, whereas domains
constitute background, more generalized knowledge.
Terminology in this area is also confusing because
different authors have favored a range of terms for
domain-based knowledge. Some scholars have used
the not always clearly distinguishable terms ‘scene,’
‘scenario,’ ‘script,’ and ‘frame’ to refer in particular to
knowledge about expected sequences of events. Thus,
anger refers not just to an emotional state, but is
understood against an expected scenario that includes
such stages as provocation, response, attempts at
control, likely outcomes, and so on. Likewise, paying
the restaurant bill evokes the ‘restaurant script’ –
knowledge of the kinds of things one does, and the
things that happen, when one visits culturally insti-
tuted establishments known as ‘restaurants.’ The not-
ion of paying also invokes the frame of a commercial
transaction, with its various participants, convent-
ions, and activities. Mention might also be made of
Searle’s (1992) notions of ‘the Network’ and ‘the
Background,’ whereby a particular belief takes its
place within a network of other beliefs, and against
the background of capacities, abilities, and general
know-how.
Of special importance is Lakoff’s (1987) notion of
‘Idealized Cognitive Model,’ or ICM – a notion that
bears some affinity with the concept of ‘folk theory’
(again, different scholars prefer different terms).
ICMs capture the fact that knowledge about a partic-
ular domain may be to some extent idealized and may
not fit the actual states of affairs that we encounter on
specific occasions. Consider the words bachelor and
spinster. We might define these as ‘adult unmarried
male’ and ‘adult unmarried female,’ respectively. The
concepts, thus defined, presuppose an ICM of mar-
riage practices in our society. According to the ICM, a
person reaches a more-or-less clearly definable mar-
riageable age. People who pass the marriageable age
without marrying are referred to as bachelors and
spinsters, as the case may be. The ICM attributes
different motives to men and women who do not
marry. Men do so out of choice, women out of neces-
sity. As will be appreciated, the ICM is idealized, in
that it presupposes that all citizens are heterosexual
Cognitive Semantics 571
and that all are equally available for marriage. It thus
ignores the existence of celibate priests and of couples
who live together without marrying. The discrepancy
between model and reality can give rise to prototype
effects. The fact that the Pope is not a representative
example of the bachelor category derives from the
fact that Catholic clergy are not covered by the
ICM. Appeal to the ICM can also explain the differ-
ent connotations of bachelor and spinster. Although
one might not want to subscribe to the sexist framing
of the ICM, it does offer an explanation for why
eligible bachelor is an accepted collocation, whereas
eligible spinster is not.
As mentioned, the meaning of a word may need to
be characterized against a matrix of several domains.
However, not all uses of a word need invoke each of
the domains in equal measure. Certain uses may acti-
vate only some domains whereas others are back-
grounded or eclipsed. The notion of a kinship
network is likely to be prominent in most uses of
uncle, yet when parents use the word to introduce
one of their adult male friends to their child, the
kinship domain is eclipsed. For another example of
selective domain activation, consider the concept of a
book. When you drop a book, the status of the book
as a (heavy) material object is activated, when you
read a book, the status of a book as a printed text is
activated, when you translate a book, the status of the
book as a text in a given language is foregrounded.
Note that begin a book can be interpreted in various
ways, according to which of the domains is activated.
The activity that one begins with respect to the book
could be reading, writing, editing, translating, or even
(if you are bookworm, literally!), eating.
The above examples not only illustrate the impor-
tance of domains and related notions in the study of
word meanings, they also show why it has been
deemed necessary to favor an encyclopedic approach
to semantics. The reason is, namely, that we need to
appeal to domain-based knowledge in order to ac-
count for how words are used and for the ways in
which complex expressions are judged. Often, the
very possibility of interpreting an expression, and of
accepting it as semantically well-formed, can only be
explained by reference to appropriate background
knowledge.
A common objection to an encyclopedic semantics
is that one cannot reasonably claim that everything a
person knows about the concept designated by a
word is relevant to the use of the word. It is certainly
true that some facets of background knowledge may
be central, and more intrinsic to a concept, others
might be more peripheral or even idiosyncratic to an
individual speaker. Nevertheless, even extrinsic
knowledge might become relevant to a word’s use,
572 Cognitive Semantics
for example, in discourse between intimates or family
members. Moreover, the study of semantic change
teaches us that even highly peripheral and circumstan-
tial knowledge pertaining to a concept can sometimes
leave its mark on the semantic development of a word.
Langacker (1987: 160) has remarked that Jimmy
Carter’s presidency had a notable, if transient, effect
on the semantics of peanut. Equally, Margaret
Thatcher’s premiership probably influenced the se-
mantic development of handbag, at least for British
speakers.
The notion of domain is relevant to two important
themes in cognitive semantic research, namely meta-
phor and metonymy. ‘Metaphor’ has been analyzed in
terms of the structuring of one domain of experience
(usually, a more abstract, intangible domain) in terms
of a more concrete, and more directly experienced
domain. For example, time is commonly conceptua-
lized in terms of space and motion, as when we speak
of a long time, or say that Christmas is approaching,
or even that it is just around the corner. More recent-
ly, metaphor has been studied under the more general
rubric of ‘conceptual blending,’ whereby components
of two or more input domains are incorporated into a
new conceptualization, the blend. Whereas metaphor
involves elements from more than one domain, ‘me-
tonymy,’ in contrast, concerns elements within a sin-
gle domain. Thus, we can use the name of an author
to refer to books written by the author, as when we
enquire whether someone has read any Dickens. The
transfer of reference from person to product is possi-
ble because both are linked within domain-based
knowledge pertaining to books and their authorship.
Categorization
Every situation and every entity that we encounter is
uniquely different from every other. In order to be able
to function in our physical and social worlds, we need
to reduce this information overload. We do this by
regarding some situations and some entities as being
essentially ‘the same.’ Having categorized an entity in
a certain way, we know how we should behave to-
wards it and what properties it is likely to have. It
is significant that whenever we encounter something
whose categorization is unclear we typically feel
uneasy. ‘What is it?’, we want to know.
Categorization is not a peculiarly human ability.
Any creature, if it is to survive, needs at the very
least to categorize its environment in terms of edible
or inedible, harmful or benign. Humans have devel-
oped phenomenal categorization abilities. We operate
with literally thousands, if not hundreds of thousands
of categories. Moreover, our categories are flexible
enough to accommodate new experiences, and we are
able to create new categories as the need arises.
To know a word is to know, among other things,
the range of entities and situations to which the word
can be appropriately applied. To this extent, the study
of word meanings is the study of the categories that
these words denote. And it is not only words that can
be said to designate categories. It can be argued that
syntactic configurations, for example, those asso-
ciated with intransitive, transitive, and ditransitive
constructions, designate distinct categorizations of
events and their participants.
What is the basis for categorization? Intuitively, we
might want to say that things get placed in the same
category because of their similarity. Similarity, how-
ever, is a slippery notion. One approach would be to
define similarity in terms of the sharing of some com-
mon feature(s) or attribute(s). Similarity, then, would
reduce to a matter of partial identity. Feature-based
theories of categorization often require that all mem-
bers of a category share all the relevant features.
A corollary of this approach is that categories are
well-defined, that is, it is a clear-cut matter whether
a given entity does, or does not, belong in the catego-
ry. It also follows that all members have equal status
within the category.
There are a number of problems associated with
this approach. One is that the categories designated
by linguistic expressions may exhibit a prototype
structure. Some members of the category might be
more representative than others, while the boundary
of the category may not be clearly defined. In a well-
known passage, though without introducing the
prototype concept, Wittgenstein (1953: x66) drew
attention to categorization by family resemblance.
Imagine a family photograph. Some members of the
family might have the family nose, others might have
the family chin, others might have the family buck
teeth. No member of the family need exhibit all the
family traits, yet each exhibits at least one; moreover,
some members might exhibit different traits from
others. Wittgenstein illustrated the notion on the ex-
ample of the kinds of things we call ‘games,’ or Spiele
(Wittgenstein was writing in German). Some (but not
all) games are ‘amusing,’ some require skill, some
involve luck, some involve competition and have win-
ners and losers. The family resemblance notion has
been usefully applied to the study of word meaning.
Thus, some uses of climb (as in The plane climbed to
30 000 feet) exhibit the feature ‘ascend,’ some (such
as The mountaineers climbed along the cliff ) exhibit
the feature ‘move laboriously using one’s limbs.’ Con-
sidered by themselves, these two uses have very little
in common. We see the relation, however, when we

consider some further uses of climb (as in The boy
climbed the tree), which exhibit both of the features.
A fundamental problem with feature-based the-
ories of categorization concerns the nature of the
features themselves. As Wittgenstein pointed out,
skill in chess is not the same as skill in tennis. The
concept of skill therefore raises the very same issues of
how categories are to be defined as were raised by the
notion of game, which the notion of skill is supposed
to explicate. Understanding similarity in terms of
partial identity is problematic for another reason.
Practically any two objects can be regarded as similar
in some respect (for example, both may weigh less
than 100 kg., or both may cost between $5 and
$5000), but this similarity does not mean that they
constitute a viable or useful category. An alternative
approach would be that categorization is driven by
the role of the entities within broader knowledge con-
figurations, that is, by domain-based knowledge and
ICMs. Sometimes, apparently similar activities might
be categorized differently, as when making marks on
paper might be called, in some cases, ‘writing’, in
other cases, ‘drawing.’ The distinction is based
on knowledge pertaining to the nature and purpose
of ‘writing’ and ‘drawing.’ On the other hand, seem-
ingly very different activities might be brought under
the same category. In terms of the actions performed,
making marks with a pen on a piece of paper has little
in common with depressing small, square-shaped
pads on a keyboard. But given the appropriate do-
main-based knowledge, both can be regarded as
instances of ‘writing.’ Categories, as Murphy and
Medin (1985) have aptly remarked, are ultimately
based in ‘theories’ (that is, in ICMs).
The matter may be illustrated by the distinction
(admittedly, not always a clear-cut one) between ‘nat-
ural kinds’ and ‘nominal kinds.’ Natural kinds are
believed to be given by nature and are presumed to
have a defining ‘essence’; moreover, we are inclined to
defer to the scientists for an elucidation of their defin-
ing essence. Nominal kinds, in contrast, are often de-
fined vis-à-vis human concerns, and their perceptual
properties and/or their function is often paramount in
their categorization. Remarkably, even very young
children are sensitive to the difference (Keil, 1989).
Suppose a zebra had its stripes painted out; would it
thereby become a horse? Or suppose a giraffe had its
neck surgically shortened; would it cease to be a
giraffe? Even very young children respond: ‘No.’
Changes to the appearance of the entities would not
alter their defining essence. But suppose you saw off
the back of a chair. Does the chair become a stool?
Arguably, it does. In this case, a ‘superficial’ aspect is
crucial to categorization.
Cognitive Semantics 573
The dynamics of categorization may be illustrated
by considering the relationship between a linguistic
expression (e.g., the word fruit) and its possible refer-
ents (e.g., an apple). We can address the relation from
two perspectives. We can ask, for this word, what are
the things in the world to which the word can be
applied? Alternatively, we can ask, for this thing,
what are the linguistic expressions that can refer to
it? The first perspective (the ‘referential’ perspective:
‘To what does this word apply?’) operationalizes the
notion of prototype. Fruit designates, primarily, such
things as apples, pears, and bananas – these are the
fruit prototypes. Less commonly, the word might be
used to refer to olives and tomatoes. The second
perspective (the ‘onomasiological,’ or naming per-
spective: ‘What is this thing to be called?’) operatio-
nalizes the notion of basic level. It is evident that one
and the same thing can be named by terms that differ
in their specificity vs. generality. For example, the
thing you are now sitting on might be called a chair,
an office chair, a piece of furniture, an artifact, or
even a thing. All of these designations could be equal-
ly ‘correct.’ Yet, in the absence of special reasons to
the contrary, you would probably call the thing a
chair. (This, for example, is probably the answer
you would give if a foreign learner wanted to know
what the thing is called in English.) Chair is a basic
level term, the basic level being the level in a taxono-
my at which things are normally named. The basic
level has this special status because categorization at
this level provides maximum information about an
entity. Thus, at the basic level, chairs contrast with
tables, beds, and cupboards – very different kinds of
things, in terms of their appearance, use, and func-
tion. Terms at a lower level in a taxonomy, e.g.,
kitchen chair vs. office chair, do not exhibit such a
sharp contrast while terms at a higher level are too
general to give much information at all about an
entity. Not surprisingly, basic level terms turn out to
be of frequent use, they are generally quite short and
morphologically simple, and they are learned early in
language acquisition.
The Usage-Basis of Cognitive Semantics
Langacker has described cognitive linguistics as a
‘usage-based’ approach. The claim can be understood
in two ways. On the one hand, it could be a statement
about the methodology of cognitive linguistic re-
search. Usage-based research would be research
based on authentic data, as documented in a corpus,
recorded in the field, or elicited in controlled situa-
tions, rather than on invented, constructed data. Al-
though different researchers might prefer different
574 Cognitive Semantics
methodologies, a glance at practically any publica-
tion by leading figures in the field, such as Lakoff,
Langacker, and Talmy, will show that cognitive lin-
guistics, as a movement, cannot reasonably be said to
be ‘usage-based’ in this sense.
On a second interpretation, usage-based refers to
the presumed nature of linguistic knowledge and the
manner in which it is acquired, mentally represented,
and accessed. The claim, namely, is that a language
is learned ‘bottom-up’ through exposure to usage
events. A usage event presents the language user/
learner with an actual vocalization in association
with a fine-grained, context-dependent conceptuali-
zation. Acquisition proceeds through generalization
over usage events. Necessarily, many of the context-
dependent particularities of the usage events will be
filtered out, leaving only a schematic representation
of both the phonology and the semantics. In this
respect, cognitive linguistics contrasts strikingly with
‘top-down’ theories of acquisition, whereby the basic
‘architecture’ of a language is presumed to be geneti-
cally given, exposure to usage data being needed
merely to trigger the appropriate settings of innately
given parameters.
The usage-based approach raises two questions,
which have loomed large in cognitive semantics
research. These concern (a) the units over which
schematization occurs, and (b) the extent of schema-
tization. Let us first consider the second of these
issues.
One of the most vibrant areas of cognitive semantic
research has been the study of lexical polysemy. It is a
common observation that words exhibit a range of
different meanings according to the contexts in which
they are used. Indeed, the extent of polysemy appears
to be roughly proportional to the frequency with
which a word is used. Not surprisingly, among the
most highly polysemous words in English are the
prepositions.
Consider the preposition on. Given such uses as the
book on the table and the cat on the mat, it is easy to
see how a schematic, de-contextualized image of the
on-relation could emerge. It involves locating one
object with respect to another in terms of such aspects
as contact, verticality, and support. But the preposi-
tion has many other uses, as exemplified by the fly on
the ceiling, the picture on the wall, the leaves on the
tree, the writing on the blackboard, the washing on
the clothes-line, the shoes on my feet, the ring on my
finger. Do we proceed with further abstraction and
schematization, coming up with a characterization of
the on-relation that is compatible with all of these
uses? Or do we identify a set of discrete meanings,
which we may then attempt to relate in a prototype or
a family resemblance category? If we adopt this latter
approach, another question arises, namely, just how
many distinct meanings are to be postulated. Three?
Ten? Several dozen? Do we want to say that the water
on the floor and the cat on the mat exemplify differ-
ent senses of on, on the grounds that the relation
between cat and mat is not quite the same as that
between the water and the floor? Needless to say, the
issue becomes even more critical when we take into
consideration the vast range of nonspatial uses of the
preposition: on television, be on a diet, be on drugs,
on Monday, and countless more.
In general, as is consistent with a usage-based ori-
entation, cognitive semanticists have tended to focus
on the particularities of low-level generalizations, an
approach that has frequently been censured for the
‘polysemy explosion’ that it engenders. Nevertheless,
the role of more schematic representations is not
denied. Langacker, in this connection, draws atten-
tion to the ‘rule-list fallacy.’ The fallacy resides in the
notion that rules (high-level generalizations), once
acquired, necessarily expunge knowledge of the
lower-level generalizations on whose basis the rules
have been abstracted. It is entirely plausible that high-
and low-level generalizations might co-exist in the
mental grammar.
Indeed, knowledge of low-level generalizations –
not too far removed, in terms of their schematicity,
from actually encountered usage-events – may be
needed in order to account for speakers’ fluency in
their language. The topic interacts with a more gener-
al issue, namely, the relative roles of ‘computation’ vs.
‘storage’ in language knowledge and language use.
Humans are not generally very good at computation,
but we are quite adept at storing and retrieving spe-
cific information. Consider arithmetical operations.
We can, to be sure, compute the product of 12 by 12
by applying general rules, but the process is slow and
laborious and subject to error, and some people may
need the help of pencil and paper. It is far easier,
quicker, and more reliable to access the ready-made
solution, if we have learned it, namely, that 12 ! 12 ¼
144. The point of the analogy is that in order for
speech production and understanding to proceed
smoothly and rapidly, it may well be the case that
we access ready-made patterns and preformed
chunks, which have been learned in their specific
detail, even though these larger units could be assem-
bled in accordance with general principles. The role
of formulaic language in fluency and idiomaticity has
been investigated especially by linguists engaged in
corpus-based lexicography and second language ac-
quisition research. Their findings lend support to the
view that linguistic knowledge may indeed be repre-
sented at a relatively low level. We might suppose,
therefore, that the ring on my finger is judged to be

acceptable, not because some highly schematic,
underspecified sense of on has been contextually ela-
borated, nor because some rather specific sense of on
has been selected, but simply because speakers have
encountered, and learned, such an expression.
These considerations lead into the second aspect of
a usage-based model: what are the units over which
schematization takes place? The study of lexical se-
mantics has typically been based on the assumption
that schematization takes place over word-sized units.
Indeed, the above discussion was framed in terms of
how many meanings the preposition on might have.
The study of idioms and related phenomena, such
as collocations, constructions, and formulaic expres-
sions, casts doubt on the validity of this assumption.
Corpus-based studies, in particular, have drawn
attention to the fact that words may need to be char-
acterized in terms of the constructions in which they
occur, conversely, that constructions need to be char-
acterized in terms of the words that are eligible to
occur in them. It might be inappropriate, therefore, to
speak of the ‘mental lexicon,’ understood as a list of
words with their phonological and semantic proper-
ties. A more appropriate concept might be the ‘mental
phrasicon,’ or the ‘mental contructicon.’ It would
certainly be consistent with a usage-based model to
assume that language is represented as schematiza-
tions over the units in terms of which language is
encountered – not individual words as such, but
phrases, constructions, and even utterance-length
units.
Construal
Linguistic meaning has often been approached in
terms of the correspondence between an expression
and the situation that it designates. Given the expres-
sion The cat is on the mat, and a situation in which
there is a mat with a cat on it, we might be inclined to
say that the linguistic expression fully and accurately
describes the observed situation. The matter, howev-
er, is not so straightforward. For any conceived situa-
tion, certain facets will have been ignored for the
purpose of its linguistic expression. Where was the
mat? How big was it? What color was it? Was it laid
out flat or was it rolled up? Was the cat in the center
of the mat? Was the cat sitting or lying? And so on.
Secondly, the speaker is able to categorize the situa-
tion at different levels of schematicity. Instead of
saying that the cat is on the mat, the speaker could
have stated that the animal is sprawled out on my
new purchase. The speaker’s decision to include or
exclude certain facets of the scene, and to categorize
the scene and its participants in a certain way,
are symptomatic of the broader phenomenon of
Cognitive Semantics 575
‘construal,’ namely, the way in which a conceived
situation is mentally structured for the purpose of its
linguistic expression.
There is a sense in which the whole cognitive se-
mantics enterprise is concerned with how speakers
construe a conceived situation and how this construal
receives linguistic expression, as a function of the
conventional resources of a particular language.
Some important facets are construal are discussed
below.
Figure-Ground Organization
A feature of our perceptual mechanism is that a per-
ceived scene is structured in terms of ‘figure’ and
‘ground.’ Certain aspects of a scene are likely to be
especially prominent and specifically attended to,
whereas others are relegated to the background con-
text. Given the situation of the cat and the mat, we
are likely to say that the cat is on the mat, rather than
that the mat is under the cat. Both wordings might be
equally true in terms their correspondence with the
situation. Yet one would normally be preferred over
the other. This preference is because we would most
likely select the cat as the figure, whose location is
described with respect to the mat, rather than the
other way round.
Figure-ground organization is ubiquitous in per-
ception, most obviously in visual perception, but
also in other modalities. When we listen to a lecture,
the speaker’s voice is (hopefully) the auditory figure,
which stands out against the sound of the air condi-
tioning and of people coughing and shuffling.
A number of aspects influence the figure-ground
alignment. The figure, as the primary object of atten-
tion, is likely to be moveable and variable, it can
act, or be acted on, independently of the ground,
and it is likely to be more information-rich (for the
perceiver) than the ground. Moreover, animate
entities – especially if human – are likely to attract
our attention as figure vis-à-vis inanimate entities.
The ground, in contrast, is likely to be static relative
to the figure, it is presupposed, and provides the con-
text for the characterization of the figure. It must be
emphasized, however, that while certain inherent fea-
tures of a scene may strongly suggest a certain figure-
ground alignment, we can often choose to reverse the
relation. While at a lecture, we could consciously
direct our attention to a background noise, relegating
the speaker’s voice to the ground.
Figure-ground organization is built into language
at many levels. The contrast between an active clause
and its passive counterpart can be understood in
such terms. The farmer shot the rabbit presents the
farmer as the figure – we are interested in what
the farmer did. The rabbit was shot (by the farmer)
576 Cognitive Semantics
presents the rabbit as figure – we are interested in
what happened to the rabbit. Note that what is at
issue in these examples is not so much how the scene
as such might be visually perceived, but how it is
mentally organized by the speaker for its linguistic
encoding. Figure-ground asymmetry is also relevant
to the encoding of reciprocal relations. If A resembles
B, then B obviously resembles A. Yet we would be far
more likely to observe that a boy resembles his grand-
father than to say that an old man resembles his
grandson. We take the old man as the ground, against
which the growing boy is assessed, rather than vice
versa.
Force Dynamics
Another aspect of construal is illustrated by the con-
trast between The ball rolled along the floor and The
ball kept rolling along the floor. There would be no
way to differentiate these sentences in terms of objec-
tive features of the situations that they designate.
Whenever the one sentence can truthfully be applied
to a situation, so can the other. Yet the two sentences
construe the situation differently. The difference was
investigated by Talmy in terms of his notion of ‘force
dynamics.’ We view entities as having an inherent
tendency either for motion (or change) or for rest
(or inaction). When entities interact, their inherent
force dynamic tendencies also interact. The force of
one entity may overcome, or fail to overcome the
force of another, or the two forces may be in equilib-
rium. Typically, in a force-dynamic interaction, our
attention goes on a figure entity (the agonist), whose
behavior is tracked relative to an antagonist.
The ball rolled along the floor presents the motion
of the ball as resulting from its inherent tendency
towards motion. But if we say that the ball kept
rolling along the floor, we assume a force opposing
the ball’s activity, which, however, was not strong
enough to overcome the ball’s tendency towards mo-
tion. It is the verb keep that introduces a force-
dynamic interaction into the situation, as we construe
it. It conveys that the tendency towards motion of the
agonist (i.e., the ball) was able to overcome an (un-
named) opposing force. The opposing force may, of
course, be explicitly stated: The ball kept rolling,
despite our attempt to halt it. Force-dynamic interac-
tion holds even with respect to a ‘static’ situation.
I kept silent designates the continuation of a static
situation. The stasis, however, results from the fact
that an (unnamed) antagonist was not powerful
enough to cause the situation to change.
Quite a few lexical items have an implicit force-
dynamic content, such as keep, prevent, despite, and
even finally and (to) manage. Thus, I finally managed
to start my car not only conveys that I did start my
car, but also that I had to overcome an opposing
force. Force dynamics offers an interesting per-
spective on causation. Prototypically, causation (as
expressed by verbs such as cause or make) involves
the agonist (the causer) exerting force that overcomes
the inactivity of antagonist. Variants of this scenario
including letting and preventing. Let conveys that the
agonist fails to engage with the antagonist, while
prevent conveys that the agonist overcomes the dis-
position towards action of the antagonist. Another
fruitful field of application has been in the study of
modality (Sweetser, 1990). Thus, I couldn’t leave
conveys that an unnamed antagonist (whether this
be another person, a law or proscription, an ethical
consideration, a broken leg, or even the fact of a
locked door) overcame my disposition to leave. Simi-
larly, I had to leave presents my leaving as resulting
from a force that overcame my disposition to remain
where I was.
Objective vs. Subjective Construal
Any conceptualization involves a relation between
the subject of conceptualization (the person entertain-
ing the conceptualization) and the object of concep-
tualization (the situation that is conceptualized). In
The cat is on the mat, the object of conceptualization
is, obviously, the location of the cat vis-à-vis the mat.
Although not explicitly mentioned in the sentence,
the subject of conceptualization is relevant to the
conceptualization in a number of ways. Firstly, the
use of the definite noun phrases the cat and the mat
conveys that the referents of these expressions are
uniquely identifiable to the speaker, also, that the
speaker expects the hearer to be able to uniquely
identify the referents. (It’s not just a cat, but the
cat.) Also, the use of the tensed verb is conveys that
the situation is claimed to hold at the time the speaker
utters the expression. Since the speaker’s role is not
itself the object of conceptualization, we may say that
the speaker is being construed subjectively.
Langacker has illustrated the notion of objective vs.
subjective construal by means of an analogy. For
persons who need to wear them, their spectacles are
not usually the object of their visual experience. Spec-
tacles function simply as an aid to the seeing process
but are not themselves seen. Their role is therefore a
subjective one. A person can, to be sure, take off their
spectacles and visually examine them, in which case,
the spectacles are viewed objectively. ‘Objectifica-
tion,’ then, is the process whereby some facet of the
subject of conceptualization becomes the object of
conceptualization. ‘Don’t talk to your mother like
that,’ a woman says to her child. Here, the speaker
makes herself the object of conceptualization by refer-
ring to herself in the third person. ‘Subjectification,’

in contrast, is the process whereby some facet of the
object of conceptualization gets to be located in
the subject of conceptualization. Take, as an example,
the contrast between Jim walked over the hill and Jim
lives over the hill. The first sentence profiles the mo-
tion of the figure entity vis-à-vis the ground. The
second merely designates the location of the figure.
The location, however, is presented as one that lies at
the end of a path that goes over the hill. Importantly,
the path is not traced by the object of conceptuali-
zation, that is, by Jim. Rather, it is the subject of
conceptualization who mentally traces the path.
Subjectification has been identified as an important
component of grammaticalization. Consider the use
of (be) going to as a marker of the future. Ellen is
going to the store can be construed objectively – Ellen
is currently engaged in the process of moving towards
the store. If we continue to observe Ellen’s motion, we
will probably find that she ends up at the store. We
can easily see how (be) going to is likely to take on
connotations of prediction. Indeed, Ellen is going to
the store might be interpreted in just such a way, not
as a statement about Ellen’s current activity, but as a
prediction about the future. Similarly, It’s going to
rain and You’re going to fall have the force of a
prediction, extrapolated from the observation of cur-
rent circumstances. Notice, in these examples, that in
spite of the use of the verb go, there is no objective
movement, whether literal or metaphorical, towards
the future situation. Rather, it is the conceptualizer
who mentally traces the future evolution of the pres-
ent situation. The idea of motion, contained in the
verb go, has been subjectified, that is, it has been
located in the subject of conceptualization.
A special manifestation of subjectification is the
phenomenon of ‘fictive motion.’ This typically
involves the use of a basically dynamic expression to
designate an objectively static situation. Go, we
might say, is basically a motion verb, or, more gener-
ally, a change of state verb (I went to the airport, The
milk went sour, The lights went red). But consider a
statement that the road goes through the mountains.
No motion is involved here – the road is merely con-
figured in a certain way, it does not (objectively) go
anywhere. The idea of motion implied by go can,
however, be attributed to the subject of conceptuali-
zation. One mentally traces the path followed by the
road through the mountains. Mental motion on the
part of the conceptualizer is also invoked in reference
to the road from London to Oxford, which, of course,
could be the very same entity, objectively speaking, as
the road from Oxford to London. Similarly, one and
the same entity could be referred to, either as the gate
into the garden or the gate out of the garden.
Cognitive Semantics 577
Linguistic Conventions
Although speakers may construe a situation in many
alternate ways, their options are to some extent
constrained by the linguistic resources available to
them. The matter can be illustrated with respect to
language-specific lexicalization patterns. Talmy has
drawn attention to alternative ways in which a
motion event can be linguistically encoded. Consider
the English expression I flew across the Atlantic. In
English (and in other Germanic languages), we prefer
to encode the manner of motion by means of the verb
(fly), the path of the motion being expressed in a pre-
positional phrase (across the Atlantic). In Romance
languages, an alternative construal is preferred. Path
is encoded by the verb, manner by means of an adver-
bial phrase: J’ai traversé l’Atlantique en avion ‘I
crossed the Atlantic by plane.’ Notice that, in the
French sentence, the statement of the manner of mo-
tion is optional; the French speaker does not have to
state how the Atlantic was crossed, merely that it was
crossed. Comparison of the ways in which speakers
of different languages give linguistic expression to
visually presented situations, and of the ways in
which texts in one language are translated into anoth-
er, supports the notion that situations tend to be
construed in a manner that is compatible with the
construals made available by the conventional
resources of different languages (Slobin, 1996). For
example, speakers of English (and Germanic lan-
guages) will tend to specify the manner of motion
in much finer detail than speakers of Romance
languages.
Embodiment
An important theme in cognitive semantic research
has been the insight that the relation between words
and the world is mediated by the language user him/
herself. The language user is a physical being, with its
various parts, existing in time and space, who is sub-
ject to a gravitational field, and who engages in bodily
interaction with entities in the environment. Quite a
number of our concepts are directly related to aspects
of our bodily experience. To put the matter somewhat
fancifully: if we humans were creatures with a differ-
ent mode of existence, if, for example, we were gelat-
inous, air-born creatures, floating around in the
stratosphere, it is doubtful whether we could ever
have access to many of the concepts that are lexica-
lized in presently existing human languages. Thus, to
understand the concept of what it means for an object
to be heavy, we have to have experienced the sensa-
tion of holding, lifting, or trying to move, a heavy
object. The notion of heavy cannot be fully explicated
578 Cognitive Semantics
in purely propositional terms, nor in terms of verbal
paraphrase. A characteristic of basic level terms, in
particular, is that, very often, they are understood in
terms of how we would typically interact with the
entities in question. Consider the concept of chair. We
understand the concept, not simply in terms of what
chairs look like, nor even in terms of their various
parts and how they are interrelated, but in terms of
what we do with our bodies with respect to them,
namely, we sit on them, and they support our body
weight. We have no such ‘embodied’ conceptualiza-
tion of more schematic concepts such as ‘thing’ or
‘artifact.’ We do not understand these categories in
terms of how we characteristically interact with
them.
The role of bodily experiences has been elaborated
in the theory of image schemas (Johnson, 1987;
Lakoff, 1987). ‘Image schemas’ are common recur-
ring patterns of bodily experience. Examples include
notions of containment, support, balance, orientation
(up/down), whole/part, motion along a path from a
source to a goal, and many more. (Force dynamic
interactions, discussed above, may also be under-
stood in image schematic terms.) Take the notion of
balance. We experience balance when trying to stand
on one leg, when learning to ride a bicycle, or when
trying to remain upright in a strong wind. The notion
involves the distribution of weights around a central
axis. (Balance, therefore, is understood in force-dy-
namic terms.) The notion can be applied to many
domains of experience. We can speak of a balanced
diet, a balanced argument, a political balance of
power, and of the balance of a picture or photograph.
One could, no doubt, analyze these expressions as
examples of metaphor. This approach, however,
might be to miss the embodied, nonpropositional
nature of the concept. Our experience of balancing
provides a primitive, experiential schema that can be
instantiated in many different domains.
Compositionality
A particularly contentious issue in semantics concerns
the question of compositionality. According to the
compositionality principle, the properties (here: the
semantic properties) of the whole can be computed
from the properties of the parts and the manner of
their combination. From one point of view, composi-
tionality is a self-evident fact about human language.
The cat is on the mat means what it does in virtue of
the meanings of the component words, and the fact
that the words stand in certain syntactic configura-
tions. Speakers of English can work out what the
sentence means, they do not have to have specifically
learned this sentence. Unless compositionality were
a feature of language, speakers would not be able
to construct, and to understand, novel sentences.
The very fact of linguistic creativity suggests that
compositionality has got to be the case.
Not surprisingly, therefore, in many linguistic the-
ories, the compositionality of natural languages is
axiomatic, and the study of semantics is to a large
extent the study of the processes of semantic compo-
sition. Cognitive linguists, however, have drawn at-
tention to some serious problems with the notion. It
is, of course, generally accepted that idioms are prob-
lematic for the compositionality principle. Indeed,
idioms are commonly defined as expressions that
are not compositional. The expression spill the
beans ‘inadvertently reveal confidential information’
is idiomatic precisely because the expression is not
compositional, that is, its meaning cannot be worked
out on the basis of the meanings that spill and beans
have elsewhere in the language.
Leaving aside obviously idiomatic expressions –
which, by definition, are noncompositional in their
semantics – it is remarkable that the interpretation of
an expression typically goes beyond, and may even be
at variance with, the information that is linguistically
encoded. Langacker (1987: 279–282) discussed the
example the football under the table. The expression
is clearly not idiomatic, neither would it seem to be
problematic for the compositionality principle. Take a
moment, however, to visualize the described configura-
tion. Probably, you will imagine a table standing in its
canonical position, with its legs on the floor, and the
football resting on the floor, approximately in the cen-
ter of the polygon defined by the bottom of the table’s
legs. Note, however, that these specific details of the
visualization were not encoded in the expression – they
have been supplied on the basis of encyclopedic knowl-
edge about tables. The purely compositional meaning
of the expression has been enriched by encyclopedic
knowledge. There is more to this example, however. If
you think about it carefully, you will see that the
enriched interpretation is in an important sense at vari-
ance with the compositional meaning. If by ‘X is under
Y,’ we mean that X is at a place lower than the place of
Y, the football, strictly speaking, is not actually under
the table at all. The football, namely, is not at a place
that is lower than the lowest part of the table. In inter-
preting even this seemingly unproblematic expression,
we have had to go beyond, and to distort, its strictly
compositional meaning.
This state of affairs is not unexpected on a usage-
based model. The resources of a language – lexical,
syntactic, phraseological – are abstractions over en-
countered uses. The meanings abstracted from previ-
ous usage events are necessarily schematic, and may
not fit precisely the requirements of the situation at

hand. In giving linguistic expression to a conceptuali-
zation, we search for the linguistic resources that
most closely match our intentions, accepting that
some discrepancies and imprecisions are likely to
occur. We trust to the inferencing powers of our inter-
locutors to achieve the fit between the expression and
the intended conceptualization.
The Conceptual Basis of Syntactic
Categories
In many linguistic theories, syntax constitutes an
autonomous level of organization, which mediates
between phonology and semantics. As pointed out,
cognitive linguistics rejects this approach. Rather,
syntactic organization is itself taken to be inherently
meaningful.
Several things flow from this conception of syntac-
tic organization.
First, the notion of ‘meaningless’ morphemes gains
little support. It is sometimes said, for example, that
the preposition of is a dummy element in expressions
such as the destruction of the city, inserted by the
syntax in order to satisfy the constraint that a noun
cannot take a noun phrase as its complement. The
cognitive semantic view of the matter would be that
of does indeed have a meaning, albeit a fairly abstract
one; specifically, of profiles an intrinsic relation be-
tween entities. Just as talk of a student entails some
subject matter that is studied, and talk of a photo-
graph entails some thing that was photographed, so
talk of destruction entails some entity that was
destroyed. These inherent relations between entities
are profiled by the same preposition: destruction of
the city, a student of physics, a photograph of me.
More far-reaching, perhaps, are the implications of
the cognitive linguistic approach for the study of
word classes. It is almost a truism, in modern linguis-
tics, that word classes – noun, verb, adjective, etc. –
must be defined, not in semantic terms, but in terms
of their distribution. The word explosion is a noun,
not because of what it means, but because it distri-
butes like a noun – it can take a determiner, it plur-
alizes, and so on. Such an approach is tantamount to
claiming that syntax constitutes an autonomous level
of linguistic organization, independent of semantics.
Many cognitive linguists, committed to the symbolic
view of language, have been skeptical of this ap-
proach and have reexamined the traditional view
that word classes are indeed semantically based.
There are a number of ways in which the conceptual
approach can be implemented.
One is a prototype approach. Prototypically, nouns
designate concrete, enduring, individuated objects,
while verbs designate rapid changes of state (Givón,
Cognitive Semantics 579
1984). A problem with this approach is that explo-
sion, while semantically not at all a prototypical
noun, is nevertheless a noun, whose distributional
properties are fully comparable with those of suppo-
sedly prototypical nouns, such as table and chair.
A second approach is functional (Croft, 1991).
Nominals designate what is being talked about;
adjectivals specify nominals in greater detail; verbal
predications make assertions about nominals; while
adverbials specify verbal predications more precisely.
Each of these functionally defined categories has pro-
totypical instances. Less prototypical instances often
bear distinctive morphological markings. Thus, ex-
plosion betrays its nonprototypical status as an entity
to be talked about by its derivational morphology.
Langacker’s aim has been more ambitious. It is
to offer unified conceptual definitions of the major
lexical and syntactic categories. Essentially, the claim
is that the syntactic category of a word is determined
by the nature of its profile. Conversely, the status of
a word as noun, verb, adjective, etc., imposes a
certain kind of profile on the associated semantic
representation.
A first distinction is between nominal vs. relational
profiles. A good way to understand the distinction is
by reference to autonomous vs. dependent conceptua-
lizations. A concept is ‘autonomous’ if it can be enter-
tained without necessary reference to other entities.
Of course, there can be no such thing as a fully
autonomous concept, given the ubiquity of domain-
based knowledge and of the profile-base relation in
the understanding of concepts. Nevertheless, relative-
ly autonomous concepts can be proposed, for exam-
ple, the concept of hypotenuse. As stated earlier, the
word hypotenuse profiles a straight line. Although
the concept is understood against the base of a
right-angled triangle, the word does not profile the
triangle, nor the relation of the hypotenuse to the
triangle. It is in this sense that nominal profiles are
autonomous. Compare, now, the preposition on. The
word profiles a kind of (prototypically: spatial)
relation between two entities, often referred to as
the ‘trajector’ and the ‘landmark’ of the relation.
The trajector can be thought of as the figure, i.e.,
the more prominent element in the relation, the land-
mark as the ground, i.e., the less prominent partici-
pant. Without some schematic notion of the trajector
and landmark, the notion of ‘on’ lacks coherence. It
is in this sense that the conceptualization asso-
ciated with on is ‘dependent’ – it inherently requires
reference to other entities.
Relational profiles are subject to further distinc-
tions. On designates an atemporal relation – the
time at which the relation holds, or over which
it holds, is not profiled. Verbs, on the other hand,
580 Cognitive Semantics

Figure 2 Taxonomy of main lexical categories. Reproduced

from Taylor J R (2002) Cognitive grammar. Oxford: Oxford Universi-
ty Press, with permission from Oxford University Press.

inherently designate temporal relations. Like, as a

verb, designates a relation between a trajector (the
verb’s subject) and a landmark (its direct object). The
temporality of the relation is a facet of the profile.
Another distinction concerns the nature of the trajec-
tor and landmark. These may themselves be either
nominal or relational, and, if relational, temporal or
atemporal. Prepositions (before lunch) take a nomi-
nal landmark, subordinating conjunctions (before we
had lunch) take as their landmark a temporal relation
(i.e., a clause). Figure 2 depicts a taxonomy of the
major lexical categories based on the nature of their
profiles.
The combination of smaller units into larger con-
figurations can now be understood in terms of the
way in which the profiles of the smaller units can be
combined. Figure 3 illustrates the assembly of the
book on the table. (The role of the determiners is
ignored so as not to unduly complicate the discus-
sion.) In accordance with conventions established by
Langacker, nominal profiles are represented by cir-
cles, relations by lines between circles, while profiled
entities (whether nominal or relational) are depicted
in bold. The table, having a nominal profile, is able to
function as the landmark of on. The resulting expres-
sion, on the table, inherits the relational profile of on.
The book is able to function as the trajector of
this expression, whereby the resulting expression,
the book on the table, inherits the nominal profile
of book. The composite expression thus designates a
book, the book, however, is one which is taken to be
on the table. The pattern illustrated in Figure 3 is
valid, not only for the assembly of the specific expres-
sion in question, but also, mutatis mutandis, for the
assembly of any nominal modified by an prepositional
Figure 3 Combination of smaller units into larger configura-
tions. Reproduced from Taylor J R (2002) Cognitive grammar. Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, with permission from Oxford
University Press.
phrase. The pattern, therefore, is able to function
as a schema that sanctions expressions of a similar
internal structure.
Relativism vs. Nativism
The cognitive semantics program highlights the ten-
sion between relativism and nativism. The relativist
position is that a language brings with it certain cat-
egorizations and conceptualizations of the world. The
language that one speaks therefore imposes certain
construals of the world. It will be evident that a
number of themes in cognitive semantics are liable
to emphasize the language-specific, and indeed the
culture-specific character of semantic structures. For
example, emphasis on the symbolic nature of lan-
guage, in particular the proposal to ground syntactic
categories and syntactic relations in conceptual
terms, would lead one to suppose that different syn-
tactic structures, as manifested in different languages,
would be based in different conceptualizations of the

world. Equally, a focus on the role of domain-based
knowledge in the characterization of meaning is likely
to accentuate the culture-specific nature of linguistic
semantics. On the other hand, several themes in
cognitive linguistics are likely to be compatible with
the nativist position, according to which the com-
monalities of human languages reflect a common,
universal cognitive endowment. For example, the
claim that language is embedded in general cognitive
processes and abilities – if combined with the not
unreasonable assumption that all humans share
roughly the same cognitive capacities – would tend
to highlight what is common to the conceptualiza-
tions symbolized in different languages. All languages,
it may be presumed, manifest embodiment, image
schematic and force dynamic construals, Figure-
Ground asymmetries, and nominal vs. relational
profiling.
Aware of the tension between relativism and
nativism, Langacker has scrupulously distinguished
between ‘conceptual structure’ and ‘semantic struc-
ture.’ Conceptual structure – how people perceive
and cognize their world (including the inner world
of the imagination) – is taken to be universal and
based in shared capacities. Semantic structure, on
the other hand, pertains to the way in which concep-
tual structure is formatted in order that it is consistent
with the conventionalized resources of a given lan-
guage. Compare the ways in which English and
French speakers refer to bodily sensations of cold.
English requires an attributive adjectival construction
(I am cold), French require a possessive construction
(J’ai froid ‘I have cold’). Although the experience is
construed differently in the two languages, one can-
not on this basis alone draw the inference that English
and French speakers differ in their phenomenological
experience of ‘being cold.’
In order to substantiate the claim that the different
semantic, syntactic, and lexical resources of different
languages do influence conceptualizations of the
world, it would be necessary to go beyond the purely
linguistic evidence and document correlations betw-
een linguistic organization and nonlinguistic cogni-
tion. Currently, the matter is hotly debated. Evidence
is, however, emerging that the different construals
conventionalized in different languages may some-
times have repercussions in nonlinguistic domains,
giving some support to the relativist position. For
example, in English (as in many other languages),
we may state the location of an object by saying that
it is in front of us, to our left, or behind another
object or person. In some languages, for example,
in Guugu Yimithirr (Guguyimidjir; spoken in
Northern Queensland, Australia) and Tzeltal (spoken
in Mexico), these resources are not available. Rather,
Cognitive Semantics 581
an object’s location has to be stated with respect to
the cardinal points (to the north, etc.) or to some fixed
geophysical landmark (upstream, mountain-wards).
Such differences in the linguistic construal of spatial
relations have been shown to correlate with nonlin-
guistic spatial cognition, for example, speakers’ pro-
ficiency in dead-reckoning, that is, their ability to
track their current location in terms of distance and
direction from their home base (Levinson, 2003).
Conclusion
Meaning is central to linguistic enquiry. Meaning,
after all, is what language is all about. Yet meaning
is a notoriously difficult topic to analyze. What is
meaning, and how are we to study it?
Some semanticists have studied meaning in terms
of relations between language and situations in the
world. Others have focused on relations within a
language, explicating meanings in terms of para-
digmatic relations of contrast, synonymy, hyponymy,
entailment, and so on, and syntagmatic relations of
collocation and co-occurrence. Yet others have tried
to reduce meaning to matters of observable linguistic
behavior. Cognitive semanticists have grasped the
nettle and taken seriously the notion that meanings
are ‘in the head,’ and are to be equated with the con-
ceptualizations entertained by language users. Cogni-
tive semantics offers the researcher a theoretical
framework and a set of analytical tools for exploring
this difficult issue.
See also: Cognitive Grammar; Cognitive Linguistics; Con-
cepts; Construction Grammar; Corpus Lexicography;
Frame Semantics; Grammaticalization; Idioms; Langack-
er, Ronald (b. 1942); Metaphor: Psychological Aspects;
Metonymy; Modularity of Mind and Language; Onoma-
siology and Lexical Variation; Polysemy and Homonymy;
Prototype Semantics; Relativism; Saussure: Theory of the
Sign; Semantics of Spatial Expressions; Spatiality and
Language.
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582 Cognitive Semantics
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University of Chicago Press.
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ment. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
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categories reveal about the mind. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
Lakoff G & Johnson M (1980). Metaphors we live by.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Langacker R W (1987). Foundations of cognitive gram-
mar 1: Theoretical prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford
University Press.
Langacker R W (1990). Concept, image, and symbol:
the cognitive basis of grammar. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Langacker R W (1991). Foundations of cognitive grammar
2: Descriptive application. Stanford: Stanford University
Press.
Langacker R W (1999). Grammar and conceptualization.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Lee D (2001). Cognitive linguistics: an introduction.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cognitive Technology
B Gorayska, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Scholarly Discipline
The primary area of inquiry is Technological Cogni-
tion (TC), which examines what happens to humans
when they augment themselves with technologies,
either physically or cognitively, to amplify their natu-
ral capabilities. The aim of CT/TC is to formulate and
to test theories of human cognitive processes that
interact with technological artifacts and are partially
formed by those interactions. As a fluid, symbiotic
hybrid of the embodied mind and its tools, such a
technologized cognition has epistemic effects: It
affords an understanding and control of the external
world that otherwise would not have been possible.
As rational agents, humans develop and use tools to
empower themselves in the real world which exists
independently of them. This places CT/TC firmly in
the realist tradition, in direct contrast with the
assumptions of postmodernism (see Postmodernism):
if the external world were merely a social construct,
Levinson S (2003). Space in language and cognition:
explorations in cognitive diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Murphy G & Medin D (1985). ‘The role of theories in con-
ceptual coherence.’ Psychological Review 92, 289–316.
Searle J (1992). The rediscovery of the mind. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Slobin D (1996). ‘From ‘‘thought and language’’ to ‘‘think-
ing for speaking’’.’ In Gumperz J & Levinson S (eds.)
Rethinking linguistic relativity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 70–96.
Sweetser E (1990). From etymology to pragmatics: meta-
phorical and cultural aspects of semantic structure. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Talmy L (2000). Towards a cognitive semantics 1: Concep-
tual structuring systems. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Talmy L (2003). Towards a cognitive semantics 2: Typology
and process in concept structuring. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Taylor J R (2002). Cognitive grammar. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Taylor J R (2003). Linguistic categorization (3rd edn.).
Oxford: Oxford University Press. First edition: 1989.
Ungerer F & Schmid H-J (1996). An introduction to cogni-
tive linguistics. London: Longman.
Wittgenstein L (1953). Philosophical investigations.
Anscombe G E M (trans.). Oxford: Blackwell.
where reality is reduced to, and interpreted as, text,
tool augmentation other than that related to natural
language (e.g., metaphor) would be superfluous and
CT/TC would lose its raison d’être. The belief that the
human mind is molded by tools and open to scientific
scrutiny also dissociates CT/TC from any theoretical
framework that is essentially behaviorist in nature
(see Behaviorism: Varieties).
Methodology for Tool Design
Dialectic adaptation of the mind to the operations of
its tools – a process that is often tool-coerced – leads
to technological change. Increased technological so-
phistication forces us to make ethical choices. Of
interest here is a search for design methods and prac-
tice capable of eliminating, before they even arise, any
undesirable effects of tool use on users. The main
question is ‘‘Which design methods and practice will
result in tool-mind-world hybrids that optimally
benefit humankind?’’ CT, understood as a methodol-
ogy for design, is thus a process: an approach to
design, not a product of such a design. We can design
582 Cognitive Semantics
Givón T (1984). Syntax: a functional-typological approach
1. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Johnson M (1987). The body in the mind: the bodily basis of
meaning, imagination, and reason. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Kay P (1997). Words and the grammar of context. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Keil F (1989). Concepts, kinds, and conceptual develop-
ment. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Lakoff G (1987). Women, fire, and dangerous things: what
categories reveal about the mind. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
Lakoff G & Johnson M (1980). Metaphors we live by.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Langacker R W (1987). Foundations of cognitive gram-
mar 1: Theoretical prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford
University Press.
Langacker R W (1990). Concept, image, and symbol:
the cognitive basis of grammar. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Langacker R W (1991). Foundations of cognitive grammar
2: Descriptive application. Stanford: Stanford University
Press.
Langacker R W (1999). Grammar and conceptualization.
Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Lee D (2001). Cognitive linguistics: an introduction.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cognitive Technology
B Gorayska, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Scholarly Discipline
The primary area of inquiry is Technological Cogni-
tion (TC), which examines what happens to humans
when they augment themselves with technologies,
either physically or cognitively, to amplify their natu-
ral capabilities. The aim of CT/TC is to formulate and
to test theories of human cognitive processes that
interact with technological artifacts and are partially
formed by those interactions. As a fluid, symbiotic
hybrid of the embodied mind and its tools, such a
technologized cognition has epistemic effects: It
affords an understanding and control of the external
world that otherwise would not have been possible.
As rational agents, humans develop and use tools to
empower themselves in the real world which exists
independently of them. This places CT/TC firmly in
the realist tradition, in direct contrast with the
assumptions of postmodernism (see Postmodernism):
if the external world were merely a social construct,
Levinson S (2003). Space in language and cognition:
explorations in cognitive diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Murphy G & Medin D (1985). ‘The role of theories in con-
ceptual coherence.’ Psychological Review 92, 289–316.
Searle J (1992). The rediscovery of the mind. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Slobin D (1996). ‘From ‘‘thought and language’’ to ‘‘think-
ing for speaking’’.’ In Gumperz J & Levinson S (eds.)
Rethinking linguistic relativity. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 70–96.
Sweetser E (1990). From etymology to pragmatics: meta-
phorical and cultural aspects of semantic structure. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Talmy L (2000). Towards a cognitive semantics 1: Concep-
tual structuring systems. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Talmy L (2003). Towards a cognitive semantics 2: Typology
and process in concept structuring. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Taylor J R (2002). Cognitive grammar. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Taylor J R (2003). Linguistic categorization (3rd edn.).
Oxford: Oxford University Press. First edition: 1989.
Ungerer F & Schmid H-J (1996). An introduction to cogni-
tive linguistics. London: Longman.
Wittgenstein L (1953). Philosophical investigations.
Anscombe G E M (trans.). Oxford: Blackwell.
where reality is reduced to, and interpreted as, text,
tool augmentation other than that related to natural
language (e.g., metaphor) would be superfluous and
CT/TC would lose its raison d’être. The belief that the
human mind is molded by tools and open to scientific
scrutiny also dissociates CT/TC from any theoretical
framework that is essentially behaviorist in nature
(see Behaviorism: Varieties).
Methodology for Tool Design
Dialectic adaptation of the mind to the operations of
its tools – a process that is often tool-coerced – leads
to technological change. Increased technological so-
phistication forces us to make ethical choices. Of
interest here is a search for design methods and prac-
tice capable of eliminating, before they even arise, any
undesirable effects of tool use on users. The main
question is ‘‘Which design methods and practice will
result in tool-mind-world hybrids that optimally
benefit humankind?’’ CT, understood as a methodol-
ogy for design, is thus a process: an approach to
design, not a product of such a design. We can design

Figure 1 Anthropocentric CT design versus traditional human-
centered design.
tools in accordance with CT principles, informed by
the theoretical developments of TC, but those tools
are not in themselves instances of CT.
The search for ethical factors in tool design
means that studies undertaken within CT are pri-
marily about people and not about the technol-
ogies that augment them. This distinguishes CT
from investigations of the so-called human factors in
designing human-centered systems that promote ‘nat-
uralness’ in human-tool exchanges and aim at design-
ing ergonomic, user-friendly tools, in order to fully
accommodate the limits of human performance and
fully exploit the advantages of the user (as it is
practiced in areas such as Cognitive Ergonomics,
Cognitive Engineering, and Engineering Psychology).
What such practices do not overtly address is the
question of who really stands to benefit. Nor do
they explicitly consider that every tool is a prosthetic
device (some mental functions become redundant),
that the user/tool relation is of one-to-many (with
the dangers of stress overload), that sophisticated
tools can obscure dignity at work, that they separate
people from their natural habitat or change their
perception of their own competence. By contrast,
CT aims to bring humane factors to bear on design.
The tool-mind-world hybrids designed according to
the principles of CT are intended to be essentially
anthropocentric, i.e., they maximize human (user)
benefits (see Figure 1).
Mind-Amplifying Tool
CT takes a broad view of technology. All artifacts are
in some measure cognitive tools. We need to under-
stand them in terms of their goals and computational
constraints as well as in terms of the external physical
and social environments that shape and afford cogni-
tion. Any technology that serves that purpose by
providing a tool has implications for CT/TC.
Cognitive tools can be situated on a continuum of
purposeful use between the extremes of raw material
Cognitive Technology 583
and the brain. They can be more or less externalized
or detached from the brain or the body (cf. bionic
prostheses incorporating direct brain implants with
word processors vs. spades). The greater the detach-
ment, the lower the brain-tool connectivity and align-
ment. The lower the connectivity, the lower the
ability to attend to the feedback the brain receives at
the interface; consequently, the less the need for peo-
ple to adapt to the tool. Within this continuum, we
can distinguish between natural technologies and
fabricated technologies.
Natural Technologies
Natural technologies are instances of mental techné,
i.e., learned skills and mental competencies. Exam-
ples proposed within CT include a body image gener-
ator responsible for perceiving one’s own body
size, the cognitive processes within the prefrontal
cortex responsible for our social competence, or the
cognitive processes evolved in autism. Here also be-
long learned aspects of natural language (see Whorf,
Benjamin Lee (1897–1941)), narratives, mnemonic
systems for improving memory, task-dedicated cogni-
tive processes in logic and arithmetic, or metaphors in
cultural heritage. The mind itself can be viewed as a
complex, goal-driven toolkit of natural cognitive arti-
facts that bootstrap on what is hard-wired, in order to
make available a much bigger set of such artifacts.
The mind thus facilitates interactions with the envi-
ronment through the organization and integration of
perceptual data, memory, and goal-management.
Fabricated Technologies
While some fabricated technologies are tangible
(pens, paper, computers, mechanical gadgets, tele-
communication devices, medical equipment, or flight
simulators are obvious examples), others are not,
but nonetheless they affect our mental capabilities
and competences: e.g., writing systems, narratives,
artificial languages, and so on.
Cybernetic systems such as robots can become a
scientist’s cognitive tools if they are built to further
scientific progress. They have been applied to under-
stand how categorical perception works, how intelli-
gence of natural systems is embodied, and to the
question of whether there is a fundamental distinc-
tion between humans and machines. In artificial in-
telligence, computation has been employed to
formulate and to test theories of intelligence or
the nature of consciousness. In computational lin-
guistics (see Computational Linguistics: History),
automated grammars have aided linguists in their
efforts to understand the workings of natural lan-
guage.
584 Cognitive Technology
Any systematized environment that constrains cog-
nition results in cognitive change. Perhaps the best
example is a prison system where people become habi-
tuated to its inherent operations; many are unable to
function effectively upon release. Or, take an organiza-
tional merger: Its most challenging aspect is consoli-
dating the diversity of employees’ mental cultures.
Perspectives on Mind Change
The simplest form of cognitive change is learning, and
many technologies are purposefully developed to this
end. While people will adapt to any technology, the
extent of their adaptation depends on the extent of the
cognitive fit between the human mind and the aug-
menting technology. When some mental processes are
taken over by technology, the relevant natural technol-
ogies augment, too. A subsequent absence of the tool
may then render the acquired techné ineffective. (As an
example, consider the impact of word processors on
generating texts.) Such a technological augmentation is
not permanent and can be unlearned.
Technological augmentation can also have lasting
effects. Longitudinal studies in archaeology reveal
that cognitive fluidity can be directly linked to tool
use. Studies in primatology and developmental psy-
chology show that language constructs, in particular
storytelling, played a crucial role in handling the
complexity of the social dynamics responsible for
the evolution of the primate brain. Social and narra-
tive intelligence requires a larger neocortex, hence a
bigger brain size.
Can we predict a priori the long-term effects of a
given technology on the human user? The difficulty
of this question has been recognized with respect
to language. The meaning of a linguistic symbol
depends on how, and in which context, it is used
(see Context, Communicative; Wittgenstein, Ludwig
Josef Johann (1889–1951)). Language becomes alive
and unfolds its history via its interaction with people.
Meanings transform across different epochs and dif-
ferent cultures as a result of interpreting and reinter-
preting language. The context of its use, and the
medium through which it is used, have a bearing on
language itself. Consider the impact of the Internet
and mobile phones (texting) on the art of conversa-
tion or the spelling of words. The same is true of any
artifact. Internal structure of design and a form per-
ceived at the interface are insufficient to derive the
social and personal significance or the subsequent
development of a piece of technology. The latter can
only happen in the context in which it is used. In the
absence of such context, there is no unique answer
to the question ‘‘What is this artifact for?’’ Its
affordances for action (the toolness of a tool) only
become manifest when the mind comes in contact
with it in some context.
To predict the consequences of tool use, it is neces-
sary (though not sufficient) to understand the social,
psychological, and cognitive mechanisms that cre-
ate the need for technological augmentation.
A theoretical framework with a potential for such
investigations must necessarily deal with motives
and benefits, in other words, with relevance. Within
CT, the Theory of Relevance, originally developed
with respect to language use (see Relevance Theory),
has been broadened to encompass all cognitive pro-
cesses (symbolic and connectionist) involved in action
planning and goal management. This extended
framework can be invoked to explain the modularity
of mind and remove a variety of difficulties experi-
enced in the symbol-driven acquisition of natural
technologies or the design of fabricated ones. It pro-
vides grounds for classifying a dedicated inferential
comprehension module as an instance of natural CT.
By recognizing a multitude of cognitive interfaces
(e.g., between perception, consciousness, knowledge,
motivation, emotion, action, natural/fabricated tech-
nologies, external situations), the extended frame-
work can assist the exploration of (1) the extent to
which the constraints on our mental life are biologi-
cally or technologically determined, and (2) how lan-
guage techné interacts with other aspects of
cognition, facilitating, ultimately, the choice
between various proposals for developing a huma-
nized linguistic technology. Even so, the big question,
whether, and to what extent, technology can be
humanized, remains an open question (see Adaptabil-
ity in Human-Computer Interaction).
See also: Adaptability in Human-Computer Interaction;
Behaviorism: Varieties; Computational Linguistics: Histo-
ry; Postmodernism; Relevance Theory; Whorf, Benjamin
Lee (1897–1941); Wittgenstein, Ludwig Josef Johann
(1889–1951).
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A Sanford, University of Glasgow, Glasgow,
Scotland, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Coherence in Text and in the Mind
A text is coherent to the extent that it is intelligible,
that there are no aspects of the text that do not relate
to the message, and that there is no sense that things
are missing from the text. We may judge a text as
incoherent if these conditions are not met. There
are two important sources of information that con-
tribute to coherence: text cues and psychological
constraints. Text cues are simply those cues that are
in the text itself, while psychological constraints
refers to processes of thought or inference that add
to what is given by the text. Of course, if as a result of
the way it is written we have to make too many
poorly-guided inferences to understand a message,
then we may say that the text itself appears incoher-
ent. From a psychological perspective, a coherent text
may be thought of as one that brings to mind just the
right things to facilitate easy understanding, while an
incoherent text is one that fails to do that, leaving the
reader or listener with no sense of understanding the
message. Texts that present the reader or listener with
a difficult task may be judged more or less coherent.
This raises an interesting question: how to define a
text as distinct from a random concatenation of sen-
tences. There has been a tradition in text linguistics
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach 585
Marsh J, Nehaniv C L & Gorayska B (eds.) (1997). Pro-
ceedings of the second international Cognitive Technol-
ogy conference CT’97: humanizing the information age.
Palo Alto, CA: IEEE Computer Society Press.
Mey J L (1998). ‘Adaptability.’ In Concise encyclopedia of
pragmatics. Oxford: Elsevier Science. 5–7.
Mey J L (2000). ‘The computer as prosthesis: reflections on
the use of a metaphor.’ Hermes: Journal of Linguistics 24,
15–30.
Norman D A (1993). Things that make us smart. Reading,
MA: Addison-Wesley.
Norman D A (1999). The invisible computer. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Norman D A & Draper S W (eds.) (1986). User-centered
system design. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.
Mithen S J (1996). The prehistory of the mind: a search for
the origins of art, religion and science. London: Orion
Books Ltd.
Wickens C (1992). Engineering psychology and human
performance (2nd edn.). New York: Harper Collins.
that claims that coherence is an intrinsic defining
property of a text. Pieces of writing that do not con-
form to the principles underlying coherence are taken
either to be defective (suboptimal) or not texts at all.
For instance, a text that is coherent must have clauses
that are clearly connected to one another. Second, the
clauses must logically relate to one another, and third,
each sentence must somehow be relevant to the over-
all topic of the discourse. Some of these requirements
can be met from what is actually written in the text
itself. For instance, texts can contain explicit cohesion
markers that provide links between the clauses of a
text. But the other requirements, such as clauses logi-
cally relating to one another, and the clauses being
relevant to the overall topic of the discourse are
plainly psychological; they require the reader/listener
to perceive relevance. We shall amply illustrate this
point in this article.
The psychological view is that coherence is some-
thing that depends on the mental activity of the reader
or listener, on their capacity to understand the message
that the producer of the text is trying to convey. The
text can be thought of as providing clues as to what the
message is, but the reader has to use these cues. So,
from a psychological perspective, we may ask what
mental processes lead to the development of a coher-
ent mental representation of the text (knowledge of
the message), and what clues in texts help to guide
these processes appropriately (see Gernsbacher and
Givon, 1995, for a broad perspective).

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logy: in search of a humane interface. Amsterdam: North
Holland.
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Cognitive Technology.’ AI & Society 10.
Gorayska B & Mey J L (eds.) (2002). International Journal
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nology: co-existence, convergence, co-evolution. Amster-
dam: John Benjamins.
Lindsay R (2001). ‘Perception and Language.’ In Verschueren
J, Östman J-O, Blommaert J & Bulcaen J (eds.) Handbook
of Pragmatics. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
1–20.
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tive Technology. Amsterdam: North Holland.
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach
A Sanford, University of Glasgow, Glasgow,
Scotland, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Coherence in Text and in the Mind
A text is coherent to the extent that it is intelligible,
that there are no aspects of the text that do not relate
to the message, and that there is no sense that things
are missing from the text. We may judge a text as
incoherent if these conditions are not met. There
are two important sources of information that con-
tribute to coherence: text cues and psychological
constraints. Text cues are simply those cues that are
in the text itself, while psychological constraints
refers to processes of thought or inference that add
to what is given by the text. Of course, if as a result of
the way it is written we have to make too many
poorly-guided inferences to understand a message,
then we may say that the text itself appears incoher-
ent. From a psychological perspective, a coherent text
may be thought of as one that brings to mind just the
right things to facilitate easy understanding, while an
incoherent text is one that fails to do that, leaving the
reader or listener with no sense of understanding the
message. Texts that present the reader or listener with
a difficult task may be judged more or less coherent.
This raises an interesting question: how to define a
text as distinct from a random concatenation of sen-
tences. There has been a tradition in text linguistics
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach 585
Marsh J, Nehaniv C L & Gorayska B (eds.) (1997). Pro-
ceedings of the second international Cognitive Technol-
ogy conference CT’97: humanizing the information age.
Palo Alto, CA: IEEE Computer Society Press.
Mey J L (1998). ‘Adaptability.’ In Concise encyclopedia of
pragmatics. Oxford: Elsevier Science. 5–7.
Mey J L (2000). ‘The computer as prosthesis: reflections on
the use of a metaphor.’ Hermes: Journal of Linguistics 24,
15–30.
Norman D A (1993). Things that make us smart. Reading,
MA: Addison-Wesley.
Norman D A (1999). The invisible computer. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Norman D A & Draper S W (eds.) (1986). User-centered
system design. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.
Mithen S J (1996). The prehistory of the mind: a search for
the origins of art, religion and science. London: Orion
Books Ltd.
Wickens C (1992). Engineering psychology and human
performance (2nd edn.). New York: Harper Collins.
that claims that coherence is an intrinsic defining
property of a text. Pieces of writing that do not con-
form to the principles underlying coherence are taken
either to be defective (suboptimal) or not texts at all.
For instance, a text that is coherent must have clauses
that are clearly connected to one another. Second, the
clauses must logically relate to one another, and third,
each sentence must somehow be relevant to the over-
all topic of the discourse. Some of these requirements
can be met from what is actually written in the text
itself. For instance, texts can contain explicit cohesion
markers that provide links between the clauses of a
text. But the other requirements, such as clauses logi-
cally relating to one another, and the clauses being
relevant to the overall topic of the discourse are
plainly psychological; they require the reader/listener
to perceive relevance. We shall amply illustrate this
point in this article.
The psychological view is that coherence is some-
thing that depends on the mental activity of the reader
or listener, on their capacity to understand the message
that the producer of the text is trying to convey. The
text can be thought of as providing clues as to what the
message is, but the reader has to use these cues. So,
from a psychological perspective, we may ask what
mental processes lead to the development of a coher-
ent mental representation of the text (knowledge of
the message), and what clues in texts help to guide
these processes appropriately (see Gernsbacher and
Givon, 1995, for a broad perspective).
586 Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach
Cohesion Markers
One thing that can be seen in texts is a so-called
cohesion marker (see Halliday and Hasan, 1976).
This marker may be a connective, like and, but,
when, while, because, so, therefore, hence, and so
on. Another form of connection is anaphora – using
a term that relates a concept back to one that was
previously introduced, as in (1):
(1) John came home because he was missing his
mother.
Here, because is a connective that links the two
clauses, and he is an anaphoric pronoun that refers
back to John. Both of these devices provide some glue
to connect the two clauses, and help bind them into a
coherent whole. The devices are visible in the text
itself. There are many other cues that signal relation-
ships between the parts of text, expressions like first
(which cues that there will be a successor), next, later,
finally, after that (signaling temporal progressions),
similarly, and in the same way (signaling various ways
in which clauses or phrases may be related to one
another). Such cues are only cues, of course, and
they are neither sufficient nor necessary for a text to
appear coherent. So, a text with ample coherence
markers may be quite incoherent:
(2) John ate a banana. The banana that was on the
plate was brown, and brown is a good color for
hair. The hair of the dog is a drink to
counteract a hangover.
Such texts are not truly coherent, in the sense that
they do not produce an obvious message. So the
presence of cohesion markers is not enough to guar-
antee coherence. The clauses in a text need to be
sensibly related and to form a sensible whole. Of
course, what is sensible depends upon comparing
what is being said in the text with what the reader
knows about the world. It is clearly a matter of
psychology, not just of what is in the text.
Cohesion markers are not necessary for finding a
text to be coherent, either. For instance, consider the
following:
(3) Mr. Smith was killed the other night. The steering
on the car was faulty.
Although there is no stated connection between the
two sentences, readers infer that the second sentence
provides the reason for the state of affairs depicted in
the first sentence, and that makes the text coherent.
There is no cue to this in the text itself. In (4) there
is such a cue:
(4) Mr. Smith was killed the other night, because
the steering on the car was faulty.
So, although explicit connectives may indicate the
relationship between different clauses and proposi-
tions, a text may be quite coherent even in the absence
of such markers, as shown in (3).
What psychological studies have shown is that
for some connectives, their presence does indeed
aid comprehensibility. For instance, if people read
short stories where the last sentence either did or
did not begin with a connective (for instance, How-
ever, the pilot made a safe landing), they spend less
time reading the final sentence when an explicit con-
nective is used than when it is not. The mental repre-
sentation of sentences that have clauses linked by
causal connectives seem to be more stable as well,
since they are better remembered than those that
are not directly linked. So although it may be possi-
ble to infer the link between two clauses, an ex-
plicit cue does help, and of course, may sometimes
be necessary.
The Psychological Concept of a
Connected, Coherent, Discourse
Representation
An almost universal view, within psychology, of how
text is processed is that the text expresses ideas that
become connected to form a coherent whole. A par-
allel idea in text linguistics is that each part of a text is
linked to at least one other part by some sort of
relation (called rhetorical predicates, see Rhetorical
Structure Theory). The idea is similar: that coherence
results from being able to appropriately relate each
bit of the discourse to some other, so that a connected
whole results; however, the psychological approach is
concerned with studying how the connections are
established, and what are the mental entities that
come to be related to each other. The end point is the
mental representation of the discourse and is part of
memory. Because memory is fallible, the final repre-
sentation will be incomplete too.
As discussed above, connectives (explicit or in-
ferred) are partly responsible for the local coherence
of pieces of text (adjacent pairs of sentences, say). But
a text will give rise to a coherent mental representa-
tion at several levels. It is possible to illustrate some
aspects of connectivity with the following example:
(5) (a) Harry was trying to clean up the house.
(b) He asked Mary to put the book in the box
on the table. (c) She said she was too busy to
do that. (d) She had to write out a check for
her friend Jill because she had no money
left. (e) Harry nearly exploded. (f) He
thought that they spent too much money on
charities as it was. (g) Mary suddenly burst
into tears.

Connecting Individuals: Anaphoric Reference
The same individuals appear over and again in this
simple story. Harry in (a) is He in (b), Harry in (e),
and He in (f). Identifying Harry in this way is impor-
tant, since that way we can connect the actions and
reactions of that individual. Sometimes Harry is used
in preference to He, as in (e). Using a name like this
occurs especially when the individual concerned has
not been at the center of the unfolding text (in focus)
for a while; psycholinguistic work has shown that
the use of a name is especially useful when a character
is being ‘reintroduced,’ as Harry is in (e). Use of
He would still be intelligible, but slower processing
of the sentence would result, showing a difficulty
with using a pronoun.
Processing difficulties are minimized with the char-
acter Harry because there is only one male character
in the story. But the situation with Mary is different
because there are two female characters, with Jill
introduced in (d). In fact, in sentence (d), the reader
has to work out who she is from general knowledge,
not from the text. In this case, because it would be a
person with money who could give money to some-
one without money, the second she is treated as co-
referential with Jill, not Mary. Psychological work
has shown that such inferential processes, although
they seem automatic, are time-consuming.
A further anaphoric connector in the passage
is worthy of note. First, in (c), there is that. Here
the expression refers to the event Mary puts the
book in the box on the table. Terms like this and
that can refer to huge conglomerations of events,
as in a very complex story leading to the statement
This was too much for Harry. So, to summarize,
anaphoric devices are vital to producing a coherent
mental representation of who did what. A major
review of psychological work on anaphora was
Garnham (2000).
Causal Connectivity
With narrative texts especially, the reader has to es-
tablish causal links between the various parts of the
text, and the whole structure gives rise to global
coherence. So, in (a), Harry is given a goal. In (b), a
further action is introduced. How is this interpreted?
Most people interpret the action as being part of
realizing this goal. However, there is nothing in the
text to indicate this. In our example, there is hardly
anything to tell the reader what the causal structure
is. In the passage below, we have included some
connectives that fill out the causal structure:
(6) Harry was trying to clear up the house. TO HELP
WITH HIS GOAL He asked Mary to put the
book in the box on the bookshelf. HOWEVER
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach 587
(BLOCKING HIS GOAL) She said that she was
too busy to do that. THE REASON WAS She had
to write out a check for her friend Jill because she
had no money left. AS A RESULT OF THIS
REASON Harry nearly exploded. THE
REASON WAS He thought they spent too much
on charities as it was. AS A RESULT Mary
suddenly burst into tears.
In order to achieve a very minimal understanding of
this text, the information provided in bold, or some-
thing like it, must be inferred by the reader and
incorporated into their mental representation of the
discourse. A number of studies have shown that judg-
ments of how clearly the clauses of texts are causally
related predicts a number of performance measures
during reading, including the time taken to read sen-
tences, judgments of how well sentences fit into texts,
the judged coherence of texts as a whole, and the ease
of recalling texts (see Langston and Trabasso, 1999).
When people understand texts, they appear to do so
by forming mental representations consisting of caus-
al chains, and the robustness of the causal chains
reflects coherence.
Studies of Inferential Activity
Necessity and Elaboration
Everywhere in discourse, readers are called upon to
make inferences; without them, there would be no
coherence. A key distinction is made between infer-
ences that are necessary for coherence and inferences
that are not necessary, but rather just fill out the
picture being portrayed by the writer. Inferring causal
relations, and anaphoric relations, are generally con-
sidered to be necessary inferences. In general, when a
necessary inference is made, it can be shown to take
time. One classic case (Haviland and Clark, 1974) is:
(7) Harry took the picnic things from the trunk.
(8) The beer was warm.
On reading (8), to understand how The beer fits into
things, the reader must infer that beer was part of the
picnic supplies. Sentence (8) took longer to read after
(7) than it did after (9):
(9) Harry took the beer from the trunk.
Thus measurable time is needed to make the neces-
sary bridging inference. Bridging inferences are as-
sumed to be made only when necessary, when a gap
in the connectivity of clauses is detected. There is no
inference that beer might be part of the picnic things
when just sentence (7) is read; rather, the inference is
triggered when (8) is encountered. So such inferences
are also called backwards inferences.
588 Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach
Necessary backwards-bridging inferences are con-
trasted with forward elaborative inferences. For
instance, given (10), what might one infer?
(10) Unable to control his rage, the angry husband
threw the valuable antique vase at the wall.
There are many possibilities, but a highly plausible
one is that the vase broke. If on reading (10) this
inference were made, then it would be an elaboration
over what was said, and as it is not made because it
is needed, it is called a forward inference. If this
were followed by (11), the forward inference would
facilitate comprehension:
(11) It cost well over $100 to replace.
But such an inference would not help us understand
(12):
(12) He had been keeping his emotions bottled
for weeks.
There has been much debate over whether such elab-
orative inferences are typical, and if and when they
are made. Clearly there are many such inferences that
might be made. For instance, given (11), one might
infer that the wife of the angry husband might be in
some danger, that the husband might become more
violent, that he felt ashamed afterwards, etc. Do we
make all, or any, of such plausible inferences?
Because such inferences are indeed so plausible, it
might be supposed that they are routinely made. In
order to test whether an inference has been made, a
variety of priming tasks have been used. With these,
a test word is presented after a short passage. For
instance, after (10), the test word BROKE might be
presented. This word would also be presented after a
sentence in which information pertinent to breaking
is absent. Subjects are asked to read out loud the test
word when it appears. The critical question is wheth-
er the word is read more rapidly after a priming
sentence (11), when compared with a nonpriming sen-
tence. If the word is read more rapidly, then it has
been primed, and this suggests that the inference that
the vase had broken had been made. Several different
tests have been devised based on this idea. Under
some circumstances, there has been weak evidence
for such forward inferences happening immediately,
though the general view is that they are made only
under very constrained conditions and are not typi-
cal. The paucity of evidence for elaborative inferences
was summed up in McKoon and Ratcliff (1992), who
put forward the idea that during reading, immediate
forwards elaborative inferences are typically mini-
mal, and inferences are largely restricted to the nec-
essary, backward, variety. However, in the long
term, elaborative inferences have to be made, since
comprehension is only possible when a mental model
of what the text is about is constructed. We shall go
on to look at some aspects of such a model.
Situation-Specific Information: Scenario-Theory
For a discourse to be understood, it has to be situated
with respect to background knowledge. For instance:
(13) John drove to London yesterday.
(14) The car broke down halfway.
Superficially, this is similar to examples (7) and (8),
in that a backwards-bridging inference could be
made to link The car in (14) to drove in (13). Such a
backwards-inference would be time-consuming for
reading (14). However, several studies have shown
that the time to read (14) is no greater to read after
(13) than it is after (15), where the car is mentioned
explicitly:
(15) John took his car to London yesterday.
The key difference between The car in (15) and The
beer in (8) is that car is typically definitional of driv-
ing, whereas beer is just a plausible option for picnic
things. So, for entities that are part of the meaning of
actions, those entities appear to be included in the
representation of the sentence depicting the action.
The concept <car> is part of the representation of the
action drove to a place. Sanford and Garrod (1981,
1998) put forward the idea that when we read a text,
we identify as quickly as possible the background
situation in which the propositions in the text are
grounded; they further assumed that much of what
we know is represented in a situation-specific way, in
structures that they termed scenarios. Driving is one
example, where the concept <car>, and expected
actions, are represented. Another well-known illus-
tration is of having a meal in restaurant, where the
events, the order of events (find table, get waiter,
order meal, eat courses in expected order, get bill,
pay, leave, etc.), and the principle actors (customer,
waiter, wine-waiter) are represented. In general, if a
new entity is introduced into a text, either it will
already be part of the prior representation (scenario),
or a backwards inference will have to made.
Using situation-based knowledge is essential for
developing a coherent representation, and a simple
example is:
(16) Fred put the wallpaper on the table. Then he
rested his mug of coffee on the paper.
This pair of sentences is immediately coherent;
nothing seems out of place. However, (17) depicts
an unrealistic state of affairs, and this is immediately
recognized:

(17) Fred put the wallpaper on the wall. Then he
rested his mug of coffee on the paper.
Sentences (16) and (17) depict different situations:
putting wallpaper on a table leaves the paper as a
horizontal surface, while putting it on the wall leaves
it in a vertical plane, so that the cup would just fall
down. The implication is that people try to build a
representation of what is being depicted with the each
pair of sentences, and in order to do that, they have to
use situation-specific knowledge.
Keeping Track of Things: Situation Models The
kind of situation-specific knowledge discussed above
is stereotyped, and connecting language input to
representations of specific situations is essential for
adequate understanding, and hence coherence. But
this is plainly not enough, in that texts do not simply
refer to static situations; rather, as they unfold they
depict a dynamic passage of events. Even the simple
example (6) serves to illustrate that, which is why the
development of a causal chain is so important for a
coherent representation.
A bold attempt to grasp the nettle of this more
dynamic aspect of comprehension is found in the
concept of the situation model (see Zwaan and
Radvansky, 1998 for a detailed overview). They pro-
pose that as texts unfold, readers may keep track of a
number of things. Consider first space. In some
stories, people move around in space, and there is
evidence that readers keep track of these movements.
So, it turns out that readers have faster access to
mental representations of rooms where protagonists
are, or toward which protagonists are heading, than
to representations of other rooms. This suggests
two things: readers take the perspective of protago-
nists (see Duchan et al., 1995, for an introduction to
this issue), and they update the focus of interest
to where the protagonist is, or is said to be heading.
Of course, not all stories are about events in space,
but when they are, readers generally update where the
protagonist is in their mental representation of
the text.
Several researchers have suggested that there are
at least five dimensions to situations that could
be encoded by the reader: space (as above), time,
causation (briefly discussed above), intentionality,
and protagonist. It has been plausibly argued that
the comprehension of narratives revolves around
keeping track of the goals and plans of protagonists
(intentionality). It has been shown by probing readers
that they appear to make inferences based on what
motivates the actions of protagonists, even when
this information is not directly available. The
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach 589
protagonist category refers to the people and things
in the mental representation. They are the entities
that are being updated with respect to place, time,
and intentionality. This category leads to a further
aspect that has to be understood about characters
if coherence is to be achieved: the emotions of the
protagonists. Experimental evidence suggests that
the emotional states of protagonists might be in-
ferred as forward inferences (see the classic work of
Gernsbacher et al., 1992).
Multiple Viewpoints A further aspect of coherence
is that with many texts, alternative versions of real-
ity may have to be entertained if the text is to be
understood. Consider (18):
(18) John put his wallet on the dresser. Unbeknownst
to John, Mary later moved it to his bedside
table. When he came in from gardening,
John went to get his wallet. First he tried his
bedside table.
John’s action doesn’t make sense in our situation
model, because we represent what John believes is
the location of his wallet, and we also represent
where the wallet actually is. The capacity to capture
the beliefs of others and how these beliefs relate to
what we know to be reality is called having a ‘Theory
of Mind.’ Without the capacity to make these repre-
sentations, texts like (18) could not be understood as
anomalous, and would display apparent coherence
that was unwarranted. Dealing with multiple view-
points like this has received some attention, and given
its prevalence in narratives and real-life situations,
deserves more. However, one major discovery is that
some people do not have the capacity to handle these
multiple perspectives (it is particularly a feature of
autism; see Baron-Cohen, 1995; for a very detailed
analysis of multiple viewpoints and coherence, see
Fauconnier, 1994).
Coherence and Selective Processing
We have portrayed coherence as the establishment of
connections between things mentioned in a text,
actions mentioned in a text, and world knowledge
supporting interpretation. There is an extra ingredi-
ent that has to be included, and that is selectivity in
processing. Not all parts of texts are equally impor-
tant, and a key aspect of coherence is being able to
sort out what is important from what is mere detail
(or even irrelevant). Coherence derives from not
merely being able to join up what is in a text and
relate it to knowledge, but to be able to selectively
attend to what is salient – the gist of a message.
590 Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach
Selective Processing
Ideas as to what constitutes the gist of a text have
been around since the seminal work of Walter Kintsch
and his colleagues (see Kintsch, 1977, for a sample
of this important work). Essentially, the idea was
that what was in texts could be expressed as proposi-
tions (or idea units). Furthermore, some propositions
were dependents of others, and that the less depen-
dent a proposition, the closer it corresponded to gist.
Consider the following:
(19) Harry was tired. He planned to go on
package holiday to Greece.
In the second sentence, we learn that Harry planned
to go on holiday (the key proposition), that the type of
holiday was a package holiday (a dependent propo-
sition: there can be no package holiday without there
being a holiday), and that the holiday was in Greece
(another dependent proposition). Many experiments
on summarizing texts, and on remembering texts,
showed that summaries and memories tended to
lose dependent propositions. Thus a ‘gist’ representa-
tion of (19) might include Harry planned a holiday,
but might exclude the package-deal component, or
the fact that he planned to take it in Greece (unless
these details become more salient later).
There are cues in the structure of texts themselves
as to what might be the most important information.
For instance, discourse focus is a device for indicating
where salient information lies. In (20), the salient
information is with the hat, because that specifies
which man was arrested. In (21), however, with the
hat is merely an incidental attribute of the man.
(20) Q: Which man was it who was in trouble?
A: The man with the hat was arrested.
(21) Q: What was it that happened last night?
A: The man with the hat was arrested.
Recent experiments have shown that if subjects read a
text similar to (20) once, and then immediately after-
wards read the same thing again, but with hat
changed to cap, they tend to notice the change. But
if they read (21), they tend not to notice the change.
Focus influences what is important, and how deeply
the text is processed, showing how it controls pat-
terns of understanding (see Sanford and Sturt, 2002,
for a review of shallow processing).
Other aspects of text structure influence what is
taken into account in producing a coherent represen-
tation. Emphasis may be put on quite different
aspects of a state of affairs by simple devices in lan-
guage, such as negation and quantification. For in-
stance, here are two ways of depicting the fat content
of a product:
(22) This product is 90% fat free.
(23) This product contains 10% fat.
Experiments have shown that people judge products
to be less greasy and more healthy if the second of
these descriptions is used (even if they taste a prod-
uct). This is because the first description focuses on
the amount of nonfat, whereas the second focuses
on the amount of fat. Such focusing can happen im-
plicitly, if terms are negative. Experimental work has
shown that both of these statements are coherent, but
in the fat-free case, people do not interpret the
amount of fat-freeness against how much fat would
be good or bad in a product. The fat-free formulation
inhibits the use of world-knowledge, while the %-fat
formulation does not inhibit it. Thus 75% fat free and
95% fat free are both considered to be more or less
equally a good thing, while 25% fat is considered to
be much less healthy than 5% fat (see Sanford and
Moxey, 2003, for a review of these arguments for a
variety of situations).
Linking together different elements in a text and
linking text to knowledge are important for a coher-
ent interpretation of a text to be made; so too is being
selective by choosing perspectives to build coherent
structures around, and being selective to avoid over-
elaborating inferences that are not relevant. To
achieve these goals, the writer or speaker has
to choose the right linguistic devices and forms of
words to guide the reader/listener into making the
right inferences, using the sort of knowledge the
producer intended. The capacity of a producer to do
this effectively is what makes the discourse they are
producing appear coherent.
See also: Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Ap-
proaches; Discourse Processing; Rhetorical Structure
Theory.
Bibliography
Baron-Cohen S (1995). Mindblindness: an essay on autism
and Theory of Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Duchan J F, Bruder G A & Hewitt L E (1995). Deixis in
narrative: a cognitive science perspective. Hillsdale, NJ:
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Fauconnier G (1994). Mental spaces. New York:
Cambridge University Press.
Garnham A (2000). Mental models and the interpretation
of anaphora. Hove: Psychology Press.
Gernsbacher M A & Givon T (eds.) (1995). Coherence in
spontaneous text. Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Gernsbacher M A, Goldsmith H H & Robertson R R W
(1992). ‘Do readers mentally represent fictional charac-
ters emotional states?’ Cognition and Emotion 6, 89–111.

Halliday M A K & Hasan R (1976). Cohesion in English.
London: Longman.
Haviland S E & Clark H H (1974). ‘What’s new? Acquiring
new information as a processing comprehension.’ Journal
of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 13, 512–521.
Kintsch W (1977). Memory and cognition. New York:
Wiley.
Langston M & Trabasso T (1999). ‘Modelling causal inte-
gration and availability of information during compre-
hension of narrative texts.’ In van Oostendorp H &
Goldman S R (eds.) The construction of mental represen-
tations during reading. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates.
McKoon G & Ratcliff R (1992). ‘Inferences during
reading.’ Psychological Review 99, 440–466.
Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches
T Sanders and H Pander Maat, Utrecht Institute of
Linguistics OTS, Utrecht University, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Discourse is more than a random set of utterances: it
shows connectedness. A central objective of linguists
working on the discourse level is to characterize
this connectedness. Linguists have traditionally ap-
proached this problem by looking at overt linguistic
elements and structures. In their famous Cohesion in
English, Halliday and Hasan (1976) describe text
connectedness in terms of reference, substitution, el-
lipsis, conjunction, and lexical cohesion. According
to Halliday and Hasan (1976: 13), these explicit clues
make a text a text. Cohesion occurs ‘‘when the inter-
pretation of some element in the discourse is depen-
dent on that of another’’ (Halliday and Hasan, 1976:
4). The following types of cohesion are distinguished.
. Reference: two linguistic elements are related in
what they refer to.
Jan lives near the park. He often goes there.
. Substitution: a linguistic element is not repeated
but is replaced by a substitution item.
Daan loves strawberry ice-creams. He has one every
day.
. Ellipsis: one of the identical linguistic elements is
omitted.
All the children had an ice-cream today. Eva chose
strawberry. Arthur had orange and Willem too.
. Conjunction: a semantic relation is explicitly
marked.
Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches 591
Sanford A J & Garrod S C (1981). Understanding written
language: explorations beyond the sentence. Chichester:
John Wiley and Sons.
Sanford A J & Garrod S C (1998). ‘The role of scenario
mapping in text comprehension.’ Discourse Processes 26,
159–190.
Sanford A J & Moxey L M (2003). ‘New perspectives
on the expression of quantity.’ Current Directions in
Psychological Science 12, 240–242.
Sanford A J & Sturt P (2002). ‘Depth of processing in
language comprehension: not noticing the evidence.’
Trends in Cognitive Sciences 6, 382–386.
Zwaan R A & Radvansky G A (1998). ‘Situation models
in language comprehension and memory.’ Psychological
Bulletin 123, 162–185.
Eva walked into town, because she wanted an ice-
cream.
. Lexical cohesion: two elements share a lexical field
(collocation).
Why does this little boy wriggle all the time? Girls
don’t wriggle (Halliday and Hasan, 1976: 285).
It was hot. Daan was lining up for an ice-cream.
While lexical cohesion is obviously achieved by the
selection of vocabulary, the other types of cohesion
are considered as grammatical cohesion. The notion
of lexical cohesion might need some further explana-
tion. Collocation is the most problematic part of
lexical cohesion (Halliday and Hasan, 1976: 284).
The analysis of the first example of lexical cohesion
above would be that girls and boys have a relation-
ship of complementarity and are therefore related by
lexical cohesion. The basis of lexical cohesion is in
fact extended to any pair of lexical items that stand
next to each other in some recognizable lexicoseman-
tic relation. Let us now consider the second example
of lexical cohesion mentioned above. Do hot weather
and ice-cream belong to the same lexical field? Do
they share a lexicosemantic relationship? If we want
to account for the connectedness in this example, we
would have to assume that such a shared lexico-
semantic relationship holds, since the other forms of
cohesion do not hold. The clearest cases of lexical
cohesion are those in which a lexical item is replaced
by another item that is systematically related to the
first one. The class of general noun, for instance, is a
small set of nouns having generalized reference with-
in the major noun classes, such as ‘human noun’:

Halliday M A K & Hasan R (1976). Cohesion in English.
London: Longman.
Haviland S E & Clark H H (1974). ‘What’s new? Acquiring
new information as a processing comprehension.’ Journal
of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 13, 512–521.
Kintsch W (1977). Memory and cognition. New York:
Wiley.
Langston M & Trabasso T (1999). ‘Modelling causal inte-
gration and availability of information during compre-
hension of narrative texts.’ In van Oostendorp H &
Goldman S R (eds.) The construction of mental represen-
tations during reading. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates.
McKoon G & Ratcliff R (1992). ‘Inferences during
reading.’ Psychological Review 99, 440–466.
Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches
T Sanders and H Pander Maat, Utrecht Institute of
Linguistics OTS, Utrecht University, The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Discourse is more than a random set of utterances: it
shows connectedness. A central objective of linguists
working on the discourse level is to characterize
this connectedness. Linguists have traditionally ap-
proached this problem by looking at overt linguistic
elements and structures. In their famous Cohesion in
English, Halliday and Hasan (1976) describe text
connectedness in terms of reference, substitution, el-
lipsis, conjunction, and lexical cohesion. According
to Halliday and Hasan (1976: 13), these explicit clues
make a text a text. Cohesion occurs ‘‘when the inter-
pretation of some element in the discourse is depen-
dent on that of another’’ (Halliday and Hasan, 1976:
4). The following types of cohesion are distinguished.
. Reference: two linguistic elements are related in
what they refer to.
Jan lives near the park. He often goes there.
. Substitution: a linguistic element is not repeated
but is replaced by a substitution item.
Daan loves strawberry ice-creams. He has one every
day.
. Ellipsis: one of the identical linguistic elements is
omitted.
All the children had an ice-cream today. Eva chose
strawberry. Arthur had orange and Willem too.
. Conjunction: a semantic relation is explicitly
marked.
Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches 591
Sanford A J & Garrod S C (1981). Understanding written
language: explorations beyond the sentence. Chichester:
John Wiley and Sons.
Sanford A J & Garrod S C (1998). ‘The role of scenario
mapping in text comprehension.’ Discourse Processes 26,
159–190.
Sanford A J & Moxey L M (2003). ‘New perspectives
on the expression of quantity.’ Current Directions in
Psychological Science 12, 240–242.
Sanford A J & Sturt P (2002). ‘Depth of processing in
language comprehension: not noticing the evidence.’
Trends in Cognitive Sciences 6, 382–386.
Zwaan R A & Radvansky G A (1998). ‘Situation models
in language comprehension and memory.’ Psychological
Bulletin 123, 162–185.
Eva walked into town, because she wanted an ice-
cream.
. Lexical cohesion: two elements share a lexical field
(collocation).
Why does this little boy wriggle all the time? Girls
don’t wriggle (Halliday and Hasan, 1976: 285).
It was hot. Daan was lining up for an ice-cream.
While lexical cohesion is obviously achieved by the
selection of vocabulary, the other types of cohesion
are considered as grammatical cohesion. The notion
of lexical cohesion might need some further explana-
tion. Collocation is the most problematic part of
lexical cohesion (Halliday and Hasan, 1976: 284).
The analysis of the first example of lexical cohesion
above would be that girls and boys have a relation-
ship of complementarity and are therefore related by
lexical cohesion. The basis of lexical cohesion is in
fact extended to any pair of lexical items that stand
next to each other in some recognizable lexicoseman-
tic relation. Let us now consider the second example
of lexical cohesion mentioned above. Do hot weather
and ice-cream belong to the same lexical field? Do
they share a lexicosemantic relationship? If we want
to account for the connectedness in this example, we
would have to assume that such a shared lexico-
semantic relationship holds, since the other forms of
cohesion do not hold. The clearest cases of lexical
cohesion are those in which a lexical item is replaced
by another item that is systematically related to the
first one. The class of general noun, for instance, is a
small set of nouns having generalized reference with-
in the major noun classes, such as ‘human noun’:
592 Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches
people, person, man, woman, child, boy, girl. Cohe-
sion achieved by anaphoric reference items like the
man or the girl is very similar to cohesion achieved by
reference with pronouns like he or she, although Hal-
liday and Hasan (1976: 276) state explicitly what the
difference is: ‘‘the form with general noun, the man,
opens up another possibility, that of introducing an
interpersonal element into the meaning, which is ab-
sent in the case of the personal pronoun.’’ This inter-
esting observation points forward to similar
observations formulated in theories developed much
later, as in Accessibility Theory (Ariel, 1990) and
Mental Space Theory (Fauconnier, 1994; Fauconnier
and Sweetser, 1996; Sanders and Redeker, 1996). This
is only one example in which Cohesion in English
shows itself to be a seminal work, in some respects
ahead of its time.
After the publication of cohesion in English, the
notion of cohesion was widely accepted as a tool for
the analysis of text beyond the sentence level. It was
used to characterize text structure, but also to study
language development and written composition
(Lintermann-Rygh, 1985). Martin’s English text
(1992) is a more recent elaboration of the cohesion
work. It also starts from a systemic functional
approach to language and claims to provide a com-
prehensive set of discourse analyses for any English
text.
Useful and seminal as the cohesion approach may
be, there seem to be some principled problems with it.
For instance, the notion of lexical cohesion is hard to
define. The intuition that ‘hot weather’ and ‘ice-
cream’ belong to the same lexical field may be shared
by many people in modern Western culture, but now
consider example (1).
(1) The winter of 1963 was very cold. Many barn
owls died.
Here it is much harder to imagine that ‘cold winters’
and ‘barn owls,’ or even ‘dying barn owls,’ should be
related by a lexical field. Still, relating these items is
necessary to account for the connectedness in (1).
This problem is hardly solved by Halliday and
Hasan’s (1976: 290) advice ‘‘to use common sense,
combined with the knowledge that we have, as speak-
ers of a language, of the nature and structure of its
vocabulary.’’ Examples like (1) constitute a major
problem for a cohesion approach: this short text pre-
sents no interpretation difficulties whatsoever, but
there is no overt linguistic signal either. This suggests
that cohesion is not a necessary condition for con-
nectedness. Such a conclusion is corroborated by
cases like (2), from a Dutch electronic newspaper
(Sanders and Spooren, in press), to which we added
the segment-indices (a) and (b).
(2a) Greenpeace heeft in het Zuid-Duitse Beieren een
nucleair transport verstoord.
(2b) Demonstranten ketenden zich vast aan de rails.
(Telegraaf-i, April 10, 2001)
(2a) ‘Greenpeace has impeded a nuclear
transportation in the Southern German state
Bayern.’
(2b) ‘Demonstrators chained themselves to the rails.’
This short electronic news item does not create any
interpretative difficulties. However, in order to under-
stand the fragment correctly, a massive amount of
inferencing has to take place. For instance, we need
to infer that the nuclear transportation was not dis-
turbed by the organization Greenpeace, but by mem-
bers of that organization; that the protesters are
members of the organization; that the nuclear trans-
portation took place by train, etc. Some of these
inferences are based on world knowledge, for in-
stance that organizations consist of people and that
people, but not organizations, can carry out actions
like the one described here. Others are based on dis-
course structural characteristics. One example is the
phrase the rails. This definite noun phrase suggests
that its referent is given in some way. But because
there is no explicit candidate antecedent, the reader
is invited to link it up with transportation, the most
plausible interpretation being that the transportation
takes place by a vehicle on rails, i.e., a train.
It is clear by now that the cohesion approach to
connectedness is inadequate. Instead, the dominant
view has come to be that the connectedness of dis-
course is a characteristic of the mental representation
of the text rather than of the text itself. The connect-
edness thus conceived is often called coherence (see
Coherence: Psycholinguistic Approach). Language
users establish coherence by actively relating the dif-
ferent information units in the text.
Generally speaking, there are two respects in which
texts can cohere:
1. Referential coherence: smaller linguistic units
(often nominal groups) may relate to the same
mental referent (see Discourse Anaphora);
2. Relational coherence: text segments (most often
conceived of as clauses) are connected by coher-
ence relations like Cause–Consequence between
them (see Clause Relations).
Although there is a principled difference between the
cohesion and the coherence approaches to discourse,
the two are more related than one might think. We need
to realize that coherence phenomena may be of a cog-
nitive nature, but that their reconstruction is often
based on linguistic signals in the text itself. Both coher-
ence phenomena under consideration – referential

and relational coherence – have clear linguistic indi-
cators that can be taken as processing instructions.
For referential coherence these are devices such as
pronouns and demonstratives, and for relational co-
herence these are connectives and (other) lexical mar-
kers of relations, such as cue phrases and signaling
phrases. A major research issue is the relation be-
tween the linguistic surface code (what Givón, 1995,
calls ‘grammar as a processing instructor’) and
aspects of the discourse representation.
In the domain of referential coherence, this relation
can be illustrated by the finding that different refer-
ential devices correspond to different degrees of acti-
vation for the referent in question. For instance, a
discourse topic may be referred to quite elaborately
in the first sentence but once the referent has been
identified, pronominal forms suffice. This is not a
coincidence. Many linguists have noted this regulari-
ty (e.g., Ariel, 1990; Givón, 1992; Chafe, 1994). Ariel
(1990, 2001), for instance, has argued that this type
of pattern in grammatical coding should be under-
stood to guide processing. In her accessibility theory,
‘high accessibility markers’ use little linguistic mate-
rial and signal the default choice of continued activa-
tion. By contrast, ‘low accessibility markers’ contain
more linguistic material and signal the introduction
of a new referent (see Accessibility Theory).
We now turn to (signals of) relational coherence.
Coherence relations taken into account for the
connectedness in readers’ cognitive text representa-
tion (cf. Hobbs, 1979; Sanders et al., 1992). They
arealso termed rhetorical relations (Mann and
Thompson, 1986, 1988, 1992) or clause relations,
which constitute discourse patterns at a higher
text level (Hoey, 1983; see Problem-Solution Pat-
terns). Coherence relations are meaning relations con-
necting two text segments. A defining characteristic
for these relations is that the interpretation of the
related segments needs to provide more information
than is provided by the sum of the segments taken
in isolation. Examples are relations like Cause-
Consequence, List, and Problem-Solution. These rela-
tions are conceptual and they can, but need not, be
made explicit by linguistic markers, so-called connec-
tives (because, so, however, although) and lexical cue
phrases (for that reason, as a result, on the other hand)
(see Connectives in Text). In the last decade, a signifi-
cant part of research on coherence relations has fo-
cused on the question of how the many different sets
of relations should be organized (Hovy, 1990; Knott
and Dale, 1994). Sanders et al. (1992) have started to
define the ‘relations among the relations,’ relying on
the intuition that some coherence relations are more
alike than others. For instance, the relations in (3), (4),
and (5) all express (a certain type of) causality; they
Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches 593
express relations of Cause–Consequence/Volitional
result (3), Argument–Claim/Conclusion (4) and
Speech Act Causality (5): ‘This is boring watching
this stupid bird all the time. I propose we go home
now!’ The relations expressed in (6) and (7), however,
do not express causal, but rather additive relations.
Furthermore, a negative relation is expressed in (6).
All other examples express positive relations, and
(7) expresses an enumeration relation.
(3) The buzzard was looking for prey. The bird was
soaring in the air for hours.
(4) The bird has been soaring in the air for hours
now. It must be a buzzard.
(5) The buzzard has been soaring in the air for hours
now. Let’s finally go home!
(6) The buzzard was soaring in the air for hours.
Yesterday we did not see it all day.
(7) The buzzard was soaring in the air for hours.
There was a peregrine falcon in the area, too.
Sweetser (1990) introduced a distinction dominant
in many existing classification proposals, namely that
between content relations (also sometimes called ide-
ational, external, or semantic relations), epistemic
relations, and speech act relations. In the first type
of relation, segments are related because of their
propositional content, i.e., the locutionary meaning
of the segments. They describe events that cohere in
the world. If this distinction is applied to the set of
examples above, the causal relation (3) is a content
relation, whereas (4) is an epistemic relation, and (5)
a speech act relation. This systematic difference be-
tween types of relation has been noted by many stu-
dents of discourse coherence (see Connectives in
Text). Still, there is a lively debate about whether
this distinction should be conceived of in terms of
domains, or rather in terms of subjectivity; often,
semantic differences between connectives are used as
linguistic evidence for proposals [see contributions to
special issues and edited volumes like Spooren and
Risselada (1997); Risselada and Spooren (1998);
Sanders, Schilperoord and Spooren (2001);
and Knott, Sanders and Oberlander (2001); further
see Pander Maat (1999)]. Others have argued that
coherence is a multilevel phenomenon, so that two
segments may be simultaneously related on different
levels (Moore and Pollack, 1992; Bateman and
Rondhuis, 1997); see Sanders and Spooren (1999)
for discussion.
So far, we have discussed connectedness as it occurs
in both spoken/dialogical discourse and written/
monological text. However, the connectedness of
spoken discourse is established by many other means
than the ones discussed so far. Aspects of discourse
594 Cohesion and Coherence: Linguistic Approaches
structure that are specific to spoken language include
the occurrence of adjacency pairs, i.e., minimal pairs
like Question-Answer and Summons-Response
(Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson, 1974), and prosody.
These topics are subject to ongoing investigations
(see especially Ford, Fox and Thompson, 2001) that
we consider important because they relate linguistic
subdisciplines like grammar and the study of conver-
sation.
In addition, it is clear that linguistic signals of
coherence, such as connectives, have additional func-
tions in conversations. For instance, connectives func-
tion to express coherence relations between segments,
like but in example (8), which expresses a contrastive
relation.
(8) The buzzard was soaring in the air for hours. But
yesterday we did not see it all day.
In conversations, this use of connectives is also
found, but at the same time, connectives frequently
function as sequential markers: for instance, they
signal the move from a digression back to the main
line of the conversation or even signal turn-taking. In
this type of use, connectives are often referred to as
discourse markers (Schiffrin, 2001) (see Particles in
Spoken Discourse).
In sum, we have discussed the principled difference
between two answers to the question ‘how to account
for connectedness of text and discourse?’ We have
seen that, while cohesion seeks the answer in overt
textual signals, a coherence approach considers
connectedness to be of a cognitive nature.
A coherence approach opens the way to a fruitful
interaction between text linguistics, discourse psy-
chology, and cognitive science, but at the same does
not neglect the attention for linguistic detail charac-
terizing the cohesion approach. The coherence para-
digm is dominant in most recent work on the
structure and the processing of discourse (see,
among many others, Hobbs, 1990; Garnham and
Oakhill, 1992; Sanders, Spooren and Noordman,
1992 ; Gernsbacher and Givón, 1995; Noordman
and Vonk, 1997; Kintsch, 1998; Kehler, 2002). In
our view it is this type of paradigm, located at the
intersection of linguistics and discourse-processing
research, that will lead to significant progress in the
field of discourse studies.
See also: Accessibility Theory; Clause Relations; Coher-
ence: Psycholinguistic Approach; Connectives in Text;
Discourse Anaphora; Discourse Processing; Particles in
Spoken Discourse; Problem-Solution Patterns.
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Hermann Collitz, one of the most influential compar-
ative Indo-European linguists from Germany, spent
much of his career in the United States. He was
among the first linguistic scientists to move to the
United States with the specific intention of working
at American universities. Hermann Collitz was born
on February 4, 1855 in Bleckede, Germany. He com-
pleted his linguistic studies at Halle, Berlin, and Göt-
tingen, where he obtained a doctor’s degree for his
work on ‘‘the emergence of the Indo-Iranic row of
palatals’’ (1879). His postdoctoral thesis (‘habilita-
tion’) on nominal inflection in Old Indian and Greek
was published in 1885 at the University of Halle,
where he taught Sanskrit and comparative linguistics.
As a professor of German philology – and later as a
professor of comparative philology – Collitz went
Collitz, Hermann (1855–1935) 595
Sanders J & Redeker G (1996). ‘Perspective and the repre-
sentation of speech and thought in narrative discourse.’
In Fauconnier G & Sweetser E (eds.) Spaces, Worlds
and Grammars. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
290–317.
Sanders T, Schilperoord J & Spooren W (eds.) (2001). Text
representation: linguistic and psycholinguistic aspects.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Sanders T & Spooren W (1999). ‘Communicative intentions
and coherence relations.’ In Bublitz W, Lenk U & Ventola
E (eds.) Coherence in text and discourse. Amsterdam:
John Benjamins. 235–250.
Sanders T & Spooren W (in press). ‘Discourse and text
structure.’ In Geeraerts D & Cuykens H (eds.) Hand-
book of cognitive linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Sanders T, Spooren W & Noordman L (1992). ‘Toward a
taxonomy of coherence relations.’ Discourse Processes
15, 1–35.
Schiffrin D (2001). ‘Discourse markers: language, meaning,
and context.’ In Schiffrin D, Tannen D & Hamilton D
(eds.) The handbook of discourse analysis. Malden, MA:
Blackwell. 54–75.
Spooren W & Risselada R (eds.) (1997). Discourse mar-
kers. Special Issue of Discourse Processes. Mawah, NJ:
Erlbaum.
Sweetser E E (1990). From etymology to pragmatics.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
abroad to teach at Bryn Mawr College in Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania, in 1886. From 1907 to 1927, he was a
professor at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,
Maryland. In addition, Collitz stayed active in Ger-
many and was among the editors of several books
on Indo-European linguistics and dialectology. He
worked on a dictionary of his own Low German dia-
lect from Waldeck and concentrated on the dialectal
history of Greek in several projects. In general philol-
ogy, Collitz took part in the collection and editing of
Greek dialectal inscriptions and did research on Indo-
European mythology.
With his diachronic studies, Collitz was one of the
pioneers in comparative linguistics. He specialized in
the phonology and morphology of the Indo-European
languages. Although he was supposed to be part of
the group of Neogrammarians at Leipzig, which in-
cluded Sievers, Paul, and Braune, these linguists could
not persuade Collitz to take part in their activities. In
contradiction to their radical theoretical approaches,
Collitz stuck to the importance of sound changes in

Martin J R (1992). English text. System and structure.
Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (1986). ‘Relational proposi-
tions in discourse.’ Discourse Processes 9, 57–90.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (1988). ‘Rhetorical Structure
Theory: toward a functional theory of text organization.’
Text 8, 243–281.
Mann W C & Thompson S A (eds.) (1992). Discourse
description. Diverse analyses of a fund-raising text.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Moore J D & Pollack M E (1992). ‘A problem for RST: the
need for multi-level discourse analysis.’ Computational
Linguistics 18, 537–544.
Noordman L G M & Vonk W (1997). ‘The different
functions of a conjunction in constructing a representa-
tion of the discourse.’ In Fayol M & Costermans J (eds.)
Processing interclausal relationships in production and
comprehension of text. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. 75–93.
Noordman L G M & Vonk W (1998). ‘Memory-based
processing in understanding causal information.’ Dis-
course Processes 26, 191–212.
Pander Maat H L W (1999). ‘The differential linguistic
realization of comparative and additive coherence rela-
tions.’ Cognitive Linguistics 10(2), 147–184.
Risselada R & Spooren W (eds.) (1998). The function of
discourse markers. Special Issue of Journal of Pragmat-
ics. Amsterdam: Elsevier.
Sacks H, Schegloff E A & Jefferson G (1974). ‘A simplest
systematics for the organization of turn-taking for con-
versation.’ Language 50, 696–735.
Collitz, Hermann (1855–1935)
S Kürschner, Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg im
Breisgau, Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Hermann Collitz, one of the most influential compar-
ative Indo-European linguists from Germany, spent
much of his career in the United States. He was
among the first linguistic scientists to move to the
United States with the specific intention of working
at American universities. Hermann Collitz was born
on February 4, 1855 in Bleckede, Germany. He com-
pleted his linguistic studies at Halle, Berlin, and Göt-
tingen, where he obtained a doctor’s degree for his
work on ‘‘the emergence of the Indo-Iranic row of
palatals’’ (1879). His postdoctoral thesis (‘habilita-
tion’) on nominal inflection in Old Indian and Greek
was published in 1885 at the University of Halle,
where he taught Sanskrit and comparative linguistics.
As a professor of German philology – and later as a
professor of comparative philology – Collitz went
Collitz, Hermann (1855–1935) 595
Sanders J & Redeker G (1996). ‘Perspective and the repre-
sentation of speech and thought in narrative discourse.’
In Fauconnier G & Sweetser E (eds.) Spaces, Worlds
and Grammars. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
290–317.
Sanders T, Schilperoord J & Spooren W (eds.) (2001). Text
representation: linguistic and psycholinguistic aspects.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Sanders T & Spooren W (1999). ‘Communicative intentions
and coherence relations.’ In Bublitz W, Lenk U & Ventola
E (eds.) Coherence in text and discourse. Amsterdam:
John Benjamins. 235–250.
Sanders T & Spooren W (in press). ‘Discourse and text
structure.’ In Geeraerts D & Cuykens H (eds.) Hand-
book of cognitive linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
Sanders T, Spooren W & Noordman L (1992). ‘Toward a
taxonomy of coherence relations.’ Discourse Processes
15, 1–35.
Schiffrin D (2001). ‘Discourse markers: language, meaning,
and context.’ In Schiffrin D, Tannen D & Hamilton D
(eds.) The handbook of discourse analysis. Malden, MA:
Blackwell. 54–75.
Spooren W & Risselada R (eds.) (1997). Discourse mar-
kers. Special Issue of Discourse Processes. Mawah, NJ:
Erlbaum.
Sweetser E E (1990). From etymology to pragmatics.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
abroad to teach at Bryn Mawr College in Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania, in 1886. From 1907 to 1927, he was a
professor at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,
Maryland. In addition, Collitz stayed active in Ger-
many and was among the editors of several books
on Indo-European linguistics and dialectology. He
worked on a dictionary of his own Low German dia-
lect from Waldeck and concentrated on the dialectal
history of Greek in several projects. In general philol-
ogy, Collitz took part in the collection and editing of
Greek dialectal inscriptions and did research on Indo-
European mythology.
With his diachronic studies, Collitz was one of the
pioneers in comparative linguistics. He specialized in
the phonology and morphology of the Indo-European
languages. Although he was supposed to be part of
the group of Neogrammarians at Leipzig, which in-
cluded Sievers, Paul, and Braune, these linguists could
not persuade Collitz to take part in their activities. In
contradiction to their radical theoretical approaches,
Collitz stuck to the importance of sound changes in
596 Collitz, Hermann (1855–1935)
comparative linguistics. Independently of the German
linguistic movements, Collitz became a strong advo-
cate of the American philologies, which were widely
ignored in Europe.
Hermann Collitz was honored in a festschrift
(Studies in honor of Hermann Collitz, 1930) and –
after his death – in several obituaries that cited
his long list of works on Indo-European linguistics
and especially the history of German, English, the
other Germanic languages, and also Greek and Latin
(cf. Sehrt, 1936). A list of four major monographs
is supplemented by editorial work for several outstand-
ing American journals such as Modern Language
Notes and the Journal of English and Germanic
Philology. Collitz founded the book series Hesperia
with American work on Germanic philology and he
published more than 70 articles and more than 30
book reviews. He received the honorary degree of
L.H.D. from the University of Chicago in 1916. In
1925, he was the president of the Linguistic Society of
America and the MLA. After retiring in 1927, Collitz
Collocations
R Krishnamurthy, Aston University, Birmingham, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Historical Use of the Term Collocation
The fact that certain words co-occurred frequently
was noticed in Biblical concordances (e.g., Cruden
listed the occurrences of dry with ground in 1769).
Style and usage guides in the 19th and 20th centuries
(e.g., Fowler’s The King’s English) addressed only
the overuse of collocations, labeling them clichés and
criticizing their use, especially by journalists (e.g.,
Myles na Gopaleen (see O’Nolan, 1977: 225–6), in
a more humorous vein: ‘When and again have I asked
you not to do that? Time . . . What is our civilization
much? Vaunted. What is the public? Gullible. What
interests? Vested.’).
Collocation in Modern Linguistics
In modern linguistics, collocation refers to the fact that
certain lexical items tend to co-occur more frequently
in natural language use than syntax and semantics
alone would dictate. Collocation was first given theo-
retical prominence by J. R. Firth, who separated it
from cognitive and semantic ideas of word meaning,
calling it an ‘‘abstraction at the syntagmatic level’’
(Firth 1957a: 196), and accorded it a distinct status
in his account of the linguistic levels at which meaning
remained an active philologist until his death on
May 13, 1935.
See also: Germanic Languages; Historical and Compara-
tive Linguistics in the 19th Century; Neogrammarians.
Bibliography
Collitz H (1879). Die Entstehung der indoiranischen Pala-
talreihe. Diss., Göttingen.
Collitz H (1912). Das schwache Präteritum und seine Vor-
geschichte. Hesperia 1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht.
Sehrt E H (1936). ‘Hermann Collitz 1855–1935.’ Modern
Language Notes 51(2), 69–80.
Studies in honor of Hermann Collitz (1930). Professor
of Germanic philology, Emeritus in the Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore, Maryland. Presented by a group of
his pupils and friends on the occasion of his seventy-fifth
birthday, February 4, 1930. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
Press.
can arise. Firth implicitly indicated that collocation
required a quantitative basis, giving actual numbers
of co-occurrences in some texts.
Halliday (1976) saw collocation as a cohesive de-
vice and identified the need for a measure of signifi-
cant proximity between collocating items and said
that collocation could only be discussed in terms of
probability, thus validating the need for quantitative
analyses and the use of statistics. Sinclair (Sinclair
et al., 1970) performed the first computational in-
vestigation of collocation, comparing written and
spoken corpora, identifying ! five words as the span
of significant proximity and experimenting with
statistical measures and lemmatization.
Halliday (1966) and Sinclair (1966) thought that
collocation could enable a lexical analysis of language
independent of grammar. Sinclair (1991) suggested
that lexical items could be defined by their colloca-
tional environments, saw collocation as part of the
idiom principle (lexically determined choices), as op-
posed to the open choice principle (grammatically
determined choices). Leech (1974: 20) included ‘col-
locative’ in his categories of meaning, but margin-
alized it as an idiosyncratic property of individual
words, incapable of contributing to generalizations.
Sinclair (1987c) and Stubbs (1996) suggested that all
lexical items have collocations; and Hoey (2004)
accommodated collocation within a model of ‘lexical
priming,’ suggesting that most sentences are made
596 Collitz, Hermann (1855–1935)
comparative linguistics. Independently of the German
linguistic movements, Collitz became a strong advo-
cate of the American philologies, which were widely
ignored in Europe.
Hermann Collitz was honored in a festschrift
(Studies in honor of Hermann Collitz, 1930) and –
after his death – in several obituaries that cited
his long list of works on Indo-European linguistics
and especially the history of German, English, the
other Germanic languages, and also Greek and Latin
(cf. Sehrt, 1936). A list of four major monographs
is supplemented by editorial work for several outstand-
ing American journals such as Modern Language
Notes and the Journal of English and Germanic
Philology. Collitz founded the book series Hesperia
with American work on Germanic philology and he
published more than 70 articles and more than 30
book reviews. He received the honorary degree of
L.H.D. from the University of Chicago in 1916. In
1925, he was the president of the Linguistic Society of
America and the MLA. After retiring in 1927, Collitz
Collocations
R Krishnamurthy, Aston University, Birmingham, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Historical Use of the Term Collocation
The fact that certain words co-occurred frequently
was noticed in Biblical concordances (e.g., Cruden
listed the occurrences of dry with ground in 1769).
Style and usage guides in the 19th and 20th centuries
(e.g., Fowler’s The King’s English) addressed only
the overuse of collocations, labeling them clichés and
criticizing their use, especially by journalists (e.g.,
Myles na Gopaleen (see O’Nolan, 1977: 225–6), in
a more humorous vein: ‘When and again have I asked
you not to do that? Time . . . What is our civilization
much? Vaunted. What is the public? Gullible. What
interests? Vested.’).
Collocation in Modern Linguistics
In modern linguistics, collocation refers to the fact that
certain lexical items tend to co-occur more frequently
in natural language use than syntax and semantics
alone would dictate. Collocation was first given theo-
retical prominence by J. R. Firth, who separated it
from cognitive and semantic ideas of word meaning,
calling it an ‘‘abstraction at the syntagmatic level’’
(Firth 1957a: 196), and accorded it a distinct status
in his account of the linguistic levels at which meaning
remained an active philologist until his death on
May 13, 1935.
See also: Germanic Languages; Historical and Compara-
tive Linguistics in the 19th Century; Neogrammarians.
Bibliography
Collitz H (1879). Die Entstehung der indoiranischen Pala-
talreihe. Diss., Göttingen.
Collitz H (1912). Das schwache Präteritum und seine Vor-
geschichte. Hesperia 1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht.
Sehrt E H (1936). ‘Hermann Collitz 1855–1935.’ Modern
Language Notes 51(2), 69–80.
Studies in honor of Hermann Collitz (1930). Professor
of Germanic philology, Emeritus in the Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore, Maryland. Presented by a group of
his pupils and friends on the occasion of his seventy-fifth
birthday, February 4, 1930. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
Press.
can arise. Firth implicitly indicated that collocation
required a quantitative basis, giving actual numbers
of co-occurrences in some texts.
Halliday (1976) saw collocation as a cohesive de-
vice and identified the need for a measure of signifi-
cant proximity between collocating items and said
that collocation could only be discussed in terms of
probability, thus validating the need for quantitative
analyses and the use of statistics. Sinclair (Sinclair
et al., 1970) performed the first computational in-
vestigation of collocation, comparing written and
spoken corpora, identifying ! five words as the span
of significant proximity and experimenting with
statistical measures and lemmatization.
Halliday (1966) and Sinclair (1966) thought that
collocation could enable a lexical analysis of language
independent of grammar. Sinclair (1991) suggested
that lexical items could be defined by their colloca-
tional environments, saw collocation as part of the
idiom principle (lexically determined choices), as op-
posed to the open choice principle (grammatically
determined choices). Leech (1974: 20) included ‘col-
locative’ in his categories of meaning, but margin-
alized it as an idiosyncratic property of individual
words, incapable of contributing to generalizations.
Sinclair (1987c) and Stubbs (1996) suggested that all
lexical items have collocations; and Hoey (2004)
accommodated collocation within a model of ‘lexical
priming,’ suggesting that most sentences are made

up of interlocking collocations, and can therefore be
seen as reproductions of earlier sentences.
Collocation and Lexicography
The pedagogical value of collocation was recognized
by English teachers in the 1930s. English collocations
were described in detail by Harold Palmer in a report
on phraseology research with A. S. Hornby, using the
term fairly loosely to cover longer phrases, proverbs,
and so on, as well as individual word combinations.
Palmer and Hornby showed a major interest in the
classification of collocations in grammatical and se-
mantic terms but also used collocations to indicate
the relevant senses of words in word lists (draw 1.
e.g., a picture 2. e.g., a line), and in their dictionary
examples (a practice continued in Hornby’s (1948)
and subsequent editions of the Oxford advanced
learner’s dictionary).
Early EFL dictionaries avoided using the term col-
location, e.g., Hornby (1974) referred to ‘‘special uses
of an adjective with a preposition’’ (liable: !for,
be ! to sth), and a ‘‘special grammatical way in
which the headword is used’’ (meantime: in the !).
Proctor (1978), in the Longman dictionary of
contemporary English, referred to ‘‘ways in which
English words are used together, whether loosely
bound or occurring in fixed phrases’’ and ‘‘special
phrases in which a word is usually (or always)
found’’; however, the dictionary also had a section
headed ‘Collocations,’ defined as ‘‘a group of words
which are often used together to form a natural-
sounding combination,’’ and stated that they are
shown in three ways: in example sentences, in expla-
nations in Usage Notes, or in heavy black type inside
round brackets if they are very frequent or almost a
fixed phrase (‘‘but not an idiom’’). These are signaled
by ‘in the phr.’ or similar rubrics, and Procter (1978)
gave the example a mountain fastness.
Later EFL dictionaries (Cobuild, Cambridge,
Macmillan, etc.) continued to incorporate colloca-
tions in their dictionaries, including them in defini-
tions and examples and typographically highlighting
them in phrases. Sinclair’s Introduction to the Cobuild
dictionary (1987b), in the section on ‘Word and En-
vironment,’ speaks of ‘‘the way in which the patterns
of words with each other are related to the meanings
and uses of the words’’ and says that ‘‘the sense of a
word is bound up with a particular usage . . . a close
association of words or a grouping of words into a set
phrase’’ and ‘‘(a word) only has a particular meaning
when it is in a particular environment.’’ Examples
such as hard luck, hard facts, hard evidence, strong
evidence, tough luck, and sad facts are discussed.
Collocations 597
In Sinclair (1987b), collocates are defined as ‘‘words
which co-occur significantly with headwords,’’ and
regular or significant collocation as ‘‘lexical items
occurring within five words . . . of the headword’’
with a greater frequency than expected, which ‘‘was
established only on the basis of corpus evidence.’’ For
the first time in lexicography, a statistical notion
of collocation had been introduced.
Collocation is used to distinguish senses: ‘‘Different
sets of collocates found with these different senses
pinpoint the fact that they are different senses’’; ‘‘Col-
location . . . frequently reinforces meaning distinc-
tions’’; and lexical sets used in disambiguation are
‘‘signalled by coincidence of collocation’’ (Sinclair,
1987a). Collocation can also be a marker of meta-
phoricity: the presence of modifiers and qualifiers
indicates metaphorical uses of treadmill and blanket,
e.g., . . . the corporate treadmill; . . . the treadmill of
office life; a security blanket for new democracies;
a blanket of snow (ibid). Collocation is the ‘‘lexical
realisation of the situational context’’ (ibid.). In the
central patterns of English, ‘‘meaning was only creat-
ed by choosing two or more words simultaneously’’
(ibid.). However, the flexibility of collocation
(sometimes crossing sentence boundaries) can cause
problems in the wording of definitions: often, ‘‘no
particular group of collocates occurs in a structured
relationship with the word’’ and therefore ‘‘there is
no suitable pattern ready for use as a vehicle of expla-
nation’’ (ibid.). The difficulty of eliciting collocates by
intuition is discussed; we tend to think of semantic
sets: feet suggests ‘‘legs, toes, head or shoe, sandals,
sock, or walk, run,’’ whereas significant corpus
collocates of feet are ‘‘tall, high, long, and numbers’’
(ibid.). Prompted by hint, we produce ‘‘subtle, small,
clue’’; the corpus indicates ‘‘give, take, no.’’ The dif-
ference between left-hand and right-hand collocates
is exemplified by open: the most frequent words
before open are ‘‘the, to, an, is, an, wide, was, door,
more, eyes’’ and after open are ‘‘to, and, the, for, up,
space, a, it, in, door’’ (ibid.).
Lexicographers can also use collocations to distin-
guish between near-synonyms, e.g., the difference be-
tween electric (collocates: specific devices such as
guitar, chair, light, car, motor, windows, oven, all
‘powered by electricity’), and electrical (collocates:
more generic terms such as engineering, equipment,
goods, appliances, power, activity, signals, systems,
etc., ‘concerning or involving electricity’).
Finding Collocations in a Corpus
Initially, collocates for dictionary headwords were
identified manually by lexicographers wading through
pages of printouts of concordance lines. This was
598 Collocations
clearly unsatisfactory, and only impressionistic views
were feasible. Right-sorted concordances obscured
left-context collocates and vice versa. The fixed-length
context of printouts prevented the observation of
collocates beyond a few words.
Subsequent software developments have enabled
the automatic measurement of statistically significant
co-occurrences. These are within a specifiable and
adjustable span or window of context, using different
measures of statistical significance, principally mutu-
al information (or MI-score) and t-score. MI-score
privileges lower-frequency, high-attraction collocates
(e.g., dentist with hygienist, optician, and molar)
while t-score favors higher-frequency collocates (e.g.,
dentist with chair), including significant grammatical
words (e.g., dentist with a, and your). The software
can also display the collocate’s positional distribution
if required, and recursive options are available to
investigate the detailed phraseology of collocating
items.
Software has also become more publicly avail-
able, from MicroConcord to Wordsmith Tools and
Collocate. Kilgarriff and Tugwell’s WordSketch
(Kilgarriff et al., 2004) was used in creating the
Macmillan English dictionary (Rundell, 2002) and
offers clause-functional information about collo-
cations, e.g., wear þ objects: suit, dress, hat, etc. þ
prepositional phrases (after of: armor, clothing, jeans,
etc.; after with: pride, sleeve, collar, etc.; after on:
sleeve, wrist, finger, etc.; after over: shirt, head,
dress, etc.); similarly, fish is the subject of the verbs
swim, catch, fry, etc.; the object of the verbs catch,
eat, feed, etc. and modified by the adjectives tropical,
bony, oily, and so on.
Lexicographers are in general less concerned about
the detailed classification of collocations, although
their judgments affect the both the placement and
specific treatment of the combinations. Hornby’s
attempts (e.g., Hornby, 1948, 1974) at classification
(focusing on verbs) later used transformations and
meaning distinctions as well as surface patterns, and
Hunston and Francis (2000) listed the linguistic and
lexicological terminology that has developed subse-
quently for collocational units: lexical phrases, com-
posites, gambits, routine formulae, phrasemes, etc.,
and referred to the work of Moon (e.g. 1998) and
Mel’čuk (e.g. 1998) in discussing degrees of fixity and
variation, which does impact on lexicography.
However, one of Firth’s (1957b) original terms, ‘col-
ligation,’ used to describe the habitual co-occurrence
of grammatical elements, has not achieved the same
widespread usage as ‘collocation.’ One manifestation
of colligation, phrasal verbs, the combination of
verb and particle (adverb or preposition) to form se-
mantic units, has been highlighted in EFL dictionaries.
Several EFL publishers have produced separate dic-
tionaries of phrasal verbs.
There have been some dictionaries of colloca-
tions, but so far each has had its own limitations:
not wholly corpus-based (e.g., Benson et al., 1986;
Hill and Lewis, 1997), based on a small corpus
(e.g., Kjellmer, 1994), or limited coverage (the recent
Oxford collocations dictionary for students of
English (Lea, 2002)).
Collocation in Computational Linguistics,
Pedagogy, and Translation
Interest in collocation has increased substantially
in the past decade, as evidenced by workshops at lexi-
cographical, linguistic, pedagogical, and translation
conferences. For computational purposes, the relevant
features of collocation are that they are ‘‘arbitrary,
domain independent, recurrent, and cohesive lexical
clusters’’ (Smadja, 1993), and ‘‘of limited semantic
compositionality’’ (Manning and Schütze, 1999).
But the greatest interest has been generated in the
language-teaching profession, with numerous confer-
ence and journal papers. Lewis (2000) encapsulates
the main concerns: students do not recognize colloca-
tions in their input, and hence fail to produce them;
collocation represents fluency (which precedes accu-
racy, represented by grammar); transparent versus
‘arbitrary’ (or idiomatic) combinations, with familiar
words in rarer combinations (a heavy smoker is not
a fat person); transformation can be misleading
(extremely disappointed but rarely extreme disap-
pointment); students may generalize more easily from
corpus concordance examples than from canonical
versions in dictionaries (exploring versus explaining);
collocation as a bridge between the artificial separa-
tion of lexis and grammar; collocation extends knowl-
edge of familiar words (easier than acquiring new
words in isolation); and longer chunks are more useful
and easier to store than isolated words.
Conclusions and the Future
For many fields, it seems that collocation has a great
future. The applications of collocation in language
teaching have been one of the notable recent suc-
cesses. Its more detailed exploration in large language
corpora requires a significant advance in software.
The exact parameters are not fully established, and
the statistical measures can be improved. Research to
identify word-senses by the clustering of collocates
was initiated in the 1960s (Sinclair et al., 1970), but
has still not become sufficiently robust for automatic
processing. The identification of lexical sets by collo-
cation, signaled in Sinclair (1966; Sinclair et al.,

1970) and Halliday (1966), is yet to be achieved, as is
a corpus-generated thesaurus. The theoretical impe-
tus of collocation has yet to reach the level of a
language-pervasive system, although Hoey’s notion
of Lexical Priming heads in that direction.
See also: Computational Lexicons and Dictionaries;
Computational Stylistics; Computers in Lexicography;
Concordances; Corpus Approaches to Idiom; Corpus Lin-
guistics; Corpus Lexicography; Data and Evidence; Dis-
ambiguation, Lexical; Firth, John Rupert (1890–1960);
Halliday, Michael A. K. (b. 1925); Idiom Dictionaries;
Idioms; Lexicon Grammars; Palmer, Harold Edward
(1877–1949); Phraseology; Polysemy and Homonymy;
Selectional Restrictions; Statistics.
Bibliography
Benson M, Benson E & Ilson R (1986). The BBI combina-
tory dictionary of English. New York: John Benjamins.
Church K W & Hanks P (1989). ‘Word association norms,
mutual information, and lexicography.’ In Proceedings
of the 27th annual meeting of the Association for
Computational Linguistics, reprinted in Computational
Linguistics 16(1), 1990.
Church K W, Gale W, Hanks P & Hindle D (1990). ‘Using
statistics in lexical analysis.’ In Zernik U (ed.) Lexical
acquisition: using on-line resources to build a lexicon.
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Clear J (1993). ‘From Firth principles: computational
tools for the study of collocation.’ In Baker M, Francis
G & Tognini-Bonelli E (eds.) Text and technology.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Collocate (2005). Written by Michael Barlow. Houston:
Athelstan. For details see http://www.nol.net/!athel/
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Halliday M A K (1966). ‘Lexis as a linguistic level.’ In
Bazell C E, Catford J C, Halliday M A K & Robins R H
(eds.) In memory of J. R. Firth. London: Longman.
Halliday M A K & Hasan R (1976). Cohesion in English.
London: Longman.
Hill J & Lewis M (1997). LTP Dictionary of Selected
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of lexical priming.’ Language and Computers 49(1),
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tionary of current English (3rd edn.). Oxford: Oxford
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Kenny D (1998). ‘Creatures of habit? What translators
usually do with words.’ Meta 43(4), 515–523.
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Kjellmer G (1994). A dictionary of English collocations.
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published (2004) as Krishnamurthy (ed.). English
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Colombia: Language Situation
J Landaburu, Centre d’Etudes des Langues Indigènes
d’Amérique, Villejuif, France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Colombia’s geography has greatly influenced its
present-day linguistic situation. Its position at the end
of the isthmus of Panama forced the pre-Columbian
peoples migrating southward from North America to
pass through it. The extreme diversity of its ecological
niches, which include coastal areas along the Pacific
and Atlantic Oceans, three Andean mountain ranges
with climates varying according to altitude, savan-
nas of the Orinoco Plain, Amazonian forests, torrid
deserts, and cold plateaus, allowed many of these
populations to settle there. As a result, Colombia has
an exceptionally large variety of the South American
continent’s indigenous language families.
On the other hand, in the 16th century, the islands
of the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic coast of what is
today Colombia saw the earliest Spanish settlements
and the first shipments of black slaves, historical fac-
tors that would greatly influence the sociolinguistic
configuration of the country. The languages spoken in
Colombia today include 69 Amerindian languages;
two creole languages spoken by black populations
of African descent in the Caribbean; and the Indo-
European language Spanish, represented by a great
number of regional variants. This linguistic reality
is demographically highly unequal. Of the total
Colombian population of over 40 million, there are
fewer than 700 000 indigenous language speakers,
and the speakers of creole languages number fewer
than 35 000. Spanish is therefore the dominant lan-
guage, and, except in some isolated indigenous zones,
most Colombians speak it. In spite of this scarcity
of linguistic minorities, there fortunately exists today
a greater awareness and acceptance of linguistic
diversity.
In 1991, Colombia adopted a new constitution,
Article 10 of which says: ‘‘Castilian [Spanish] is the
official language of Colombia. The languages and dia-
lects of the ethnic groups are also official in their
Smadja F, McKeown K & Hatzivassiloglou V (1996). ‘Trans-
lating collocations for bilingual lexicons: a statistical
approach.’ Computational Linguistics 22(1), 1–38.
Wordsmith Tools (1996). Written by Scott M. Oxford:
OUP. For details and downloads, see http://www.lexically.
net/wordsmith/ and http://www.oup.co.uk/isbn/0-19-
459400-9.
territories. The education that is imparted in com-
munities with their own linguistic traditions will be
bilingual.’’ This text has allowed the acknowledg-
ment and fostering of many initiatives, especially in
scholastic circles, to use and revitalize the vernacular
languages, which have developed over the last 30
years and whose fortune it would be yet premature
to predict. In any event, the future of these lan-
guages remains worrisome since, of the 71 vernacular
languages, 30 have fewer than a thousand speakers.
Afro-American Languages
There are two creole languages, spoken in the
Caribbean areas by populations of black African ori-
gin: the creole of San Basilio de Palenque, near
Cartagena de Indias, spoken by 3000 people; and
the creole of the islands of San Andrés and Providen-
cia (Old Providence) off the coast of Nicaragua, spo-
ken by 30 000 people. These two languages are new.
They were created by slaves of diverse African ethno-
linguistic origin (more clearly Bantu in the case of the
creole of Palenque) in the period of the slave trade.
The creole of San Basilio, known as Palenquero, was
born in a Hispanic context, and a majority of its
lexical roots come from Spanish, thus making it the
only creole of Hispanic base in the Americas. The
creole of San Andrés and Providencia was born in
an English context (migrations from Jamaica) and
its lexical base is mainly English.
Indigenous Languages
Studies of the indigenous languages of Colombia have
developed substantially in recent decades (for a bibli-
ography and a characterization of these advances,
see Landaburu, 2003). Relying on these works, it is
now possible to group the 69 Amerindian languages
present in Colombia into 13 different language fami-
lies, to which may be added 8 isolated languages
whose affiliation with others is as yet undemonstrated,
giving us 21 different genetic groups. Greenberg’s pro-
posed classification about languages of the Americas
600 Collocations
published (2004) as Krishnamurthy (ed.). English
collocation studies: the OSTI Report. London:
Continuum.
Stubbs M (1996). Text and Corpus Analysis. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Smadja F (1993). ‘Retrieving collocations from text:
Xtract.’ Computational Linguistics 19(1), 143–177.
Colombia: Language Situation
J Landaburu, Centre d’Etudes des Langues Indigènes
d’Amérique, Villejuif, France
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Colombia’s geography has greatly influenced its
present-day linguistic situation. Its position at the end
of the isthmus of Panama forced the pre-Columbian
peoples migrating southward from North America to
pass through it. The extreme diversity of its ecological
niches, which include coastal areas along the Pacific
and Atlantic Oceans, three Andean mountain ranges
with climates varying according to altitude, savan-
nas of the Orinoco Plain, Amazonian forests, torrid
deserts, and cold plateaus, allowed many of these
populations to settle there. As a result, Colombia has
an exceptionally large variety of the South American
continent’s indigenous language families.
On the other hand, in the 16th century, the islands
of the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic coast of what is
today Colombia saw the earliest Spanish settlements
and the first shipments of black slaves, historical fac-
tors that would greatly influence the sociolinguistic
configuration of the country. The languages spoken in
Colombia today include 69 Amerindian languages;
two creole languages spoken by black populations
of African descent in the Caribbean; and the Indo-
European language Spanish, represented by a great
number of regional variants. This linguistic reality
is demographically highly unequal. Of the total
Colombian population of over 40 million, there are
fewer than 700 000 indigenous language speakers,
and the speakers of creole languages number fewer
than 35 000. Spanish is therefore the dominant lan-
guage, and, except in some isolated indigenous zones,
most Colombians speak it. In spite of this scarcity
of linguistic minorities, there fortunately exists today
a greater awareness and acceptance of linguistic
diversity.
In 1991, Colombia adopted a new constitution,
Article 10 of which says: ‘‘Castilian [Spanish] is the
official language of Colombia. The languages and dia-
lects of the ethnic groups are also official in their
Smadja F, McKeown K & Hatzivassiloglou V (1996). ‘Trans-
lating collocations for bilingual lexicons: a statistical
approach.’ Computational Linguistics 22(1), 1–38.
Wordsmith Tools (1996). Written by Scott M. Oxford:
OUP. For details and downloads, see http://www.lexically.
net/wordsmith/ and http://www.oup.co.uk/isbn/0-19-
459400-9.
territories. The education that is imparted in com-
munities with their own linguistic traditions will be
bilingual.’’ This text has allowed the acknowledg-
ment and fostering of many initiatives, especially in
scholastic circles, to use and revitalize the vernacular
languages, which have developed over the last 30
years and whose fortune it would be yet premature
to predict. In any event, the future of these lan-
guages remains worrisome since, of the 71 vernacular
languages, 30 have fewer than a thousand speakers.
Afro-American Languages
There are two creole languages, spoken in the
Caribbean areas by populations of black African ori-
gin: the creole of San Basilio de Palenque, near
Cartagena de Indias, spoken by 3000 people; and
the creole of the islands of San Andrés and Providen-
cia (Old Providence) off the coast of Nicaragua, spo-
ken by 30 000 people. These two languages are new.
They were created by slaves of diverse African ethno-
linguistic origin (more clearly Bantu in the case of the
creole of Palenque) in the period of the slave trade.
The creole of San Basilio, known as Palenquero, was
born in a Hispanic context, and a majority of its
lexical roots come from Spanish, thus making it the
only creole of Hispanic base in the Americas. The
creole of San Andrés and Providencia was born in
an English context (migrations from Jamaica) and
its lexical base is mainly English.
Indigenous Languages
Studies of the indigenous languages of Colombia have
developed substantially in recent decades (for a bibli-
ography and a characterization of these advances,
see Landaburu, 2003). Relying on these works, it is
now possible to group the 69 Amerindian languages
present in Colombia into 13 different language fami-
lies, to which may be added 8 isolated languages
whose affiliation with others is as yet undemonstrated,
giving us 21 different genetic groups. Greenberg’s pro-
posed classification about languages of the Americas

(1987) is insufficiently documented and argued; a more
solid classification is made by investigators in direct
contact with these families (see Rodriguez de Montes,
1993; González de Perez, 2000). For demographic data
on the indigenous populations, Arango (1999) is a
reliable, albeit not yet definitive, authority. However,
as very few serious sociolinguistic surveys have been
done up to now, the present data refer more to ethnic
populations than properly to speakers of languages.
Classification of Languages
The linguistic families of Colombia can be classified
according to their geographic scope. Three groupings
can be observed:
1. Five genetic groups present throughout the
continent:
a. The Chibcha family (seven languages). This
linguistic family, probably of Central American
origin, is also present in Panama, Costa Rica,
and Nicaragua. ‘Chibcha’ was the name of the
people found by Spaniards in the region of
Bogota. In Colombia today, there are Chibchan
languages in Darién (Cuna [Kuna], with 1000
speakers in Colombia and more than 30 000 in
Panama), in the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta
(Kogui [Cogui], with 10 000 speakers; Arhuaco
or Ika [Ica], with 14 000 speakers; Damana,
spoken by 1800 Wiwa or Arsario people; and
Chimila, 900 people but very few speakers), in
Catatumbo (Barı́ [Motilón], 3500 speakers),
and in western Arauca (Uwa or Tunebo, 7000
speakers). A Chibchan affiliation of lan-
guages in the south of Colombia (e.g., Páez,
Guambiano, Awa or Kwaiker [Cuaiquer]) has
been proposed, but there is not sufficient
evidence to maintain this assertion.
b. The Arawak family (nine languages). This is the
most geographically extensive family in South
America. Probably of central- Amazonian ori-
gin, it spread along the tributaries of the Ama-
zon and Orinoco and along the coast of the
Caribbean over the past two millennia. In
Colombia, Arawak languages are found in
three areas: the Guajira (Wayuu or Guajiro,
with 144 000 people in Colombia and more
than 180 000 in Venezuela), the eastern plains
of the Orinoco and the area of the Negro
River (Achagua, 280 people; Piapoco, 4500;
Curripaco and Baniva of the Isana, 7000;
Baniva of the Guainı́a, Tariano, 330); the area
of the Caquetá River (Yucuna, 500 people;
Cabiyarı́, 280).
c. The Carib family (two languages). This genetic
group also spread before the arrival of
Colombia: Language Situation 601
the Spaniards, from the Guyanas throughout
the north of South America and south of the
Amazon. In Colombia, it was represented in the
Atlantic areas, the Magdalena River drainage,
the Amazon, and probably in other regions as
well. Today a group in the mountain range of
Perijá subsists partly in Colombia and partly in
Venezuela (the department of Zulia). They
speak a Carib language called Yuko or Yukpa,
with about 3530 people in Colombia and an
equal number in Venezuela. Colombia’s other
extant Carib language is Carijona, found in the
Middle Caqueta Region. Its population, greatly
decreased during the first decades of the 20th
century, has faded away. Today, fewer than 30
people speak Carijona.
d. The Quechua family (three languages). The
presence of languages of the Quechua family
in Colombia seems to be modern. Today,
Inga or Ingano is spoken in the department of
Nariño (Aponte), in the valley of Sibundoy
(Putumayo), and in the department of Caquetá
(along the upper Caquetá River, the Fragua
River, the Yuruyacu River, and the Orteguaza
River) by 18 000 people. Another variety of
Quechua is spoken near Puerto Asis and
along the San Miguel River. Both varieties are
comparable with the dialects of Ecuadoran
Quichua, especially with the Ecuadoran forest
dialects. It is very possible that its presence
in Colombia and its expansion is due to its
diffusion as a ‘lengua general’ by the Ca-
tholic missionaries of the 17th century. There
are also speakers of Peruvian varieties of
Amazonian Quechua on the lower Putumayo
River.
e. The Tupı́ family (two languages). This great
language family is found mainly in Brazil,
Bolivia, Paraguay, and Argentina, but Tupi lan-
guages have a few speakers in the tiny com-
munity of Cocama, on the border between
Colombia, Brazil, and Peru. Hundreds of
speakers of ‘Lengua Geral’ (Nheengatú)
[Nhengatu] have been reported on the
Guaviare River.
2. Eight genetic groups with a regional projection
present in several areas in the northwest:
a. The Barbacoa family (two languages). This
group is found in the Andean southwest, with
possible prolongations in the Ecuadoran
west (Chachi [Cayapa], Tsachila [Colorado,
Tsafiki]). It includes Guambiano in Cauca
(21 000 people), and Awa or Kwaiker
[Cuaiquer] in the Pacific piedmont of Nariño
(130 000 people).
602 Colombia: Language Situation
b. The Chocó family (two languages). It is found
on the Pacific coast, from Panama to Ecuador,
with incursions in both countries. Its languages
are Embera, with much dialectal variation
(Embera-Catı́o, Embera-Chamı́, Tadó, Epena,
with more than 70 000 people), and the well-
differentiated Waunana [Woun Meu] (8000
people) along the San Juán River.
c. The Guahibo family (three languages). This
family is found in the eastern plains of the
Orinoco in Colombia and also in Venezuela,
spoken by formerly nomadic populations
who are today mostly settled. In Colombia,
two very distinct languages are found at
the extreme ends of the area: Hitnu or
Macaguane [Macaguán] in the north (500 peo-
ple), and Guayabero in the south (1200
people). Between these, a more homogenous
space is occupied by Guahibo proper or Sikuani
(25 000 people in Colombia), with dialectal
differences that are not very marked (e.g.,
Cuiba, Hamorúa).
d. The Sáliba-Piaroa family (two languages).
Peoples in the plains of Orinoco were cate-
chized early by the Jesuits in the 17th century.
Sáliba is spoken in the west (1300 people);
Piaroa is spoken in the east and also in
Venezuela, close to the Orinoco River (800
people in Colombia, 5000 in Venezuela).
e. The Macú-Puinave family (five languages).
Small groupings of nomadic forest commu-
nities along the Inı́rida River and in the forests
of Guaviare and Vaupés speak the languages
Yuhup, Hupda [Hupdë], Nukak [Nukak
Makú], and Kakua. A more sedentary group
along the Inirida river speaks Puinave (5400
people).
f. The Tucano family (eighteen languages).
These languages are distributed in two areas:
the upper Caquetá and the upper Putumayo in
the west, and the upper Negro River and
Vaupés in the east. Languages of this family
are also spoken in Brazil, Ecuador, and Peru.
In Colombia, the languages of the western area
(Coreguaje [Koreguaje], Siona; 3000 people)
are threatened by recent colonization; the eastern
area is characterized by systematic practices of
multilingualism. This latter area has 16 lan-
guages spoken by its fewer than 30 000 peo-
ple: Cubeo, Tanimuca [Tanimuca-Retuarã],
Tucano, Desano, Macuna, Tatuyo, Barasana,
Carapana, Tuyuca, Yurutı́, Siriano, Piratapuyo,
Bará [Waimaha], Taiwano, Wanano [Guanano],
and Pisamira.
g. The Huitoto family (three languages). The
Uitoto language with its three dialects is spoken
along the rivers Caquetá and Putumayo (6200
people), as is the Ocaina language, spoken by
fewer than 100 people (though it is also spoken
in Peru), and the Nonuya language, which is
now moribund with only three living speakers.
h. The Bora family (three languages). Located in
the Caquetá–Putumayo area, its languages are
Muinane (550 people), Bora (650 people), and
Miraña (660 people); the latter two are very
similar.
3. Eight genetically unaffiliated languages:
a. Andoque (500 people), spoken in Araracuara
(Amazonas).
b. Cofán (1460 people), spoken along the upper
Putumayo and in a few communities across the
border in Ecuador.
c. Kamsá (3500 people), spoken in the valley of
Sibundoy (Andean–Amazonian piedmont).
d. Páez (100 000 people), spoken in the Andean
southeast (eastern Cauca).
e. Tinigua (moribund, with two speakers), found
in the Sierra de la Macarena.
f. Yaruro (3000 people total), found on the border
with Venezuela (Arauca River); its speakers are
occasionally present in Colombia.
g. Ticuna (6580 people in Colombia; more than
30 000 total), spoken at the edge of the Amazon
River and extending beyond the border with
Brazil and Peru.
h. Yagua (300 people in Colombia; 3000 in Peru),
found on the border with Peru and along the
rivers Putumayo and Amazon.
Some Structural Features of the Indigenous
Languages
We here outline only some simple characteristics of
the indigenous languages. The more important typo-
logical differences are probably those found between
the lowland languages (in Amazonas and Orinoquı́a,
and on the Pacific and Atlantic coasts) and the high-
land or Andean languages (associating with these
latter the languages of the Chibcha family that are
sometimes found in the lowlands).
At the phonetic–phonological level, we find com-
plex consonantal systems with simple vocalic systems
in the Andes; whereas, in the lowlands, the tendency is
an opposite one of complex vocalic systems with sim-
pler consonantal systems. Remarkable consonantal
characteristics include the retroflex of the Guambiano
and the Kamsá; the six consonant series of the Páez,

where the simple oclusives can receive either a feature
of palatalization and/or aspiration or a feature of pa-
latalization and/or prenasalization; the use in many
languages of the opposition tense/lax, rather than
the opposition voiceless/voiced; the existence of
implosives in the Embera of the Pacific, in the
Arawakan languages of the plains (Achagua, Piapoco,
Curripaco), and in the Witoto family (Nonuya,
Uitoto-Nepode); the importance of consonantal
prenasalization; the postnasals of the Yuhup (Makú);
the affricative laterals of the Kogui; the existence
of aspirated flaps (Barı́, Cabiyarı́) or nasalized
labiovelars (Kogui).
The most common vocalic system is one of six
vowels: the five cardinal vowels plus a vowel which
can be mid-central in the Andes, or frequently is
closed unrounded and back in the Amazon (note
also the rounded front vowel of the Embera-Cha-
mı́es). In the Andes or the Chibchan languages, the
system can be reduced to four vowels (Páez , Awa-
Kwaiker) or to five (Guambiano, Cuna, Chimila). In
the Amazon region, there are greater complexities
not only in the number of vocalic qualities (nine
qualities in Andoque and Yuhup; eight qualities in
Cuiba) but also in coarticulations. It is common to
have, along with the simple system, a system of nasal
vowels and/or a system of glottalized or of aspi-
rated vowels. The handling of vocalic nasality
among the eastern Tucano languages of Vaupés is
remarkable (morphemic nasality, word harmony). In
the same area of Vaupés, and also along the lower
Caquetá-Putumayo and the Amazon River, there are
tonal languages of two or three registers (the
Tucano family, the Bora family, the Makú-Puinave
family, Andoque, Ticuna). At the border of this area
are pitch-accent languages that keep the oppositions
of register, but only on the accented unit (syllable or
mora): Piapoco, Yucuna, Barasana, Nonuya, etc.
The most attested type of word morphology is
agglutinating, although there are tendencies toward
flexion in the classic sense among the languages of
the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta, and isolating
tendencies occur in Embera, Cuna, Uwa, and others.
The agglutination can go to the point of polysynthesis
or holophrasis (Páez , Kamsá), with nominal incor-
poration, yielding utterances composed solely of a
predicate word. The verb is commonly synthetic,
but there are also analytical constructions with as-
pectual, negative, modal, deictic auxiliaries. At the
syntactic level, the regressive order (determiner–
determined) is dominant, with a strong tendency to
locate the verb at the end of the sentence, preceded by
its complements. Many languages can choose be-
tween different predicate structures to direct the at-
tention to an event or to some entity of the event
Colombia: Language Situation 603
(Sáliba, Piapoco, Achagua, Cofán, Muinane, Pui-
nave, etc.). The nominal or adjectival predication is
frequently expressed as a verbal predicate (the noun
or the adjective is ‘conjugated’ in Cofán, Páez , Pia-
poco, etc.) since the verb–noun opposition is fre-
quently questionable at a syntactic higher level.
Regarding hierarchial structuring and the classifi-
cation of participants, there are languages clearly er-
gative (Embera, Uwa), partially ergative (Kogui,
Wiwa [Malayo] or Damana), and accusative (Ika,
Andoque, Eastern Tucanoan, etc.). The active–stative
type is very common in the lowlands (Arawak).
Among the Chibchan languages and in the highlands,
morphologic topicalization is common (Awa or
Kwaiker, Guambiano, Páez, Uwa or Tunebo,
Arhuaco, Cuna, etc.). The nominal function is fre-
quently marked by declension suffixes. The represen-
tation of the main participants in an event is
commonly made by means of integrated personal or
generic markers on the verb. Nevertheless, there are
also languages without personal flexion in the verb
(e.g., Embera, Uwa-tunebo, Yuhup).
At the syntactic–semantic level, and for the repre-
sentation of entities, it is common in the lowlands
to find classifiers of shape and/or gender markers
with functions of syntactic agreement (Sáliba, Tucano
family, Bora family, Andoque, etc.), whereas the ab-
sence of class and gender markers is dominant in the
highlands (Guambiano, Páez , Sierra Nevada, Cuna,
Uwa, etc.). There are also numeral classifiers (Cuna).
The categorization of person typically opposes 1st
and 2nd to the 3rd, although there is also the opposi-
tion of 1st versus 2nd and 3rd (in the Andean south,
Guambiano, Awa-Kwaiker, Cofán). The Páez language
also distinguishes feminine 1st person from masculine
1st person and feminine 2nd person from mascu-
line 2nd person. The Andoque language distinguishes
an impregnable (i.e., a potentially pregnant woman)
2nd person (pluralized) from an unimpregnable (i.e.,
a young girl or old woman) 2nd person. The opposi-
tion between inalienable and alienable nouns is
generalized; the inalienable ones (body parts, spatial
relations, kinship, etc.) appear with obligatory pos-
sessive prefixes. The categorization of space is often
complex and the systems of deixis or the systems of
orientation of event are highly elaborated (Sierra
Nevada of Santa Marta, Kamsá, Páez, Sikuani or
Guahibo, Andoque, etc.), and it combines criteria of
proximity with criteria of movement, nominal class,
and the directionality of the sun, the rivers, and so
on. Grammaticalization of temporary location also
occurs, although it is generally marked by a combina-
tion of aspectual and deictic markers. The systems of
epistemic modality are also noteworthy, and they
highlight a sensitivity to the source of information
604 Colombia: Language Situation
(Tucano family, Páez, Guambiano, Uwa, Andoque,
Kamsá, languages of the Sierra Nevada, etc.).
The Spanish Spoken in Colombia
We have deliberately focused on the Amerindian lin-
guistic diversity of Colombia because it is more quali-
tatively profuse and less well-known. Nevertheless,
we must remember that Colombia is not today a
country with majority or near majority Indian areas
like Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Guatemala. Nor was
it affected by the demographically significant immi-
gration of Europeans after the 18th century, as is
the case in Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile. The
three basic population components – Indians, blacks,
and whites – were gradually mixed from the 16th
century on in diverse proportions in different regions,
producing a locally differentiated but globally con-
tinuous Spanish speech. This continuum represents
nearly the totality of the population of 40 million
inhabitants. More than anywhere, it can be found
in the three Andean mountain ranges, their inter-
Andean valleys, and on the Atlantic coast. In these
regions are the great cities in which most of today’s
Colombians are concentrated, including Bogota,
Medellı́n, Cali, Barranquilla, Cartagena, and Bucar-
amanga.
The linguistic variation of this Spanish-speaking
population is remarkable, but it does not impede
communication. The lowest fluency of interactive
understanding is found between the speakers of the
coastal varieties (found along the Atlantic and ‘inter-
land’ of the Caribbean) and the others. Among the
many different features which distinguish the ‘Coste-
ños’ from the ‘Andeans,’ we can note, at the phonetic
level, the aspiration or loss of syllable final /s/, the loss
of final /r/, and the velar pronunciation of final /n/.
These same phonetic features are found and were
present in Andalusian Spanish, the variety of Spanish
that indeed began the American conquest on the
islands and the Caribbean coast. In the use of 2nd
person markers, the Costeños of the Caribbean prefer
the ‘tuteo’ (i.e., the use of ‘tu’), whereas the Costeños
of the Pacific prefer the ‘voseo’ (i.e., the use of ‘vos’),
which is generalized in the southeast of Colombia.
The Atlantic coastal varieties can be subdivided into
Cartagenero, Samario (of Santa Marta), and Guajiro.
The more eastern speech of the plains of Orinoco are
of a costeño type, possibly from the influence of
Venezuelan speech, a coastal variety.
Andean Spanish may be divided into western
(Nariño, Cauca, Caldas, and Antioquia) and eastern
(Cundinamarca and Boyacá, Santander, Tolima and
Huila) varieties. Among the western dialects, we can
distinguish Antioqueña or ‘Paisa,’ Valluna of the area
of Cali, ‘Pastusa’ of the southwest border with Ecua-
dor. The Paisa variety is noticeable to other
Colombians for its apico–palatal pronunciation of
/s/ (similar to Castillian) and the ‘yeismo’ (ll>y) that
it shares with the people of Valle del Cauca. In Valle
del Cauca, the voseo is generalized and the labializa-
tion of final /n/ is also noteworthy. In Nariño, as also
in Valle del Cauca, the ‘quechuismos’ (i.e., elements
of Quechua) are frequent. The pronunciation resem-
bles that of Andean Ecuador, with tense consonants
and a short syllabic rate. On the eastern side of
the Andes, the distinctions appear mainly in the lexi-
con (isoglosses). Of note in Boyacá, though less in
Cundinamarca, is the form of ‘Su Merced’ for polite
2nd person. There is also an assibilation of /r/ in
these varieties (‘rolo’ or traditional speech of Bogota,
‘opita’ of the department of Huila), a feature prob-
ably originating in the indigenous substrate (also
present in Nariño).
We cannot here discuss the many differences of
lexical usage. For particular studies, see the monu-
mental Atlas lingüı́stico-etnográfico de Colombia,
1981–1983, compiled at the Instituto Caro y Cuervo
under the direction of Luis Flórez. It is also important
to mention that with the intensification of telecom-
munications and considerable internal migration over
the past 40 years, some of the specificities are disap-
pearing, and many others, mainly lexical, are appear-
ing in areas different from their origin.
See also: Minorities and Language; Spanish; Venezuela:
Language Situation.
Language Maps (Appendix 1): Maps 56, 57.
Bibliography
Arango Ochoa R & Sánchez Gutierrez E (1999). Los pue-
blos indı́genas de Colombia 1997 (población y terri-
torio). Bogotá: Departamento Nacional de Planeación.
González de Pérez M S (ed.) (2000). Lenguas indı́genas de
Colombia: Una visión descriptiva. Bogotá: Instituto Caro
y Cuervo.
Greenberg J H (1987). Language in the Americas. Stan-
ford: Stanford University Press.
Instituto Colombiano de Antropologı́a (1987). Introduc-
ción a la Colombia amerindia. Bogotá.
Landaburu J (2003). ‘État des lieux de la linguistique
colombienne en Amérique latine.’ In Faits de Langue1:
Méso-Amérique, Caraı̈bes, Amazonie. Paris: Ophrys.
Montes Giraldo J J (1985). Estudios sobre el español de
Colombia. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo.
Rodriguez de Montes M L (ed.) (1993). Estado actual de la
clasificación de las lenguas indı́genas de Colombia.
Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo.

Color Terms
D L Payne, University of Oregon, Eugene, OR, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Color Perception
Color is a shorthand way of referring to the psycho-
logical interpretation of retinal and neuronal percep-
tion of reflected visible light (Lenneberg and Roberts,
1956; Hardin, 1988). Colors are commonly thought
of as being composed of three properties: 1) hue
(perception of wavelength interactions), 2) brightness
or luminesence on a dark-light scale (based on reflec-
tivity of a surface), and 3) saturation (perception of
purity of one dominant wavelength). The highest
degree of luminiscence is ‘white’ or ‘bright,’ while
the lowest degree (no reflectivity) is ‘black’ or ‘dark’
(Figure 1). If there is very low or no saturation, the
color is interpreted as ‘gray’ (Figure 2).
Color Vocabulary
Color terms are not the same thing as the psycho-
physical perception of wavelength and reflectivity,
but are Sausseurian ‘signs’ which name color con-
cepts. Individuals from two distinct language-culture
groups may perceive given light-wave experiences
similarly but use very distinct patterns of color terms
to talk about their experiences. For example, it is
unlikely that a native English speaker would use a
single color term to name the entire range of colors
that are named by the term nirô, or a single term for
the range named by pôs in Maa, the language of the
Maasai, in Kenya and Tanzania (Figure 3). Converse-
ly, many English speakers might use the single word
brown for the hues that Maa speakers divide into
nirô, múgı́é, morı́joi, and several other categories.
Figure 1 Luminescence.
Color Terms 605
Essentially, all languages have two or more lexical
items that name color concepts as their basic sense
(but see Levinson, 2002). The Dani (Irian Jaya)
word mola names a color concept roughly corre-
sponding to a combination of ‘red þ white þ yellow.’
The Yagua (Peru) rúuná˛y names ‘red.’ Some color
terms may derive from the names of objects, such as
English olive, which names a tree and its fruit; only by
metonymic extension does it name the grayish-green
color corresponding to the prototypical fruit of the
olive tree. Some color terms are contextually restrict-
ed. Thus, English blond primarily applies to human
hair colors, and cannot be used for the same hue
range in paint found, for example, on cars or walls.
The Maa ómò is restricted to the color of certain
light-brown sheep. Even for terms that are not con-
textually restricted, their reference on particular
occasions of use is likely to be severely affected by
context. The meaning of black in black sky versus
in black crow is not likely to be same ‘black.’ Red
is unlikely to designate the same hue-saturation-
brighness values in red lipstick and in red hair
(under natural circumstances). Color terms often
have emotional or social connotations, such as the
widely-attested association of ‘red’ with anger. Color
terms are common in idioms for human beings.
Sometimes languages include in their ‘color’ cat-
egory words that cannot be defined only by hue,
saturation, and brightness parameters. The Maa
emúá ‘color’ category contains both hue-saturation-
brightness terms and color-plus-design terms such as
arôs ‘spotted black and white,’ keshúroi ‘red and
white/brown and white’ with ‘white’ on or near the
face, sámpù ‘thinly striped, typically with tan and
white’ (Figure 4), etc. Pukótı̀ ‘blend of black and
white, so well blended that from a distance the
whole may appear blue’ is a hyponym (subcase) of
Figure 2 Saturation.
606 Color Terms

Figure 3 Maa color naming. See http://darkwing.uoregon.edu/~dlpayne/maasai/MaaColorNaming-.htm. This figure reflects a color-naming
task done by Vincent Konene Ole-Konchellah, a Maa (Maasai) speaker of Kenya, il-Wuasinkishu section. When the task was done, the
color circles were randomized within a field. They are re-arranged here according to the names applied to the colors. In other Maa-
speaking areas some terms, e.g., si0 ntêt and pôs, may designate different colors. Maa has many additional color terms which
Ole-Konchellah just did not employ in this task.

pôs ‘blue’, parallel to sagárarámı̀ ‘light blue/purple’
(from the name of a seed pod), and kiı́ ‘blue’ (from
‘whetting stone’) (Payne et al., 2003).
On different occasions, the same speaker may
name a given hue-saturation-brightness value with
different terms. In part, this led MacLaury (1996;
2002) to argue that speakers may switch perspectives
in observing a phenomenon; they may look at two
items from the vantage point of either how similar, or
how different, they are. Perspective-switching allows
for flexible cognitive categorizations, hence alterna-
tive namings, and eventually may lead to different
lexicalizations across speech communities.
Color Term Universals
An enduring question concerns whether universal
constraints underlie inventories of color terms. If
so, do explanations lie in physiology or the nature
of cognition? Bloomfield (1933: 140) advanced the
relativist idea that languages can ‘mark off’ different
portions of the wavelength continuum quite
arbitrarily. For him, color naming should be entirely
culture-specific. A related question concerns to what
extent color vocabulary may affect individuals’ cog-
nitive perceptions of color (cf. Whorf, 1956; Kay and
Kempton, 1984).
Scientific cross-cultural studies of color terms began
with the optician Magnus (1880), who drew evolu-
tionary conclusions about vocabulary development.
The anthropologist Rivers (1901) drew evolutionary
conclusions about social and mental development.
Employing Lenneberg and Roberts’s (1956) pro-
cedures for researching Zuni (New Mexico) color
terms, Berlin and Kay (1969) (henceforth BK)
addressed the universals question. They distinguished
between basic color terms (BCTs) versus color terms
generally, and argued against an extreme relativist
position, instead positing universal constraints on
the evolution of basic terms.
BK defined a BCT as a word that refers to color first
and foremost; is not a composite of other color terms;
is not a sub-case hyponym of a more general term; is
not contextually restricted; and is salient, as judged
by being readily used and widely known throughout a
language community. By these criteria, we identify
Yagua as having four basic color roots (though of
differing parts of speech): pupá-‘white,’ dakuuy ‘be
dark, black,’ rúuna˛´ y ‘red colored,’ súnu˛ -‘green-blue.’
A concept partially corresponding to ‘yellow’ can be
expressed, but this involves modifying súnu˛ -‘green-
blue’ with a suffix that probably derives from-diiy
‘near’ (súnu˛ diipó ‘pale, yellowish,’ súnu˛ dı́way ‘be
yellowish, pale, anemic’; Powlison, 1995). Secondary
criteria, appealed to in problematic cases, include
whether the term (a) has the same grammatical prop-
erties as other BCTs; (b) is not derived from the name
of an object; and (c) is not recently borrowed. Sec-
ondary criteria can be synchronically irrelevant for
determining basic status, even if historically true.

Figure 4 Animal hide displaying the Maa (Maasai) color term sámpù ‘thinly striped, typically with tan and white.
English orange was borrowed from French and still is
the name of a fruit tree, but orange is considered a
BCT in modern English because it meets the primary
criteria.
BK tested the hypothesis that there are constraints
on development of BCTs using an array of about 330
Munsell color chips and 20 languages, relying on
bilingual speakers living in California. The BCTs of
each language were identified and elicited from the
speakers. They were then asked to use the color chips
to identify the best example (focal hue) of each term
identified as a BCT in their respective languages. In a
separate step speakers plotted the range of each BCT
on an array of the color chips. The 20-language sam-
ple was supplemented by data on 78 more languages
extracted from dictionaries and field-workers’ notes.
BK concluded that though BCTs could show
marked differences in range, there was a high degree
of stability for focal hues across languages: only
about 30 of the chips were nominated as focal hues.
These concentrated around the focal hues of English
black, white, red, green, yellow, blue, gray, brown,
orange, purple, pink. Some languages had a term that
covered blue þ green (cf. Yagua súnu˛ -), but BK’s
results showed that the focal hue of this term tended
to be either ‘blue’ or ‘green,’ but not half-way in
between. They concluded that languages could be
placed along a continuum of seven stages of BCT
development, and that an implicational hierarchy
governed the order in which new BCTs could be
added, ending with a maximum of 11 BCTs
(Figure 5). These claims opposed the view that
languages could vary without limit.
Color Terms 607
Further empirical evidence argued that, for people
with normal trichromatic vision, certain focal centers
are psychologically salient even when a person’s lan-
guage has no BCT corresponding to those focal colors
(Heider, 1972; Rosch, 1975). Rosch showed that in
Dani, with just two BCTs, speakers were better able
to hold certain colors in memory than others, even
when the memorable colors did not correspond to a
focal center of one of the two Dani color terms.
Importantly, the memorable colors corresponded
quite closely to the BK ‘best examples’ from other
languages. This result argues that the focal colors
BK identified are psychologically salient, with the
implication that at least the centers of color term
categories were not dependent on culture or lan-
guage. Again this concept countered a strong form
of the Whorfian hypothesis.
Subsequent scholars have challenged the BK study
on several grounds, including Western cultural bias,
non-random sampling procedures, bilingual interfer-
ence, transcription and data errors, and inadequate
experimental methodologies (Hickerson, 1971;
Saunders and van Brakel, 1997). Dedrick (1998) pro-
vides an even-handed review of the research from a
philosophy of science perspective.
The BK study was nevertheless hugely influential in
initiating an enduring research tradition, spurring
investigation of hundreds of additional languages
(Borg, 1999). Major cross-language studies include
MacLaury (1996) and the World Color Survey (Kay
et al., forthcoming). Together these motivated revi-
sions to the universalist claims (cf. Kay et al., 1997),
including the following.
608 Color Terms
Figure 5 Berlin and Kay’s (1969) hypothesized stages in development of BCTs. If a language has any BCT to the right on the hierarchy,
it was predicted to have all BCTs to the left. (A Stage VII language need have only some of ‘gray, pink, orange, purple.’)
Figure 6 Kay and McDaniel’s (1978) revised BCT color sequence. Arrows represent splitting of composite categories. Gray is ‘wild,’
able to appear anywhere, but later is more likely.
. In addition to ‘blue þ green,’ the developmental
sequence was revised to include more composites
(Kay and McDaniel, 1978) (Figure 6). This was partial-
ly based on the discovery that ‘white’ was not a focal
hue in all two-color BCT systems. For example,
though the range of the Dani mola includes
‘white þ red þ yellow,’ it had a focal hue within the
‘red’ range. A more insightful characterization is that
mola is a WARM color term, and neither a ‘white’ nor a
‘red’ term. The complementary term is mili, which is a
‘black þ green þ blue,’ or DARK-COOL composite.
‘Yellow þ green,’ ‘white þ yellow,’ and ‘black þ blue’
composites have also been documented. In some lan-
guages a ‘green þ blue’ composite may persist even
after ‘brown,’ ‘purple,’ or both have achieved BCT
status. Acknowledging composites accounted for how
speakers can use BCTs to name any hue-saturation-
brightness value, whereas BK would have predicted
that some phenomenological color values would go
unnamed.
. Composite color categories may have their foci
in one salient hue or another, or may have multiple
foci. This difference may vary by speaker.
. In the revised developmental sequence, the col-
ors of Stages VI and VII were viewed as derived. The
developmental sequence thus contained category
types: composite, unique hue, and achromatic (‘red,
yellow, green, blue, white, black’), binary hue
(‘orange’ as a combination of ‘yellow’ and ‘red,’ ‘pur-
ple’ as a combination of ‘red’ and ‘blue’), and derived
(‘brown,’ ‘pink’).
. Developmentally, ‘brown, purple, pink, orange’
and especially ‘gray’ may appear earlier than
predicted by BK (Greenfield, 1986). Indeed, the
supposition that BCTs always come about by split-
ting hue-based categories into smaller hue-based
categories is wrong, as brightness and saturation
parameters can play a role. For example, a desatu-
rated ‘gray’ might surface early in the sequence, and
subsequently be reinterpreted as ‘blue’ (independent-
ly of any ‘green þ blue’ composite) (MacLaury,
1999).
. Languages may lexicalize BCTs along a bright-
ness parameter. The Bellonese (Solomon Islands)
system has three ‘mothers’ or ‘big names’ of colors:
susungu for bright, light colors (other than light
greens and green-yellows), ‘ungi for dark colors
(except pitch-black), and unga for the rest of
the spectrum (plus other non-BCTs) (Kuschel and
Monberg, 1974; cf. MacLaury, 1996).
. Though color categories cannot be defined by
their boundaries, there are still restrictions on bound-
aries. Suppose one color category has its focus in ‘red’
and another has its focus in ‘yellow.’ If a speaker of
such a language moves gradually from the red focus
to the yellow one, there will be some point after
which the speaker simply can no longer affirm that
the hue could be considered ‘red’: a hue boundary has
been passed (Dedrick, 1998).
. Some languages have more than 11 BCTs.
Russian has 12, including goluboj ‘light, pale blue’
and sinij ‘dark, bright blue.’ Hungarian has both
piros ‘light red’ and vörös ‘dark red’ BCTs (MacLaury
et al., 1997).
Explaining Basic Color Terms
The claim that universals partially govern develop-
ment of BCTs appears to receive strong statistical
support (Kay et al., 1997; and the forthcoming
World Color Survey). Even so, what can ultimately
explain the constrained developmental patterns

remains unresolved. Kay and McDaniel (1978)
argued that unique hue terms like white, black, red,
green, yellow, and blue could be explained by an
opponency theory, derived from the nature of the
human eye and basic neural responses (which con-
cerns whether a given retinal cell is maximally excited
or inhibited by a given wavelength; Hering, 1920/
1964; Hardin, 1988). Appeal was then made to
fuzzy set theory (Zadeh, 1965) to account for binary
and derived color terms like brown, orange, purple,
pink and gray.
But this set of explanations cannot account well for
composite color terms that combine fundamental
perceptual categories such as ‘yellow þ red,’
‘green þ blue,’ and ‘white þ yellow.’ ‘Yellow þ green
þ blue’ composites are particularly troubling, since
certain retinal cells appear to be maximally excited
by focal blue hues but maximally inhibited by focal
yellow. Disconcertingly, the proposal did not explain
how categories change over time – one of the princi-
pal claims of the BK research paradigm was precisely
that systems do change.
Rosch’s findings led to explanations for color cat-
egorization in terms of central prototypes grounded
in perception. Such an explanation works well for
perceptually salient focal colors, but does not account
for BCTs like purple, which tend not to have a salient
focus; nor does it account for category boundary
phenomena in color naming tasks.
Arguments have been advanced that composite
color terms for LIGHT-WARM and DARK-COOL
may be linked to colors typically associated with
day and night (Goddard, 1998); and other color
terms may develop based on the color of culturally
important objects (Saunders and van Brakel, 1997)
(the position of cultural relativists). But troubling
data for a culturally-grounded explanation of
DARK-COOL and LIGHT-WARM terms is that
BCTs for these notions do not often correspond to
lexical terms for ‘night,’ and ‘day’ or ‘sun,’ respective-
ly. Most troubling, these accounts have no way of
accounting for the strong statistical patterns seen in
large data sets such as the World Color Survey or
MacLaury’s Mesoamerican study. Almost certainly
any reductionist one-factor explanation will ulti-
mately fail in explaining all of the patterns of BCT
development in the world’s languages.
See also: Categorizing Percepts: Vantage Theory; Cogni-
tive Semantics; Lexicalization; Prototype Semantics.
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Color Terms 609
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Combinatory Categorial Grammar
M Steedman, University of Texas, Austin, TX, USA
J Baldridge, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Combinatory Categorial Grammar (CCG), like other
varieties of Categorial Grammar (CG) discussed by
Wood (1993), is a radically lexicalized grammar in
which all language-specific grammatical information
is specified in the lexicon and the application of syntac-
tic rules is entirely conditioned on the syntactic type,
or category, of their inputs. No rule is structure-
dependent. In this respect CCG is to be contrasted
with Transformational Grammar and its descendents.
It is further distinguished from them and most other
theories of natural grammar by its radically free con-
ception of derivational constituency, uniting intona-
tion structure and surface structure, and its distinctive
account of the long-range dependencies involved in
relative clauses and coordination. The latter account
avoids the use of syntactic variables and eschews
movement and deletion as syntactic operations. CCG
is also distinguished by its use of a fixed inventory of
type-driven rules from nonfinitely axiomatizable
categorial logics such as the Lambek calculus and
Type-Logical Grammar.
Categories identify the syntactic type of a constitu-
ent as either a primitive category or a function
category. Primitive categories, such as N, NP, PP,
and S, may be regarded as further distinguished
by features such as number, case, and inflection (in-
cluding features of some version of the X theory),
where appropriate. Functions (such as verbs) bear
categories identifying the type of their result (such
as S) and that of their argument(s)/complements(s),
both of which may themselves be either function
Whorf B L (1956). ‘The relation of habitual thought
and behavior to language.’ In Carroll J B (ed.)
Language, thought and reality: selected writings of
Benjamin Lee Whorf. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
134–159.
Zadeh L (1965). ‘Fuzzy sets.’ Information and Control 8,
338–353.
Relevant Website
http://www.icsi.berkeley.edu – World Color Survey Site.
categories or primitive categories. For example, the
English transitive verb married bears the following
category:
(1) married :¼ (S\NP)/NP
This syntactic category identifies the transitive verb as
a function and specifies the type and directionality of
its arguments and the type of its result. We here use
the ‘result leftmost’ notation, in which a rightward-
combining functor over a domain b into a range a is
written a/b; the corresponding leftward-combining
functor is written a\b, where a and b may themselves
be function categories. (There is an alternative ‘result
on top’ notation due to Lambek, according to which
the latter category is written b\a. The use of slashes in
both notations should be distinguished from the quite
different use of slash notation in Generalized Phrase
Structure Grammar.)
The transitive verb category in (1) also reflects its
semantic type, which we write (following the article
Semantics in Categorial Grammar) as ((t e) e),
where e is the type of an entity and t is the type of
a proposition. We can make this semantics explicit
by pairing the category with a term of the lambda
calculus, via a colon operator:
(2) married :¼ (S\NP)/NP : lxly.marry 0 xy
(Primes mark constants; nonprimes are variables. The
notation uses concatenation to mean function applica-
tion under a left-associative convention, so that the
expression marry 0 xy is equivalent to (marry 0 x)y.)
Pure CG limits syntactic combination to rules of
functional application of functions to arguments to
the right or left, which in the present notation can be
written as:
(3a) X/Y:f Y:a ) X:fa (>)
(3b) Y:a X\Y:f ) X:fa (<)
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Combinatory Categorial Grammar
M Steedman, University of Texas, Austin, TX, USA
J Baldridge, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
Combinatory Categorial Grammar (CCG), like other
varieties of Categorial Grammar (CG) discussed by
Wood (1993), is a radically lexicalized grammar in
which all language-specific grammatical information
is specified in the lexicon and the application of syntac-
tic rules is entirely conditioned on the syntactic type,
or category, of their inputs. No rule is structure-
dependent. In this respect CCG is to be contrasted
with Transformational Grammar and its descendents.
It is further distinguished from them and most other
theories of natural grammar by its radically free con-
ception of derivational constituency, uniting intona-
tion structure and surface structure, and its distinctive
account of the long-range dependencies involved in
relative clauses and coordination. The latter account
avoids the use of syntactic variables and eschews
movement and deletion as syntactic operations. CCG
is also distinguished by its use of a fixed inventory of
type-driven rules from nonfinitely axiomatizable
categorial logics such as the Lambek calculus and
Type-Logical Grammar.
Categories identify the syntactic type of a constitu-
ent as either a primitive category or a function
category. Primitive categories, such as N, NP, PP,
and S, may be regarded as further distinguished
by features such as number, case, and inflection (in-
cluding features of some version of the X theory),
where appropriate. Functions (such as verbs) bear
categories identifying the type of their result (such
as S) and that of their argument(s)/complements(s),
both of which may themselves be either function
Whorf B L (1956). ‘The relation of habitual thought
and behavior to language.’ In Carroll J B (ed.)
Language, thought and reality: selected writings of
Benjamin Lee Whorf. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
134–159.
Zadeh L (1965). ‘Fuzzy sets.’ Information and Control 8,
338–353.
Relevant Website
http://www.icsi.berkeley.edu – World Color Survey Site.
categories or primitive categories. For example, the
English transitive verb married bears the following
category:
(1) married :¼ (S\NP)/NP
This syntactic category identifies the transitive verb as
a function and specifies the type and directionality of
its arguments and the type of its result. We here use
the ‘result leftmost’ notation, in which a rightward-
combining functor over a domain b into a range a is
written a/b; the corresponding leftward-combining
functor is written a\b, where a and b may themselves
be function categories. (There is an alternative ‘result
on top’ notation due to Lambek, according to which
the latter category is written b\a. The use of slashes in
both notations should be distinguished from the quite
different use of slash notation in Generalized Phrase
Structure Grammar.)
The transitive verb category in (1) also reflects its
semantic type, which we write (following the article
Semantics in Categorial Grammar) as ((t e) e),
where e is the type of an entity and t is the type of
a proposition. We can make this semantics explicit
by pairing the category with a term of the lambda
calculus, via a colon operator:
(2) married :¼ (S\NP)/NP : lxly.marry 0 xy
(Primes mark constants; nonprimes are variables. The
notation uses concatenation to mean function applica-
tion under a left-associative convention, so that the
expression marry 0 xy is equivalent to (marry 0 x)y.)
Pure CG limits syntactic combination to rules of
functional application of functions to arguments to
the right or left, which in the present notation can be
written as:
(3a) X/Y:f Y:a ) X:fa (>)
(3b) Y:a X\Y:f ) X:fa (<)

The application rules in (3) allow derivations
equivalent to those in traditional Context-Free
Phrase Structure Grammar (CFPSG), such as the
following:
(4)
The restriction to rules of functional application
alone limits pure CG to the level of context-free
grammar. CCG generalizes the context-free core by
introducing further rules for combining categories.
Because of their strictly type-driven character and
their semantic correspondence to the simplest of the
combinators identified by Curry and Feys (1958)
these rules are called combinatory rules – the distinc-
tive ingredient of CCG that gives it its name. They are
strictly limited to certain directionally specialized
instantiations of a very few basic operations, of
which the most important for the present purposes
are Type-Raising and functional Composition. A third
class of combinatory rules related to Substitution,
Curry and Feys’s S combinator, is also crucially
involved. Some variants of CCG discussed in this
article use further combinatory operations. Examples
include ‘wrapping’ or commutative combinatory
rules related to Curry and Feys’s C (Bach, Dowty,
and Jacobson) and the product combinator of
Lambek (Pickering and Barry, and Dowty), some-
times eschewing composition and/or type-raising
entirely.
All of these combinatory versions of categorial
grammar are strictly distinct from Type-Logical
Grammar (TLG) and related generalizations of CGs
related to the Lambek calculus and/or Martin-Löf
Type-Theory. Type-logical grammars equate function
categories with implicative formulæ in a substructural
logic. Accordingly, TLG treats grammatical deriva-
tion as proof rather than as reduction in an applicative
system. Logics and applicative systems stand in a very
close relation under the ‘Curry-Howard isomor-
phism,’ and some of the combinatory rules of CCG
are in fact theorems of the (pure, associative) Lambek
calculus. However, others are not. Because not even
the pure associative Lambek calculus is finitely axio-
matizable and it has been shown by Pentus to be not
only weakly context-free but to also have an NP-hard
decision problem, these are really radically different
kinds of systems. In practice, the emphasis of the two
approaches has been rather different. Work in TLG
has attended more to mathematical foundations,
whereas work in CCG has concentrated on linguistic
explanation and computational applications. The
Combinatory Categorial Grammar 611
relation of TLG to both CCG and theories such as
TG that make use of syntactic variables is discussed
by Dowty (1993).
Much work in CCG has centered on the problem of
capturing unbounded dependencies – that is, on con-
structions such as relative clauses and reduced con-
junctions, in which elements that are syntactically
and semantically dependent may be separated by ar-
bitrary amounts of intervening linguistic material.
Such dependent elements are indicated by subscripts
in the following examples:
(5a) a man thati Anna said Manny thinks I likei
(5b) I wrote toi, and you heard fromi, Mannyi
Such dependencies are to be contrasted with bounded
dependencies, which hold between function and ar-
gument categories such as verbs and the noun phrases
in their immediate domain, as in the case of binding
and control.
The Categorial Lexicon
In order to capture languages with freer word order,
such as Turkish and Tagalog, the notation introduced
in (1) and (2) must be understood as a special case of a
more general notation allowing categories to be sche-
matized over a number of orders of combination and
directionalities. Baldridge, following Hoffman, pro-
posed a Multi-Modal Set-CCG notation, according to
which the single arguments of a rigid directional cat-
egory such as (1) are replaced by one or more multi-
sets of one or more argument types, each bearing its
own directionality slash, and allowed to combine in
any order.
For example, the transitive verb category of a
completely free-word-order accusative language with
nominal case (such as Latin) is written S{|NPnom,
|NPacc}, where | indicates that either leftward or right-
ward combination is allowed. The set brackets indi-
cate that the subject and object can combine in either
order. For a language such as Tagalog, which is verb-
initial but otherwise freely ordered and cased, the
corresponding accusative–transitive active voice cate-
gory is written S{/NPnom, /NPacc}. Verb-final Japanese
accusative transitives are written S{\NPnom, \NPacc}.
In this extended notation, the English transitive
verb can be written in full as (S{\NPnom}) {/NPacc}.
However, we adopt a convention that suppresses set
brackets when argument sets are singletons, so that
we continue to write this category as (S\NP)/NP, as
in (1).
We can generalize the semantic notation introduced
in (2) using a parallel argument set notation for lamb-
da terms and a convention that pairs the unordered
syntactic arguments with the unordered semantic
612 Combinatory Categorial Grammar
Table 1 Notation for transitive verb categories
Language Notation
English (S\NP)/NP : lxly.predxy
Latin S{|NPnom, |NPacc} : l{y,x}.predxy
Tagalog S{/NPnom, /NPacc} : l{y,x}.predxy
Japanese S{\NPnom, \NPacc} : l{y,x}.predxy
arguments in the left-to-right order in which they
appear on the page. The transitive verb categories
then appear as shown in Table 1.
All such schemata cover only a finite number of
deterministic categories like (1) and can only generate
the language that will be generated by compiling the
schema into explicit multiple deterministic lexical
categories. (Baldridge showed that schematization of
this kind does not increase the expressive power of the
theory.)
The lexicon of a given language is a finite set of
categories subject to quite narrow restrictions that
ultimately stem from limitations on the variety of
semantic types with which the syntactic categories
are paired in the lexicon. In particular, we can assume
that lexical function categories are limited to finite –
in fact, very small – numbers of arguments. (For
English at least, the maximum appears to be four,
required for a small number of verbs such as bet as
in I bet you 5 dollars I can spit further than you.)
The present paper further follows Jacobson, Hepple,
and Baldridge and Kruijff in assuming that rules and
function categories are ‘modalized,’ as indicated by a
subscript on slashes. Baldridge further assumed that
slash modalities are features in a type hierarchy,
drawn from some finite set M (the modalities used
here are M = {w, e, !, " }). The effect of each of these
modalities is described here as the related combinator
rules are introduced. The basic intuition is as follows.
. The w modality is the most restricted and allows
only the most basic applicative rules.
. The e permits order-preserving associativity in
derivations.
. The ! allows limited permutation.
. The " is the most permissive, allowing all rules to
apply.
The relation of these modalities to one another can
be compactly represented via the hierarchy given in
Figure 1.
By convention, we write the maximally permissive
slashes /. and \. as plain slashes / and \. This allows us
to continue writing the categories that bear this mo-
dality, such as the transitive verbs in (Table 1), as
before.
Figure 1 CCG type hierarchy for slash modalities (from
Baldridge and Kruijff, 2003).
Combinatory Rules
The function application rules can now be written as
follows:
(6a) X/wY:f Y:a ) X:fa (>)
(6b) Y:a X\wY:f ) X:fa (<)
Because w is the supertype of all other modalities, the
/w and \w slashes in the rules are interpretated as
‘#w’—that is, all functional categories can combine
by these most basic rules, allowing the derivation (4)
as before.
For example, Japanese transitive verbs such as
tazuneta ‘visited’ have the following category, in
which the l notation is generalized as in (Table 1)
and the modalities are " (suppressed by convention):
(7) tazuneta :¼ S{\NPnom, \NPacc} : l{y, x}.visit0 xy
This category is clause-final, and supports multiple
derivations, which are guaranteed to yield identical
semantic representations:
(8)
(9)
CCG includes a number of further more restricted
operations for combining (in the terms of the Minimal-
ist Program (MP), ‘Merging’) categories. These opera-
tions correspond semantically to combinators – that
is, type-driven operators over functions of the kind
developed by Curry and Feys. For present purposes,
they can be regarded as limited to operations of
type-raising (corresponding semantically to the combi-
nator T), composition (corresponding to the combina-
tor B), and substitution (corresponding to the
combinator S).
Type-raising turns argument categories such as NP
into functions over the functions that take them as
arguments, such as the verbs discussed previously,
into the results of such functions. Thus, NPs such as
Anna can take on such categories as:

(10a) Anna :¼ S/(S\NP) : lp"p anna0
(10b) Anna :¼ S\(S/NP) : l p"p anna0
(10c) Anna :¼ (S\NP)\((S\NP)/NP): lp"p anna0
and so on. This operation must be limited to ensure
decidability and, in practice, can be strictly limited
to argument categories NP, AP, PP, VP and S. One
way to do this is to specify it in the morpho-lexicon in
the categories for proper names, determiners, and the
like, in which case their original ground types such as
NP and NP/N can be eliminated.
Type-raising therefore resembles the traditional
operation of case; NPs and other arguments are
specified as to the case slot that they may fill in the
verb. In English, case is specified directionally rather
than morphologically, but in Japanese the relation of
type-raising and case is completely transparent:
(11a) Anna-ga :¼ S/(S{\NPnom}) : lp"p anna0
(11b) Anna-o :¼ S/(S{\NPacc}) : lp"p anna0
(11c) Anna-o :¼ (S{\NPnom})/ (S{\NPnom, \NPacc}) :
lp"p anna0
and so on.
CCG also includes rules of functional composition
rules such as the following forward composition (>B)
rule.
(12) X/eY : f Y/eZ : g )B X/eZ : lx.f(gx)
(The modalities on X/eY and Y/eZ in the rule are
interpreted as ‘#e’—that is ", or e. The two modal-
ities on these inputs need not be the same, but the
modality on X/eZ in the output has to be the same as
that on Y/eZ, in accordance with the Principle of
Inheritance, to be defined later.
In interaction with simple functional application
and lexicalized type-raising, composition engenders
a potentially very freely reordering and rebracketing
calculus and generalizes the notion of surface or
derivational constituency.
For example, the simple transitive sentence of
English has two equally valid surface constituent
derivations, each yielding the same logical form:
(13)
(14)
Combinatory Categorial Grammar 613
In (13), Anna and married compose, as indicated by
the annotation >B, to form a nonstandard constitu-
ent of type S/NP, which the object NP commands. In
(14), there is a more traditional derivation involving a
verb phrase of type S\NP commanded by the subject.
More complex sentences may have many semantical-
ly equivalent derivations. However, all yield identical
logical forms, and all are legal surface derivational
constituent structures. As we see directly, the point of
allowing nonstandard constituents such as Anna
marriedS/NP is that they occur as the residue of relativ-
ization and coordination, as in the man that Anna
married and Frankie divorced, and Anna married,
Manny.
It immediately follows that properties dependent
on traditional command relations, notably including
binding asymmetries such as the following, cannot
be defined over surface CCG derivtions and must be
defined over logical forms:
(15a) Manny likes himself
(15b) *himself likes Manny
In fact, surface derivations do not constitute a repre-
sentational level at all in CCG. They are merely an
uninterpreted record of different ways in which the
same typed logical form can be put together. In CCG,
unlike certain other generalizations of CG, logical
form is the sole grammatical representational level.
Substitution, a further species of combinator
related to Curry and Feys’s S, was proposed by
Szabolosi under the name ‘connection’ for the analy-
sis of ‘parasitic gaps.’ It completes the set of core
combinator species used in all forms of CCG. Its
role is somewhat specialized, and we defer further
discussion until derivation (19), the book that Anna
burned without reading. The (16) backward crossed
substitution (<S$) rule is:
(16) Y/$Z : g (X\$ Y)/$Z : f ! X/$Z : lz.fz(gz)
Before moving to a more formal definition of the
space of possible CCG grammars, including the prin-
ciple that again requires that the modalities on Y/$Z
and X/$Z must be the same, we briefly review the
kind of linguistic analyses that CCG allows.
Illustrative Analyses: Unbounded
Constructions
This theory has been applied to the linguistic analysis
of coordination, relativization, and intonational struc-
ture in English and many other languages by Szabolcsi,
Dowty, Hepple, Jacobson, Baldridge, Bozsahin, Hoff-
man, Kang, Komagata, Oehrle, Prevost, Steedman,
Trechsel, and others. It has been successfully applied
614 Combinatory Categorial Grammar
to the wide-coverage parsing of English newspaper text
using a grammar automatically extracted from the
Penn Wall Street Journal Treebank by Hockenmaier
and by Clark and Curran, with state-of-the-art accura-
cy in dependency recovery, including such unbounded
dependencies.
Relativization
Because substrings such as Anna married are now
fully interpreted derivational constituents, complete
with compositional semantic interpretations, they
can be used to define relativization without move-
ment or empty categories, as in (18) and (19), via
the following category for the relative pronoun.
(17) that :¼ (N\N)/(S/NP) : lplnlx.(nx) ^ (px)
(18)
(19)
(20)
Such extractions are correctly predicted to be un-
bounded because composition can operate across
clause boundaries.
It is the lexical category (17) of the relative pronoun
that establishes the long-range dependency between
the noun and verb (via the nonessential use of the
(nonessential) variable x in the present notation).
This relation too is established in the lexicon: syntac-
tic derivation merely projects it onto the logical form.
In the terms of the Minimalist Program (MP) of
Chomsky, in which such relationships are established
by the operation ‘Move,’ it should be clear that CCG
reduces this operation to the other major MP opera-
tion Merge because composition and type-raising, as
well as application, correspond to the latter, more
basic operation.
Crossing Dependencies
The forward composition rule (12) is restricted by the
e modality, which means that it cannot apply to
categories bearing the " or w modalities of Figure
1. Crucially, crossing composition rules, in which the
directionality of the composed functions differ, are
also allowed in CCG under the Principles of Consis-
tency and Inheritance (discussed later), unlike the
pure associative Lambek calculus. An example is the
following forward crossed composition (>B") rule.
(21) X/"Y : f Y\"Z : g )B X\"Z : lx.f(gx)
There is a natural generalization of all the compo-
sition rules to composition into functions with n
arguments for some small fixed n, including the fol-
lowing forward crossed composition (>B2") rule.
(22) X/"Y : f (Y\"Z)/W : g )B (X\"Z)/W :
lylx.f(gyx)
These rules are restricted by the " modality be-
cause they have a reordering effect. Most nominal
functor categories such as determiners NP/eN bear
the e modality of harmonic composition, preventing
these rules from applying to allow examples such as
the following.
(23)
It is the inclusion of such rules that increases the
expressive power of the formalism beyond context-
free languages. (Vijay-Shanker and Weir showed that
CCG is weakly equivalent to TAG and Linear Indexed
Grammar (LIG). This equivalence gives rise to a poly-
nominal time worst-case parsing complexity result
and, more important, means that standard parsing
algorithms can apply.)

For example, the availability of these rules allows
crossing dependencies in Dutch and certain Swiss
dialects of German, which cannot be captured by
CFG and have given rise to proposals for verb-raising
transformational operations, as in the following
example (from Shieber):
(24)
The ! modality on the verbs hälfed and aastriichte
permits the forward crossed composition rule (21)
to apply. The tensed verb is distinguished as the
head of a subordinate clause via the feature SUB.
The type-raised NP categories are abbreviated as
NP"case because the fact that they are raised is not
essential to understanding the point about crossing
dependencies. It is correctly predicted that the follow-
ing word orders are also allowed in at least some
dialects (Shieber, 1985: 338–339):
(25a) das mer em Hans hälfed es huus aastriiche
(25b) das em Hans mer es huus hälfed aastriiche
The construction is completely productive, so the
dependencies are not only intersective but unbound-
ed. For example, we have the following (also from
Shieber):
(26)
Again the unbounded dependencies are projected
from the lexical frame of the verb, without syntactic
movement.
Coordination
The nonstandard constituents that CCG engenders,
such as Anna married and Anna says he married, can
also undergo coordination. We can assume that
English conjunctions such as and bear the following
category, in which S is S or any function category
Combinatory Categorial Grammar 615
into S and, in the latter case, ^ schematizes over the
usual pointwise recursion over logical conjunction
(Partee and Rooth):
(27) and :¼(S\wS)/wS : lplq.p^q
This category allows a movement- and deletion-free
account of right node raising, as in (28):
(28)
The w modality on the conjunction category (27)
means that it can only combine like types by the
application rules (3). Hence, as in GPSG (Gazdar),
this type-dependent account of extraction and coor-
dination, as opposed to theories such as TG, LFG,
and HPSG that use structure-dependent rules, makes
the across-the-board condition (ATB) on extractions
from coordinate structures (including the ‘same case’
condition) a prediction or theorem rather than a
stipulation. A consideration of the types involved in
the following examples reveals how.
(29a) A saxophonist [that(N\N)\ (S/NP) [[Anna
married]S/NP and [Manny detests]S/NP]
S/NP]N\N
(29b) A saxophonist [that(N\N)/ (S/NP) *[[Anna
married]S/NP and [detests Manny]S\NP]]
(29c) A saxophonist that(N\N)/ (S/NP)
*[[Anna married]S/NP and [Manny
detests him]S]]
616 Combinatory Categorial Grammar
(29d) A saxophonist that(N\N)/ (S/NP) *[[Anna married
him]S and [Manny detests]S/NP]
In Japanese, the interaction of type-raising (which
is specified by morphological case) and composition
similarly allows multiple derivations. In particular,
we have:
(30)
(31)
(The conjunction category in Japanese is enclitic,
unlike English proclitic (27).)
The prediction of nonstandard argument cluster
constituents such as Anna-ga Manny-o in derivation
(30) correctly predicts that such clusters can coordi-
nate.
The possibility of similar argument cluster coordina-
tions in the Dutch and Swiss German verb-raising
construction (26) and in English in examples such as
(33) is similarly immediate, as Steedman and Dowty
pointed out, if we assume the following category for
ditransitive give, in which the e modality prevents
overgenerations such as I will give a bone a very
heavy dog from arising via the backward crossed
composition rule:
(32) give :¼ (VP/NP)/eNP: lxly.give 0 yx
(33)
However, the category (32) makes the order of argu-
ments for the syntactic category of ditransitives the
reverse of that of the predicate in the corresponding
logical form. The reason for doing this is to allow
a standard account of binding asymmetries like
the following by embodying traditional notions of
command at the level of logical form:
(34a) I shall introduce the participants to each other
(34b) *I shall introduce each other to the
participants
We have already seen that the nonstandard deriva-
tions of CCG force us to distinguish logical form from
derivation. However, this is a departure from some
other categorial accounts, which we turn to next.
English Intonation and Information Structure
The fact that substrings such as Anna married and
Manny says that Anna married are accorded the full
status of derivational constituents in CCG means that
intonation structure and surface structure can be
reunited in a single level of derivational structure
rather than being consigned to different tiers.
Consider the following minimal pair of dialogs, in
which intonational tunes are indicated both informal-
ly, via parentheses and small capitals, and in the
standard notation of Pierrehumbert, in which prosod-
ic phrases are specified solely in terms of two kinds of
elements, the pitch accent(s) and the boundary:
(35) Q: I know who married DANNY. But who
married MANNY?
A: (ANNA) (married MANNY).
H*L LþH* LH%

(36) Q: I know which man Anna DATED. But which
one did she MARRY?
A: (Anna MARRIED) (MANNY).
LþH*LH% H* LL%
The intuition that these tunes strongly convey system-
atic distinctions in discourse meaning is inescapable.
For example, exchanging the answer tunes between
the two contexts in (35) and (36) yields complete
incoherence. Prevost and Steedman claimed that
the tunes LþH* LH% and H*L (or H* LL%) are,
respectively, associated with the topic (or theme) and
comment (or rheme) of the sentence, where the theme
can be thought of as linking the utterance to the
preceding context and the rheme can be thought of
as the part of the utterance that moves the discourse
forward to a new information state.
The fact that CCG allows alternative derivations
such as (13) and (14) offers an obvious way to
bring intonation structure and its interpretation –
information structure – into the same syntactic sys-
tem as everything else. Crucially, these alternative
derivations are guaranteed to yield the same predicate
argument relations, as exemplified by the logical
form that results from the two derivations. However,
the derivations build this logical form via different
routes that construct lambda terms corresponding se-
mantically to the theme and rheme. In particular the
derivation (14) corresponds to the information struc-
ture associated with the intonation contour in (35),
whereas derivation (13) corresponds to that in (36).
Bounded Constructions
A number of accounts stemming from work by Bach,
Dowty, and Shaumyan proposed combinatory
accounts of bounded constructions such as passive,
dative alternation, anaphor binding, raising, and
control. Although these have often been presented
as syntactic accounts, with combinatory rules apply-
ing during syntactic derivation and typically under
the control of slash-typing, as in the previous account
of unbounded constructions, the very fact that these
phenomena are clause-bounded means that they can
equally well be regarded as applying presyntactically
– that is, as lexical rules or parameters – as was
originally proposed by Shaumyan and Dowty.
Binding
The syntactic category that we would first be tempted
to assign to introduce is (VP/PP)/NP, reflecting
the linear order of the verb and its complements.
However, if we make the standard assumption that
anaphors, like reciprocals, have to fall in the scope of
their binder, the syntactic derivation implicit in the
category makes the PP command the NP, apparently
making the wrong prediction concerning (34).
Combinatory Categorial Grammar 617
Rather than rectifying the command relations in a
logical form, Dowty proposed to instead assign the
category (VP/NP)/PP to introduce and to allow
phrasal verbs such as introduce to each other to com-
bine with the second argument the participants via
the right-wrap combinatory rule proposed by Bach in
order to handle a number of bounded constructions,
notably including Control. Crucially, if we are to
avoid erroneous predictions of preposition-stranding
extractions such as *a man that I gave to _ a book,
right-wrapping phrasal verbs such as introduce to
each other must be specified as only combining via
right-wrap, a result that we can accomplish by the use
of a further slash type, of the kind Jacobson proposed,
writing the category for introduce as follows:
(37) introduce :¼ (VP/wNP)/PP : introduce0
The rule as proposed by these authors was
expressed in various notations separating immediate
dominance (ID) and linear precedence (LP) relations,
as is made explicit in the version proposed by Zwicky
and Dowty. In the present notation it can be
expressed as the (weakly context-free) Bach/Dowty/
Jacobson right-wrap rule.
(38) (X/wY) / Z:f Y: y Z : z ) X/Z : fz Y : y
(>WRAP)
The point of this rule is that it affords a derivation
structure in which the participants commands its
anaphor each other, as in derivation (39), in which
the interpretation indicated for the reciprocal is mere-
ly a placeholder for the semantics (see Semantics in
Categorial Grammar). We are therefore in a position
to define binding conditions over derivation struc-
tures, say as in Chierchia (1998).
(39)
Such rules express a very significant crosslinguistic
generalization – for example, as Dowty pointed out,
simple transitive verbs in VSO languages such as Irish
(Irish Gaelic) must obligatorily wrap the subject and
object arguments under these assumptions.
Raising
Jacobson proposed to account for raising verbs such
as seem in terms of function composition, using a
composition rule and a further slash modality, here
written # , distinct from those involved in the earlier
account of extraction in that the modality limited
categories to only combining via that rule, as in:
(40) X/# Y: f Y\Z : g ) X\Z : lx.f(gx) (>RAISE)
618 Combinatory Categorial Grammar
Note that, this is a form of crossing composition. This
allows derivations such as the following:
(41)
Again it is crucial that this category combine only via
rule (40).
Control
Bach proposed an account of Control in terms of rule
(38), which in present terms made object control
verbs such as persuade wrapping verbs with category
(VP/wNP) /VPto–inf, giving rise to derivations such as
(42), in which the responsibility for establishing the
control relation itself is devolved to semantics (see
Semantics in Categorial Grammar).
(42)
He further assumed that subject control verbs such as
promise were not wrapping verbs but had the catego-
ry (VP/VPto– inf)/NP.
An Argument for Lexicalizing the Bounded
Constructions
Despite the elegance of this account, the costs that
follow from including the Bach/Dowty/Jacobson
wrapping categories in the CCG lexicon and introdu-
cing the corresponding wrapping and raising combi-
nators at the same level as the other CCG
combinatory rules are quite high. In particular,
WRAP alone does not explain why derivations paral-
lel to (33) exist not only for promise but also for the
wrapping verbs persuade, introduce, and give itself.
(43a) promise Anna to come and Manny to go
(43b) persuade Anna to come and Manny to go
(43c) introduce the participants to each other and
Anna to Manny
(43d) give the piano player a drink and the singer
a cigar
There appears to be no easy way to allow cluster
coordination analogous to (33) within WRAP-CCG
without adding otherwise unmotivated slash types,
lifted types, and/or combinatory rules. This is perhaps
why Dowty in later work abandoned the combi-
natory approach entirely in favor of a very expres-
sive form of Type–Logical Grammar, in which the
responsibility for supporting word order for nonserial
dependencies in Dutch and English is transferred to
structural rules.
The alternative is to reinterpret the raising and
wrapping combinators (as did Shaumyan and many
other lexicalized grammars, such as HPSG) as lexical
relations between syntactic types and the related logi-
cal forms, as in the earlier analysis of give (32) and
following categories, in which the wrap relations pro-
posed by Bach et al. are already represented at the
level of logical form and which, as (33) shows, require
no additional raising or wrapping combinatory rules:
(44a) seem :¼ VP/VP: lply.seemingly0 (py)
(44b) promise :¼ (VP/VPto–inf)/NP:
lxlply.promise0 xpy
(44c) persuade :¼ (VP/VPto–inf)/NP:
lxlply.persuade0 pxy
(44d) introduce :¼ (VP/PPto)/NP:
lxlylz.introduce0 yxz
Opinions currently differ among combinatory cate-
gorial grammarians as to whether it is better to ex-
tend the syntactic component with extra combinatory
rule types to save syntactic raising and/or wrap, or to
compile raising and wrap into the lexicon.
Anaphora
A number of theories of pronominal anaphora have
been proposed in CCG, notably by Szabolcsi and
Jacobson. These theories depart in a number of
respects from the forms of combinatory grammar
that have been motivated by the syntactic construc-
tions discussed here (they are discussed at length,
together with the syntax and semantics of quantifiers,
elsewhere; see Semantics in Categorial Grammar).
Principles and Relations to Other
Theories of Grammar
Lexicon
The most basic assumptions concerning the transpar-
ency of syntactic types to semantics in all versions of
CCG are the following:
. The Principle of Combinatory Type-Transparency.
All syntactic combinatory rules are type-transparent
versions of one of a small number of simple semantic
operations over functions.
. The Principle of Combinatory Type-Transparency.
All syntactic categories are type-transparent to
semantic interpretation.
A further principle adhered to by all the theories
discussed here (although it is breached by Jacobson’s
account of anaphora) is that the responsibility for
specifying all dependencies, whether unbounded or

bounded, resides in the lexical specifications of syn-
tactic categories for the heads of those dependencies –
that is, the words corresponding to predicate-
argument structural functors, such as verbs. This
principle, which is related to the Projection Principle
of GB, can be more formally stated as follows:
. The Principle of Lexical Head Government. Both
bounded and unbounded syntactic dependencies
are entirely determined by the lexical syntactic
type of their head.
This is simply to say that the present theory of gram-
mar is ‘radically lexicalized,’ a property that makes it
akin to lexicalized Tree-Adjoining Grammar (TAG).
This is a stronger sense of lexicalization than is
embodied in Lexical-Functional Grammar (LFG),
Head-Driven Phrase Structure Grammar (HPSG),
and certain recent minimalist versions of TG.
Radically lexicalized grammars make the lexical
entries for words do all of the language-specific gram-
matical work of mapping the strings of the language
to their interpretations. The size of the lexicon
involved is therefore an important measure of a gram-
mar’s complexity. Other things being equal, one
lexicalized grammar is simpler than another if it cap-
tures the same pairing of strings and interpretations
using a smaller lexicon.
A more restrictive principle of CCG, which it
shares with LFG and GB and which sets it apart
from TAG, GPSG, and HPSG (which in other respects
are more closely related), is that it attempts to mini-
mize the size of the lexicon by adhering as closely as
possible to the following stronger principle:
. The Principle of Head Categorial Uniqueness.
A single nondisjunctive lexical category for the
head of a given construction entirely determines
both bounded and unbounded dependencies upon
that head.
This is not to say that a given word may not be the
head of more than one construction and hence be
associated with more than one category. Nor (as we
have seen in the cases of Tagalog and Japanese) does it
exclude the possibility that a given word-sense pair
may permit more than one canonical order and,
hence, have more than one category per sense, possi-
bly schematized using the set CCG notation in Table 1.
The claim is simply that each of these categories
specifies both canonical order and all varieties of
extraction for the clause type in question. For exam-
ple, a single lexical syntactic category (2) for the word
married, which does not distinguish between ‘ante-
cedent,’ ‘y,’ or any other variety of government, is
involved in all of the dependencies illustrated in (4),
(18), (20), and (28). By contrast, in both TAG and
Combinatory Categorial Grammar 619
GPSG these dependencies are mediated by different
initial trees or categories, and in HPSG they are
mediated by a disjunctive category.
Unlike the Principle of Lexical Head Government,
exceptions to the Principle of Head Categorial
Uniqueness are sometimes forced. An example of
such a necessary exception is the treatment of subject
extraction in English by Steedman. It is a prediction
of CCG (rather than a stipulation via a Fixed Subject
constraint or Empty Category Principle) that a fixed
SVO word order language such as English cannot
permit complement subjects to extract under the
Head Categorial Uniqueness Principle, as illustrated
by the anomaly of (45a). The exceptional possibility
of extracting subjects from English bare complements,
as in (45b), therefore have been argued to require
an extra antecedent-governed category for bare-
complement-taking verbs such as think, in violation
of that principle.
(45a) *who do you think that married Manny?
(45b) who do you think married Manny?
However, each such exception complicates the gram-
mar by expanding the lexicon and makes it compare
less favorably with an otherwise equivalently valued
grammar that requires no such exceptions, if one
could be found. Baldridge offered a grammar with a
single category for such verbs.
The Combinatory Projection Principle
Even quite small sets of functional combinators, in-
cluding the set {BTS} implicit in CCG, can yield
calculi of the full expressive power of Turing
machines and the simply typed lambda calculus.
However, CCG syntax is subject to a number of prin-
ciples that limit its expressive power to weak equiva-
lence to TAG and Linear Indexed Grammar (LIG),
the least more powerful natural class of languages
known (Vijay-Shanker and Weir, 1994).
These principles can be summed up as a ‘projection
principle’ that says that syntax must project (and may
not override) directional information specified in the
lexicon and, conversely, that the lexicon should not
do syntax’s job of unbounded projection. This princi-
ple is expressed as a number of subsidiary principles
We have given examples of several rules that en-
code the syntactic reflex of a few basic semantic
functions (combinators). However, a larger set of
possible rules could be derived from the combinators.
CCG restricts the set to only those that obey the
following principles:
. The Principle of Adjacency. Combinatory rules
may only apply to finitely many phonologically
realized and string-adjacent entities.
620 Combinatory Categorial Grammar
. The Principle of Consistency. All syntactic combi-
natory rules must be consistent with the direction-
ality of the principal function.
. The Principle of Inheritance. If the category that
results from the application of a combinatory rule
is a function category, then the slash type of a given
argument in that category will be the same as the
one(s) of the corresponding argument(s) in the
input function(s).
The first of these principles is merely the definition of
a combinator, to which all the rules discussed here
(including WRAP) conform. The other principles say
that combinatory rules may not override, but must
rather ‘project,’ the directionality specified in the
lexicon. More concretely, the Principle of Consistency
excludes the following kind of rule:
(46) X\w Y Y ) X (disallowed)
The Principle of Inheritance excludes rules such as the
following hypothetical instances of composition:
(47a) X/eY Y/Z ) X\Z (disallowed)
(47b) X/eY Y/eZ ) X/xZ (disallowed)
It is also the Principle of Inheritance that requires that
any modality on the slash that unifies with the /Z
slash in the input to the combinatory rules previously
instanced has to be the same modality on the output
/Z.
These principles do allow rules such as the follow-
ing crossing functional composition rules, as instances
of rules of a kind already seen in their general form in
(21):
(48a) X/xY Y\.Z ) X\.Z (>BX)
(48b) Y/.Z X\xY ) X/.Z (<BX)
Such crossing rules are not theorems of type calculi
such as that of Lambek and its descendant Type–
Logical Grammar and, in fact, cause the collapse of
such calculi into permutation completeness if added
as axioms (Moortgat), a fact that has motivated the
development of multimodal varieties of categorial
grammar within the type–logical tradition by Hepple
and others. Although such rules do not cause the same
collapse in CCG even without the modalities, the
present use of modalities to provide finer control
over the rules is directly inspired by multimodal
categorial grammar.
Conclusion
CCG abandons traditional notions of surface constit-
uency in favor of flexible surface structure, in which
most contiguous substrings of a grammatical sentence
are potential constituents, complete with a composi-
tional semantic interpretation, for the purposes of the
application of grammatical rules. The benefits of this
move are the following.
1. Word order, relativization, coordination, and into-
nation structure can all be handled via a single
mechanism, using strictly type-driven syntactic
combinatory rules with low expressive power.
2. These combinatory rules are universal and invari-
ant. All language-specific information is specified
in the lexicon.
3. The traditional modules of surface structure,
S-structure, and intonation structure are unified
into a single surface derivational module. Deriva-
tion is not a representational level; the only repre-
sentational levels are phonetic and logical form.
It follows that everything that depends on relations of
c-command (e.g., binding and control, and quantifier
domains) must be expressed at the level of logical
form, with a consequent transfer of responsibility
for the grammar of bounded constructions and the
phenomena that have led to proposals for covert
movement or quantifier-raising at that level, to the
lexicon. The ways in which these matters also can
be handled in CCG without syntactic movement is
discussed elsewhere (see Semantics in Categorial
Grammar).
See also: Categorial Grammars: Deductive Approaches;
Coordination; Long-Distance Dependencies; Semantics
in Categorial Grammar; Syntactic Variables and Vari-
able-free Syntax.
Bibliography
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Inquiry 10, 513–531.
Baldridge J (2002). Lexically specified derivational control
in Combinatory Categorial Grammar. Ph.D. diss., Uni-
versity of Edinburgh.
Baldridge J & Kruijff G J (2003). ‘Multi-modal Combina-
tory Categorial Grammar.’ In Proceedings of the 11th
Annual Meeting of the European Association for Com-
putational Linguistics, Budapest. Cambridge: ACL.
211–218.
Bozsahin C (1998). ‘Deriving predicate-argument structure
for a free word order language.’ In Proceedings of
COLING-ACL ’98. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. 167–
173.
Chierchia G (1988). ‘Aspects of a categorial theory of bind-
ing.’ In Oehrle R T, Bach E & Wheeler D (eds.) Categorial
grammars and natural language structures. Dordrecht:
Reidel. 125–151.

Clark S & Curran J R (2004). ‘Parsing the WSJ using CCG
and log-linear models.’ In Proceedings of the 42nd
Meeting of the ACL. 104–111. Barcelona, Spain.
Curry H B & Feys R (1958). Combinatory logic (Vol. 1).
Amsterdam: North Holland.
Dowty D (1978). ‘Governed transformations as lexical
rules in a Montague Grammar.’ Linguistic Inquiry 9,
393–426.
Dowty D (1982). ‘Grammatical relations and Montague
Grammar.’ In Jacobson P & Pullum G K (eds.) The
nature of syntactic representation. Dordrecht: Reidel.
79–130.
Dowty D (1988). ‘Type-raising, functional composition,
and nonconstituent coordination.’ In Oehrle R T, Bach
E & Wheeler D (eds.) Categorial grammars and natural
language structures. Dordrecht: Reidel. 153–198.
Dowty D (1993). ‘‘‘Variable-free’’ syntax, variable-binding
syntax, the natural deduction Lambek calculus, and the
crossover constraint.’ In Proceedings of the 11th West
Coast Conference on Formal Linguistics, 1992. Stanford,
CA: SLA. 161–176.
Dowty D (1996). ‘Towards a Minimalist Theory of Syntac-
tic Structure.’ In Bunt H & van Horck A (eds.) Discon-
tinuous constituency. The Hague: Mouton de Gruyter.
11–62.
Dowty D (1997). ‘Nonconstituent coordination, wrapping,
and multimodal categorial grammars: syntactic form as
logical form.’ In Dalla Chiara M L (ed.) Proceedings of
the 10th International Congress of Logic, Methodology,
and Philosophy of Science, 1995. Amsterdam: North-
Holland. 347–368. Available at: http://www.ling.ohio-
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Gazdar G (1981). ‘Unbounded dependencies and coordinate
structure.’ Linguistic Inquiry 12, 155–184.
Hepple M (1990). The grammar and processing of order
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622 Comenius, Johann(es) Amos (Jan Amos Komenský) (1562–1670)
Comenius, Johann(es) Amos (Jan Amos Komenský) (1562–1670)
W Hüllen, University of Duisburg-Essen, Essen,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Johannes Amos Comenius (Jan Amos Komenský)
called himself a theologian. Later centuries saw the
pedagogue in him. The linguistic education of young
people was his main concern, thus his relevant works,
in particular his textbooks, are of a linguistic nature.
With the growing interest in his last (unfinished)
work, De rerum humanarum emendatione consulta-
tio catholica, which was rediscovered only in 1923,
he is now considered as a philosopher with a strong
inclination to language.
Orphaned when only 11 years old, Jan Komenský
spent his childhood and youth in Moravia, educated
by a relative and a guardian in the spirit of the Unity
of the Bohemian Brethren (Unitas Fratrum), a Hussite
denomination in which Comenius was to become
priest, senior, and last bishop in 1616, 1632, and
1648, respectively. From 1611 to 1614 he studied at
the Universities of Herborn and Heidelberg, meeting
there, among others, the encyclopedist Johann Hein-
rich Alsted (1588–1638) and the irenicist David Par-
eus (1548–1622), who both had a lifelong influence
on Comenius’s thinking. Between 1614 and 1628 he
taught at Unitarian schools in his home country. After
that, the turmoil of the Thirty Years’ War and the
persecution of the Protestants in the course of the
so-called Counter-Reformation devastated him and
exiled him for good. From 1628 to 1641 he lived in
Lezno, Poland. Following an invitation by the Puritan
reformer and pedagogue Samuel Hartlib (d. 1670), he
visited England, where he contacted the founding
members of the Royal Society. After only one year,
he left the country because of the civil war. After
traveling in the Low Countries and in Sweden, he
spent the years 1642–1648 in Elbing, then Swedish
territory, and 1648–1650 in Lezno. Accepting an in-
vitation by the Hungarian nobleman Rákóczi, he
traveled to Sárospatak, staying there until 1654. He
spent the two succeeding years in Lezno again, where
in 1656 a fire destroyed almost all his papers, among
them the manuscript of a Czech alphabetical diction-
ary on which he had worked since his time in Hei-
delberg. Because of the Swedish–Polish war, he
emigrated to his last abode, Amsterdam. During all
these years he spent as a European refugee for reli-
gious reasons, he constantly published books, wrote
innumerable letters to the great thinkers and states-
men, met influential people, and supervised schools.
Of a theological character were Comenius’s life-
long intentions to restitute the world as willed by
God in the unity of the creation, not least through
knowledge and education (pansophia). Of a philo-
sophical character was his encyclopedia in which
he integrated all human knowledge, including the
findings of the (then) new sciences. Of a didactic
character were his books on teaching, mainly the
Didactica magna (1657), and his textbooks for
learning languages, mainly Janua linguarum reserata
(1631) and Orbis sensualium pictus (1658).
For Comenius, language was the most important
means of education, besides belief and piety. Repeat-
edly, e.g., in Novissima linguarum methodus (1648),
he developed the triadic arrangement of ratio-oratio-
operatio, marking the stages of education, and the
more elaborated chain res-mens-lingua-manus-res,
marking the process of general reform that eventually
leads to pansophy. In both cases, language, and with
it linguistic education, was the central link.
The two works that propagated Comenius’s ideas
with much more success than his other ones and that
are linguistic in the narrow sense are Janua linguarum
reserata and Orbis sensualium pictus; they are both
special types of what would today be called onoma-
siological dictionaries. The former is a collection of
exactly 1000 Latin sentences, broken down into ex-
actly 100 sections. Each section provides the complex
definition of a term, mostly nouns or adjectives. The
latter is a collection on a much smaller scale of 150
sections consisting of defining sentences in Latin and
German and of concomitant pictures that semanticize
various lexemes incorporated into those sentences. In
both books, the arrangement of sentences follows the
encyclopedic order as had been popular since the 12th
century, not least in the works of Comenius’s teacher
Alsted. Both books, whose success led to literally
hundreds of editions in almost all the European lan-
guages, were didactic because they were schoolbooks
geared to the capacity of learning children. They were
philosophical because they presented all the extant
knowledge of the world, and they were theological
because they paved the way to pansophy.
For Comenius, the tongue adequate to the envi-
saged perfect state of mankind was a universal
language as a perfect means of cognition and commu-
nication for all. He described it in Via lucis (1641)
and in Panglottia (the linguistic part of the Consulta-
tio) in the way that was commonly accepted in the
British universal language movement.
See also: Applied Linguistics: Overview and History; Lexi-
cography: Overview; Religious Language.
Bibliography
Academia Scientiarum (1969 ff.). Johannis Amos Comenii
Opera Omnia. Prague: Academia.

Acta Comeniana. Internationale Revue für Studien über
J. A. Comenius. International Review of Comenius Stud-
ies. Prague (biannually).
Blekastad M (1969). Comenius. Versuch eines Umrisses
von Leben, Werk und Schicksal des Jan Amos Komenský.
Oslo/Prag: Universitetsforlaget/Academia.
Comics: Pragmatics
K-A L Mey, Zürich, Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A comic (plural: comics), also known as (a) comic
strip(s), is a narrative form that combines written text
(see Text and Text Analysis) and pictorial elements.
A comic consists of a series of interrelated picture/text
combinations. Each single picture stands in direct
relation to the preceding units; this sequential order
constitutes a chain of reference. Comparable to other
serial productions of mass media such as soap operas
or book and film series, comics have a continuous
cast of main characters. The fact that the reader is
familiar with the protagonists’ background serves as
another important point of reference.
Comics either appear as regular strips in printed
media (comic strips), in comic magazines with con-
tributions by various authors, or as comic books fea-
turing a main character and his or her story or
episodes.
Origins of the Comic
Although the historic roots of comics can be traced
back to the 18th and 19th centuries, to political car-
toons and illustrated narratives such as Max und
Moritz (1865) by Wilhelm Busch, comics in their
modern form are a relatively recent phenomenon. At
the end of the 19th century, American newspapers
included comic strips in their Sunday supplement to
attract more readers. These humorous picture-stories,
also known as ‘the funnies’ or comic strips, gave their
name to a new genre (see Genre and Genre Analysis),
the comics, which is not restricted to funny stories
only.
Narrative Means: How Comics Tell a Story
Is there a language specific to comics? At first sight,
expressions like ‘zooom,’ ‘grrowr!’ and ‘splash!’ are
likely to be identified as typical expressions of comic-
language. While such expressions are certainly char-
acteristic of the medium, they do not touch its
Comics: Pragmatics 623
Comenius Jahrbuch. Hohengehren: Schneider (annually).
Hüllen W (1999). English dictionaries 800–1700: the topi-
cal tradition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 361–430.
Studia Comeniana et Historica. Uherský Brod (biannually).
Turnbull G H (1947). Hartlib, Dury and Comenius.
London: University Press of Liverpool.
essence. Among the great variety of narrative means
of the comic, the most important feature is the inter-
dependence of the illustrations and written text. Both
elements are bearers of meaning, but it is their
combination that makes up the narrative.
While the narrative may have any imaginable con-
tent – there are adventure stories, political satire,
family series, the classical Greek mythologies and
the Bible retold, comics for children, so-called adult
comics with erotic or pornographic components, etc.
– what all comics have in common is the use of this
specific means of telling a story.
A comic consists of minimally two picture–text
units, called panels. Panels are usually square boxes
containing an image and sometimes text, bounded by
a thin frame line. These panels are to be read in
sequential order, comparable to a normal text, and
this sequential relation distinguishes a comic from a
mere accumulation of pictures. This sequence distin-
guishes a comic from a cartoon, which consists of a
single picture-frame only.
If a comic is to be read like a text, the author has to
create coherence within the story. He achieves this by
forming a ‘chain of reference.’ This chain of reference
will enable the reader to recognize the different panels
as narrative elements of the same story, comparable
to the process of reading a text – the reader knows
that the preceding words of a sentence are connected
to the following words and will create a coherent
narrative (see Pragmatics of Reading).
To illustrate this, let’s imagine an episode with the
world’s most famous duck, Walt Disney’s Donald
Duck. A first panel might show Donald Duck sitting
on a bench; the second one, Donald walking through
a park; the last one, Donald in front of a house.
Theoretically, the reader could interpret this pic-
tures as three separate pictures: ‘Donald sits on a
bench’ / ‘Donald takes a stroll in the park’ / ‘Donald
stands in front of his/a house.’
But the reader knows, by means of identical refer-
ence, that every Donald appearing in the panels
following the first panel is the same protagonist in
the same story. That way, the reader can fill in the

Acta Comeniana. Internationale Revue für Studien über
J. A. Comenius. International Review of Comenius Stud-
ies. Prague (biannually).
Blekastad M (1969). Comenius. Versuch eines Umrisses
von Leben, Werk und Schicksal des Jan Amos Komenský.
Oslo/Prag: Universitetsforlaget/Academia.
Comics: Pragmatics
K-A L Mey, Zürich, Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A comic (plural: comics), also known as (a) comic
strip(s), is a narrative form that combines written text
(see Text and Text Analysis) and pictorial elements.
A comic consists of a series of interrelated picture/text
combinations. Each single picture stands in direct
relation to the preceding units; this sequential order
constitutes a chain of reference. Comparable to other
serial productions of mass media such as soap operas
or book and film series, comics have a continuous
cast of main characters. The fact that the reader is
familiar with the protagonists’ background serves as
another important point of reference.
Comics either appear as regular strips in printed
media (comic strips), in comic magazines with con-
tributions by various authors, or as comic books fea-
turing a main character and his or her story or
episodes.
Origins of the Comic
Although the historic roots of comics can be traced
back to the 18th and 19th centuries, to political car-
toons and illustrated narratives such as Max und
Moritz (1865) by Wilhelm Busch, comics in their
modern form are a relatively recent phenomenon. At
the end of the 19th century, American newspapers
included comic strips in their Sunday supplement to
attract more readers. These humorous picture-stories,
also known as ‘the funnies’ or comic strips, gave their
name to a new genre (see Genre and Genre Analysis),
the comics, which is not restricted to funny stories
only.
Narrative Means: How Comics Tell a Story
Is there a language specific to comics? At first sight,
expressions like ‘zooom,’ ‘grrowr!’ and ‘splash!’ are
likely to be identified as typical expressions of comic-
language. While such expressions are certainly char-
acteristic of the medium, they do not touch its
Comics: Pragmatics 623
Comenius Jahrbuch. Hohengehren: Schneider (annually).
Hüllen W (1999). English dictionaries 800–1700: the topi-
cal tradition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 361–430.
Studia Comeniana et Historica. Uherský Brod (biannually).
Turnbull G H (1947). Hartlib, Dury and Comenius.
London: University Press of Liverpool.
essence. Among the great variety of narrative means
of the comic, the most important feature is the inter-
dependence of the illustrations and written text. Both
elements are bearers of meaning, but it is their
combination that makes up the narrative.
While the narrative may have any imaginable con-
tent – there are adventure stories, political satire,
family series, the classical Greek mythologies and
the Bible retold, comics for children, so-called adult
comics with erotic or pornographic components, etc.
– what all comics have in common is the use of this
specific means of telling a story.
A comic consists of minimally two picture–text
units, called panels. Panels are usually square boxes
containing an image and sometimes text, bounded by
a thin frame line. These panels are to be read in
sequential order, comparable to a normal text, and
this sequential relation distinguishes a comic from a
mere accumulation of pictures. This sequence distin-
guishes a comic from a cartoon, which consists of a
single picture-frame only.
If a comic is to be read like a text, the author has to
create coherence within the story. He achieves this by
forming a ‘chain of reference.’ This chain of reference
will enable the reader to recognize the different panels
as narrative elements of the same story, comparable
to the process of reading a text – the reader knows
that the preceding words of a sentence are connected
to the following words and will create a coherent
narrative (see Pragmatics of Reading).
To illustrate this, let’s imagine an episode with the
world’s most famous duck, Walt Disney’s Donald
Duck. A first panel might show Donald Duck sitting
on a bench; the second one, Donald walking through
a park; the last one, Donald in front of a house.
Theoretically, the reader could interpret this pic-
tures as three separate pictures: ‘Donald sits on a
bench’ / ‘Donald takes a stroll in the park’ / ‘Donald
stands in front of his/a house.’
But the reader knows, by means of identical refer-
ence, that every Donald appearing in the panels
following the first panel is the same protagonist in
the same story. That way, the reader can fill in the
624 Comics: Pragmatics
narrative gaps and verbalize this sequence of panels as
‘Donald sat on a bench and walked home through a
park.’ As most readers will be familiar with the small
suburban house that Donald lives in, the author can
draw on this familiarity with Donald’s surroundings
as a further point of reference.
This system of reference is based on two narrative
strings. One string refers to the space or environment
where the action occurs, the other refers to the action
itself.
In this way, once introduced, the environment
‘park’ remains valid until a new environment appears.
The depiction of the park can be reduced to a single
tree, a meadow, a flower – it may even disappear
entirely, with no harm done to text comprehensibility,
as the reader will still know the setting to be a park.
The other string deals with the action. Here, too, an
element, mostly a living being such as Donald Duck in
the example above, refers to its first introduction and
can be reduced in various ways, e.g., to a silhouette, a
hand, a hat floating on the water (as will happen to
such an unlucky person as Donald). The separation
between these two narrative strings, environment and
action, is not absolute, though; an element of the
environment can become bearer of an action, for
instance, when a rock gives up its function as envi-
ronment and falls down to block the road instead.
Conversely, Donald’s car can change function: when
he parks it in front of his house and walks away, the
car becomes part of the environment and is no longer
an element of the action string.
In comics, a story can do without a description
of the environment, but not without action. However,
even though the description of action thus has
priority over that of the environment, the latter has
another, equally important function: it determines the
rhythm of the narrative. An environment drawn in
every detail will slow down the narrative rhythm,
since the reader is likely to spend more time contem-
plating the picture and to study all the details shown,
whereas a picture stripped of all environmental
details will speed up the pace of the narration (see
below, Narrative Rhythm).
Playful Conventions: How to Read the
Narrative Codes
Most readers of comics have been familiar with the
genre since childhood, hence know to decipher the
conventions of the codes specific to comics. There is
no prescriptive list of given codes, comparable to
punctuation in a written text, such as periods or
commas. While certain conventions have been estab-
lished, each author still has the freedom to disregard
them, to play with them, and to invent new means of
structuring a story – the only constraint being that the
reader still must be able to grasp the meaning.
Common Narrative Codes in Comics
Arrangement of Panels Panels are usually arranged
in sequential order, to be read from left to right and
top to bottom, according to the usual direction of
reading of the Latin alphabet. Deviations are marked
by numbers or by arrows indicating the new direc-
tion. Deviations of the ordinary sequential pattern are
often used to express the rupture of the normal (i.e.,
linear) flow of narrated time and space, for example,
to illustrate simultaneous action or a particular pro-
tagonist’s train of thought, as in daydreaming. Panels
may have subpanels. A large panel may take up an
entire page in a comic book, or be divided into sub-
panels forming a whole; so-called split-panels are
arranged to show the details of an action happening,
comparable to slow motion in a film.
Panel Frame The panel frame usually consists of a
straight line forming a square frame. It indicates the
boundaries of the image-text component. The form of
the frame is included in the playful way that comics
handle narrative conventions. The frame will become
more than a mere designating line and start being a
bearer of meaning, for instance, when a story within
a story is being told. A flashback is marked by wavy
or punctuated frame lines, zigzagging lines will ex-
press strong emotions or pain. Irrespective of its
shape, the frame’s function becomes clear within the
entire context. Some authors will occasionally omit
the frame altogether. By doing so, they strip the topic
of its environmental context. Thus, they create a mo-
ment of concentration, the effect resembling a close-
up in film. Because almost anything goes in this genre
(as long as the readers can construct meaning from
the context), there are even authors that do without
frames altogether.
Balloons Balloons are another vital constitutive ele-
ment of the comic’s narrative codes. They contain
words or thoughts attributed to figures in the panel,
and indicate who is speaking or thinking. The basic
form of the balloon is a round or square frame con-
taining the text; it usually hovers above the speaker’s
head like a small cloud, a small tail pointing to the
speaker’s head.
Balloons containing speech are conventionally
drawn with a continuous line; balloons containing
thoughts replace the balloon-tail by a line of bubbles.
Thought-balloons are mostly used for characters that
cannot speak in real life, such as animals, e.g., Jim
Davis’ ‘Garfield,’ the cat. There are, of course, infinite

Figure 1 In Walt Kelly’s ‘Pogo,’ the lettering is masterfully used to carry meaning. (Kelly, 1972: 120). Copyright 2000 OGPI.
variations on this theme: whispering is illustrated by
an interrupted line; a zigzagging balloon-tail indicates
a voice as heard over a telephone; a balloon in zigzag-
shape shows the speaker to be very angry; little icicles
hanging on the balloon’s lower frame lines indicate
words spoken in an very frosty mood; a balloon
wreathed in flowers shows the character’s effort to
sweet-talk someone.
Colored comics will add color to their balloons and
thus enhance the emotional impact of the text spoken
or thought. A green balloon will signify envy, a red
one anger or pain. A black balloon may even be
drawn to resemble a somber storm cloud looming
above the character’s head, showing his or her dark
mood.
Several balloons in a panel, as in a dialog, are to be
read according to the direction of reading. Balloons
can also contain symbols such as a light bulb (inspi-
ration), a heart (love), or a saw (emulating the sound
of snoring).
Written Text
There are three main groups of written text in comics:
a. text within a balloon
b. text within the panel
Comics: Pragmatics 625
c. text at the edge of, or between panels, so-called
caption texts.
Text Within a Balloon Written texts in comics not
only transmit their message by the words themselves,
but also through the typographical appearance of the
lettering. The latter is especially the case for the first
two kinds of text mentioned, (a) and (b).
One important feature of the balloon text is its size.
Small letters in a relatively oversized balloon indicate
a low voice or a whisper; big letters, almost bursting
out of their balloon, indicate a loud voice or scream.
The size of the lettering thus compensates for the
absence of sound in the comic medium.
Various kinds of typography can be used to charac-
terize the speaker. Comic author Walt Kelly, for in-
stance, does this with great artistic subtlety in his
story ‘Pogo’ (cf. Figure 1). This example shows three
types of balloons as well as three types of lettering.
The tortoise shown in the first panel is communicat-
ing in thought-balloons, according to the convention
that animals do not speak. The letters are written in
the widely used conventional capitals.
The second panel contains the balloon with the
monologue of the deacon, a stiff-upper-lip persona
forced to do kitchen-chores (‘‘me, an administrative
626 Comics: Pragmatics
advisor, put to work peeling knockwursts and other
vegetables’’). His speech is contained by an ornamental
balloon-frame, resembling ancient parchments. The
letters are written in an accordingly old-fashioned
way, made to resemble Gothic type, using capital and
small letters.
Note, in the third panel, how small the letters ‘ –
sigh – ’ appear in the balloon. The last panel intro-
duces an even different type of balloon; it is drawn
to resemble a small cloud emerging from the bag
containing the sausages and it contains the word
‘chomp!’ (an expression that combines the verb and
the sound – see the next section).
So, just like the form of the panel or the balloon,
the form of the letters, too, can bear meaning. Words
cried in anguish will appear shaky or fragmented; old-
fashioned typography and ornamental lettering is
used to evoke an atmosphere of once-upon-a-time.
Text Outside Balloons Since comics cannot repre-
sent sound, they make it visible. This is achieved with
the aid of sound-imitating or -describing words, also
called onomatopoeia – the ‘zooom,’ ‘grrowr!’ and
‘splash!’ mentioned above. Whenever the text is not
confined to the balloon, there are even fewer limits on
the imagination of the author as to their typography.
As in the balloon texts, big-sized lettering indicates
loudness.
The source of the sound can be inferred from its
position in the panel. ‘Plitch,’ a sound describing a
dripping faucet, will appear near the surface that the
water drop falls on. Some authors draw onomato-
poeia with such expressiveness that these become
pictures in themselves, e.g., a ‘bouumm!’ with
exploding letters.
These expressions are often based on the imitation
of sound, such as the just mentioned ‘bouumm!’ that
evokes the sound of an explosion. Often, a verb is
shortened into a descriptive form that describes the
action, as in ‘drip,’ ‘sob,’ ‘cracklerattlebash!’ Not to
forget the innumerable possibilities of combinations
of both sound, verb, and description, as the above
mentioned ‘chomp!’ or the sound of a starting racing
car: ‘vroummmroarr!’
Note that a loud cry can take on the quality of a
sound word, drawn without a balloon (‘yikes!!’).
Caption Texts Caption texts are explanatory texts
located at the edge of the panel (or between panels),
often in a small, square frame of their own. They
comment on the progress of the story in the panel
and give information that has not been conveyed by
the panels. The function of the caption text is to
link the panels, sum up or comment on the action,
or provide any information the author wants to com-
municate to the reader. They frequently deal with
time factors, e.g. they could read ‘later,’ ‘meanwhile,’
or ‘ten years ago.’
Pictorial Signs
Apart from the narrative means of structuring a story
listed above, comics dispose of a large variety of
pictorial signs. These signs appear as illustrations of
the action taking place in the panel; often they are
used to show a protagonist’s emotional state or his or
her general condition. Such illustrations are often
graphical translations of a figure of speech, such as
‘having a broken heart’ or ‘if looks could kill’ – the
lovelorn protagonist will have a splintered heart hov-
ering above his or her head in the first case, whereas
small daggers will be drawn on their way from the
protagonist’s eyes towards his or her adversary in the
latter.
Great effort, embarrassment, and alarm are univer-
sally shown by little drops of perspiration flying from
the protagonist’s head (as in sweating, due to physical
exertion, or breaking out in cold sweat). Pain is
depicted by stars appearing above the hurting part
of his or her body; feeling dizzy, being drunk or
knocked-out, by spirals around the head (cf. above
about ‘balloons’: hearts, light bulbs, etc., within the
balloon).
Apart from these mostly figurative illustrations,
comics have developed a specific graphic feature to
show movement. They are called ‘speed lines’ and
refer to the slurring of vision to the eye when an object
or person moves in fast motion. Speed lines will trail
along a speeding object, telling the onlooker ‘it was
here just a second ago, but it moved over there within
the blink of an eye.’ Speed lines will show the course of
the moving object; often, they are accompanied by
small dust clouds to enhance the effect.
Doing without Sound and Motion:
Narrative Rhythm
Every narrative is told in segments. An author will
select which segments of a progression he or she
will show or tell and leave gaps in between for the
reader to fill in and make up a continuous narrative
flow (see Narrative Means: How Comics Tell a Story,
above). The pace of a narration is directly related to
the number of panels; an event illustrated by many
panels will naturally slow down the narrative rhythm,
whereas inserting a caption reading ‘two weeks later’
above a panel speeds it up. The narrative rhythm is
not related to the time narrated (see Narrativity and
Voice).

Apart from the numbers of panels, the narrative
rhythm can also be varied by other means: by draw-
ing a detailed environment (usually in a panel that is
comparatively larger than the others), or by zooming
out into a wide angle, as is often used in films to mark
a moment of introduction or contemplation at the
beginning or ending of a film. These wide angle
shots are, for instance, used as recurring features in
Goscinny & Uderzo’s ‘Asterix the Gaul.’ The story
usually starts with a large introductory panel, a wide
angle shot of the ‘small village in Gaul,’ depicting a
pastoral idyll, and it ends invariably with a panoram-
ic view of the villagers enjoying themselves at a big
banquet under the starry sky (with the unmusical
bard being tied to a tree in the foreground, in most
of the cases).
Equally, comics will make use of the other possibil-
ities of film language, as it is expressed in the way a
camera shot is taken. One of the factors involved is
distance. A panel can show a small human silhouette
in the distance, in the vast landscape of a desert plain.
Or it can show only a detail of that person’s face e.g.,
a pair of frightened eyes, seen from very short dis-
tance. The close-up shot will let the reader be part
of the protagonist’s emotional state of mind, whereas
the first example keeps the reader more at a distance.
Apart from distance, the virtual camera can choose
a particular angle to convey the narrative’s message.
A character shown from below will appear as some-
one superior and in control, someone looked down
Comics: Semiotic Approaches
M D’Angelo, European Design Institute, Rome, Italy
L Cantoni, University of Lugano, Lugano,
Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The goal of this article is to present the ways comics
have been and are studied by semiotics. In particular,
the meaning of a semiotic approach will be dealt
with, along with an overview of its history; then a
preliminary approach to comics considered as a liter-
ary genre is depicted, and a wider approach, which
considers comics as a language with its own semiotic
code(s), is proposed. Various research perspectives on
comics are then presented, addressing their narra-
tive form; their mixed language, always in between
pure images and pure texts; and their sequential
form. Finally, further and future research directions
are discussed.
Comics: Semiotic Approaches 627
upon will appear as just that. Clever authors even
make use of the subjective camera, known from ex-
perimental films. Thus, in ‘Asterix and the Normans’
a teenage boy from the capital Lutetia is sent to a
remote small village ‘to become a man.’ He gets
caught by the fear-inspiring Normans, knocked over
the head and falls unconscious. The Normans splash
water on him and in the following panel we see what
the frightened boy sees: A close-up of a row of awe-
inspiring beards as seen from lying on the ground, all
nasty smiles and helmets, looking very grim indeed.
See also: Genre and Genre Analysis; Language: Semiot-
ics; Media and Language: Overview; Narrativity and
Voice; Pragmatics of Reading; Text and Text Analysis.
Bibliography
Holtz C (1980). Comics – ihre Entwicklung und Bedeutung.
Munich: Saur.
Kelly W (1972). Pogo: we have seen the enemy and he is us.
New York: Simon and Schuster. 120.
Krafft U (1978). Comics lesen. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
McCloud S (1993). Understanding comics. Northampton,
MA: Kitchen Press.
Reitberger R C & Fuchs W J (1972). Comics: anatomy of a
mass medium. Toronto: Little, Brown.
Varnum R & Gibbons C T (2001). The language of comics:
word and image. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press.
What Does ‘Semiotic Approach’ Mean?
Forty years ago a young Italian academic intervened
in an intellectual philosophic congress on myth with
his collection of Superman comic books under his
arm. With great cultural boldness, the academic main-
tained that this superhero was a renovation of myth
in the context of the mass society. At the conclusion
of his speech, he awaited the reaction of the other
academics with some trepidation, given the novelty of
his proposal. What followed was a lively discussion,
and the audience was enthusiastic, so much so that, at
the end of the meeting, the young academic realized
that at least half of his precious comic books had
disappeared!
The name of that young academic was Umberto
Eco (the anecdote is in Eco, 1964a: XI), and his essay
‘The myth of Superman,’ first published in 1964 (Eco
1964b), was to shortly become a classic in studies on

Apart from the numbers of panels, the narrative
rhythm can also be varied by other means: by draw-
ing a detailed environment (usually in a panel that is
comparatively larger than the others), or by zooming
out into a wide angle, as is often used in films to mark
a moment of introduction or contemplation at the
beginning or ending of a film. These wide angle
shots are, for instance, used as recurring features in
Goscinny & Uderzo’s ‘Asterix the Gaul.’ The story
usually starts with a large introductory panel, a wide
angle shot of the ‘small village in Gaul,’ depicting a
pastoral idyll, and it ends invariably with a panoram-
ic view of the villagers enjoying themselves at a big
banquet under the starry sky (with the unmusical
bard being tied to a tree in the foreground, in most
of the cases).
Equally, comics will make use of the other possibil-
ities of film language, as it is expressed in the way a
camera shot is taken. One of the factors involved is
distance. A panel can show a small human silhouette
in the distance, in the vast landscape of a desert plain.
Or it can show only a detail of that person’s face e.g.,
a pair of frightened eyes, seen from very short dis-
tance. The close-up shot will let the reader be part
of the protagonist’s emotional state of mind, whereas
the first example keeps the reader more at a distance.
Apart from distance, the virtual camera can choose
a particular angle to convey the narrative’s message.
A character shown from below will appear as some-
one superior and in control, someone looked down
Comics: Semiotic Approaches
M D’Angelo, European Design Institute, Rome, Italy
L Cantoni, University of Lugano, Lugano,
Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The goal of this article is to present the ways comics
have been and are studied by semiotics. In particular,
the meaning of a semiotic approach will be dealt
with, along with an overview of its history; then a
preliminary approach to comics considered as a liter-
ary genre is depicted, and a wider approach, which
considers comics as a language with its own semiotic
code(s), is proposed. Various research perspectives on
comics are then presented, addressing their narra-
tive form; their mixed language, always in between
pure images and pure texts; and their sequential
form. Finally, further and future research directions
are discussed.
Comics: Semiotic Approaches 627
upon will appear as just that. Clever authors even
make use of the subjective camera, known from ex-
perimental films. Thus, in ‘Asterix and the Normans’
a teenage boy from the capital Lutetia is sent to a
remote small village ‘to become a man.’ He gets
caught by the fear-inspiring Normans, knocked over
the head and falls unconscious. The Normans splash
water on him and in the following panel we see what
the frightened boy sees: A close-up of a row of awe-
inspiring beards as seen from lying on the ground, all
nasty smiles and helmets, looking very grim indeed.
See also: Genre and Genre Analysis; Language: Semiot-
ics; Media and Language: Overview; Narrativity and
Voice; Pragmatics of Reading; Text and Text Analysis.
Bibliography
Holtz C (1980). Comics – ihre Entwicklung und Bedeutung.
Munich: Saur.
Kelly W (1972). Pogo: we have seen the enemy and he is us.
New York: Simon and Schuster. 120.
Krafft U (1978). Comics lesen. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
McCloud S (1993). Understanding comics. Northampton,
MA: Kitchen Press.
Reitberger R C & Fuchs W J (1972). Comics: anatomy of a
mass medium. Toronto: Little, Brown.
Varnum R & Gibbons C T (2001). The language of comics:
word and image. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press.
What Does ‘Semiotic Approach’ Mean?
Forty years ago a young Italian academic intervened
in an intellectual philosophic congress on myth with
his collection of Superman comic books under his
arm. With great cultural boldness, the academic main-
tained that this superhero was a renovation of myth
in the context of the mass society. At the conclusion
of his speech, he awaited the reaction of the other
academics with some trepidation, given the novelty of
his proposal. What followed was a lively discussion,
and the audience was enthusiastic, so much so that, at
the end of the meeting, the young academic realized
that at least half of his precious comic books had
disappeared!
The name of that young academic was Umberto
Eco (the anecdote is in Eco, 1964a: XI), and his essay
‘The myth of Superman,’ first published in 1964 (Eco
1964b), was to shortly become a classic in studies on
628 Comics: Semiotic Approaches
mass media. Paradoxically, the fame of ‘The myth of
Superman’ overshadowed the most innovative essay
on comics, published in that same year: ‘A reading of
Steve Canyon’ (Eco, 1964c). This reading of a Sunday
comic strip marks a theoretical watershed in the ap-
proach to this medium and can be considered the
forefather of the ‘semiotic approach to comics,’ the
subject of this article. The dates must be considered
conventional, in the same way we maintain that
America was discovered in 1492.
As far as we know, ‘A reading of Steve Canyon’
is the first example of the semiotic analysis of comics.
In fact, while the discussion on Superman was a
sociological one, albeit not completely consolidated,
yet already present in the academic literature of those
years, ‘A reading of Steve Canyon’ concentrated – as
has never been done before – on language.
Eco asked himself neither ‘‘what role do comics
have in society?’’ nor ‘‘what effects do they have on
young minds?’’ He analyzed the graphic art of panels
and balloons, the decoupage inside the page, the nar-
rative mechanisms. Eco wanted to understand which
characteristics of expression allow comics to involve
the reader, tell a story, make sense. In short, Eco was
doing semiotics.
Easy to say today! In fact, in 1964 semiology (both
in Europe and America) had not yet stabilized in pre-
cise research paradigms, nor had it been institutional-
ized as an academic study (for an excursus, see Bailey
and Matejka, 1980). But this is of relative impor-
tance. When we speak of ‘doing semiotics,’ before
even considering a defined discipline, we are referring
to a cultural approach through which to investigate
the possibility of meanings of languages. In this light,
‘A reading of Steve Canyon’ is, without any doubt, a
semiotic analysis. It is so in the pioneering fashion of
all the essays of the period dedicated to the exploration
of semiosis in the different forms of language: litera-
ture (Tzvetan Todorov), cinema (Christian Metz),
photography (Roland Barthes), and so on.
These pioneers of the sign, as they were inventing
new ways of seeing things, had to invent a new
(meta)language to explain them and a new method
to investigate them.
The Pioneers of the Sign
This can be seen, aside from Eco’s work, in that of two
other forerunners in the field, Roman Gubern and
Pierre Fresnault-Deruelle. Both, at the start of the
1970s, wrote essays programmatically dedicated to
the investigation of the language of comics (Gubern,
1972; Fresnault-Deruelle, 1972). While Eco used an
interpretative key to locate the instructions to the
reading of a comics text, Gubern analyzed, in a cogni-
tive perspective, the mechanisms of expression of
the medium. Even more different is the approach of
Fresnault-Deruelle, indebted to Saussurian linguis-
tics and with the intent of delineating the structural
implant of the language.
The variety of approaches has made the field of
study rich in classifications, research methods, and
definitions right from the start. With the passage of
years, instead of diminishing, the phenomenon has
amplified in proportion to the number of essays and
articles. Even today, paradoxically, it is impossible
to think of a ‘semiotics of comics’ in the sense of a
coherent theoretical picture, as can be done for the
cinema or for painting. Therefore the expression
‘semiotic approach to comics’ remains the most
fitting to describe the variety of orientations and
instruments adopted.
Misunderstanding ‘Comics’: Comics as
a Genre
As we have said, what is common to the works of
Eco, Gubern, and Fresnault-Deruelle, despite their
different orientations, is the idea that comics are lan-
guage. Today this affirmation seems obvious, but in
those days it was revolutionary. Proof of this is the
‘shyness’ in the terms used by the academics.
Eco did not use the term ‘language.’ Rather, he
defined comics as a ‘‘particular literary genre’’ (Eco,
1964c: 151). Fresnault-Deruelle spoke of ‘‘para-
literature,’’ explaining that he intended that the term
convey no negative connotations (Fresnault-Deruelle,
1972: 29).
All this caution should be understood within the
context of the culture of that age. The reason is sug-
gested by the anglophone term ‘comics,’ which has
always been the most popular to define the medium.
It recalls the narrative genre that triumphed, initially,
on the first American Sunday pages (Couch, 2000).
The gags of terrible young brats, clumsy gentlemen,
and talking animals were amusing. They were funny:
com(ed)ic situations repeated week after week. So the
term quickly came to designate the entire editorial
universe of comics. Even with the appearance of ad-
venture stories, the name continued to be used, both
in the Sunday pages and in the new types of publica-
tions (strips and books). Dick Tracy, Flash Gordon,
and Batman were not funny, but they were termed
‘serious comics.’
They were laying the foundations for the misunder-
standing that would persecute the medium for a long
time. In fact, the continuous use of this same term
for different types of stories resulted in the idea that
‘comics’ had no dignity of language but were a
‘macrogenre.’ In the words of Louis T. Hjemslev, it
was impossible to think of ‘the form’ of expression

without certain narrative ‘contents’ and certain read-
ers, generally children.
Are Comics ‘Innocent’? From Genre to Language
This misunderstanding was echoed even in the pages
of certain academics, in particular the affirmations of
Arthur Asa Berger in his famous essay ‘Comic
stripped America’ (Berger, 1974). The sociologist
found a connection between the forms of comics
and the American imagination. For example, the
simple graphics and the loud spoken gags of the first
Sunday pages were an extension of the ingenuity and
innocence of the readers of the day – a tempting
thesis, but it continued the error that comics are a
unique genre of storytelling (see Frezza, 1978). Berger
named only one exception to this theory: Little
Nemo in Slumberland, by Windsor McCay, the most
refined and complex comic of the age, in both the
narrative and the graphical senses. In reality, the so-
called exceptions (aside from Little Nemo, we could
cite, from those same years, Krazy Kat, by Herriman,
and Kin-der-Kids, by Feininger) prove that comics,
from the beginning, demonstrated specific expressive
capacities.
In the succeeding decades, ‘exceptional’ comics
have proliferated, putting an end to any misunder-
standing. Works like La Ballata del Mare Salato
[Ballad of the salt sea], by Hugo Pratt, Contract
with God, by Will Eisner, Maus, by Art Spiegelman,
Le garage hermétique [The airtight garage], by
Moebius, The dark knight returns, by Frank Miller,
Fuochi, [Fires], by Lorenzo Mattotti, and many others
remind us that comics are not a unique genre but a
language with its own semiotic code (Barbieri, 1991).
However, as far as we are concerned, the language/
genre misunderstanding is above all proof of the dif-
ficulty of defining, in any exhaustive way, the semi-
otic specifics of the medium. In other words, all of us,
looking at comics, realize that they are something
different from a movie or a novel, but this difference
is not easy to describe; it is entangled with many simi-
larities to other languages. The most obvious simila-
rities are those with literature, on the one hand, and
with cinema on the other. Eco and Fresnault-Deruelle
addressed the similarities of comics and literature.
Graphic Literature: Comics as a Narrative
Form
No doubt comics are related to literature. First of all,
like books, they are printed on paper and therefore
need the same type of willing reader, with the inten-
tion of activating their meaning by reading. Secondly,
comics can include a series of verbal elements in their
story content (balloons, sound effects, captions), and
Comics: Semiotic Approaches 629
so they give a literary rhythm to the succession of
panels.
The idea of making literature, with the added value
of images, has appealed to many cartoonists. Hugo
Pratt, for instance, liked to define his works as
‘‘Letteratura Disegnata’’ [graphic literature]. In effect,
in richness of narrative, the vicissitudes of his
Corto Maltese can compete with the works of great
adventure novelists (Melville, Conrad, London, etc.).
But it is a resemblance induced by a precise type of
story. When the Italian author spoke of graphic liter-
ature, he renewed the misunderstanding mentioned
earlier. This time it is the literary language that is
mistaken for a genre: romantic literature.
This, as we have seen, happens with all the narra-
tive languages, in which many things can be told in
many ways. This is one way in which literature,
comics, and cinema resemble each other! We could
compare them to different automobile models. Each
has its own bodywork, its own motor, its optionals.
But in the end they run on the same fuel: the story.
The Analysis of the Narrative Form in Comics
The first to confront the analysis of the narrative
dimension of comics is Fresnault-Deruelle, in the
essay he published in 1972. The study was born in
the francophone academic context, in that age very
sensitive to the subject of the narrative. Back in 1928,
after years of oblivion, Morfologiya Skazki [Mor-
phology of the folktale], an original work by Vladimir
J. Propp, was circulated in Europe. It was a proposal
for a comparative analysis of the story by locating a
reduced number of recurring structural narrative ele-
ments, called ‘functions.’ In the wake of Propp, semi-
ology set forth on several lines of research, manifested
by the various European pioneers (Roland Barthes,
Claude Bremond, Umberto Eco, Algirdas J. Greimas,
and Tzvetan Todorov) in issue number 8 of the
magazine Communications (1966).
Fresnault-Deruelle took his approach from this ana-
lytic heritage. He focused his analysis on the bande
dessinee, comics in the French language published in
albums (for a classification, see Couch, 2000), and
in particular on the vast production in series of
three celebrated cartoonists: Hergé (George Rémi),
J. Martin, and Ed P. Jacobs (authors, respectively, of
Tintin, Alix, and Blake and Mortimer). Fresnault-
Deruelle found a tight net of plot-points in their
comics, and he classified them in terms of recurrence.
He even managed to find in all the stories a common
structural scheme: (1) threat, (2) unrolling of the plot,
and (3) result.
Today the analytic characteristic of Fresnault-
Deruelle shows several limitations. Nevertheless, he
blazed a trail; only the method was yet to be refined.
630 Comics: Semiotic Approaches
In this aspect a decisive role was played by the re-
nowned Paris School of Semiotics (for an overview
see Collins and Perron, 1989). The definition is asso-
ciated with a group of semiologists of the Ecole de Paris,
reunited around the figure and teachings of Algirdas
J. Greimas. To summarize the Greimasian theory,
the story represents the fundamental structure of any
process of meaning and, consequently, of any text.
Une lecture de Tintin au Tibet, by Jean-Marie
Floch (1997), is an exemplary application of the
Greimasian method to comics. The monographic
reading of a famous Hergé album becomes an occa-
sion, for the French semiologist, to dig among the
panels and balloons in an attempt to bring deep
values and meanings to light. The most significant
pages of the essay are dedicated to the comparison
of all the adventures of Tintin. Floch draws an inter-
esting connection between serial comics and ancient
myth: ‘‘These had for material an unlimited stock of
figures, scenes and motives . . .. The adventures of
Tintin are cut out, responding and inverted in the
manner of myths . . .. The analysis of the Adventures
of Tintin in Tibet implicates the analysis of another
adventure that, in turn, implicates another’’ (Floch,
1999: 185–189).
The recent works of Alvise Mattozzi follow this
same Greimasian pattern, but they develop the dis-
cussion in a social semiotic perspective. Starting from
superhero comic books (Mattozzi, 2000) and under-
ground comics, the Italian semiologist analyzed the
evolution of the ‘superficial’ modalities (narratives
and graphics) of comics in relation to the ‘profound’
changes in the sociocultural context. This is a new
aspect of research, and of particular interest.
Generally, all the essays on comics that are done in
the Greimas style have their merits and limits. The
deeper you dig, the more you ‘discriminate,’ and the
greater the probability of finding some principles of
identity. But, at the same time, the deeper you dig, the
more you ‘simplify,’ and the greater the probability of
losing sight of the specifics of the texts. So the method
is effective if the objective is to study the ‘genetic’
values of the story, independently of the fact that
they appear in Tintin, in David Copperfield, or in
Red Hood. On the contrary, it is minimally productive
if the aim is to explain why, for instance, Melville’s
Moby Dick (literature) and Dino Battaglia’s Moby
Dick (comics) are two very different texts despite the
fact that they are based on an identical narrative plot.
In other words, if the Greimasian approach helps
us define what comics have in common with litera-
ture (and with narrative forms in general), one needs
to look at other semiotic methods to understand their
differences.
The Strange Case of Dr Image and Mrs
Word: Comics as Mixed Language
We have already hinted at the possibilities of lan-
guage, presented in comics through visual compo-
nents (balloons, sound effects, captions). Above all,
balloons, containers of the thoughts and words of the
characters, are the naturalized element of language of
comics (or at least it is traditionally perceived to be
so). The Italians have even elevated them to the name
of the medium: fumetti [little smoke clouds]. This
way of labeling probably convinced even the Ameri-
can historian Robert C. Harvey: ‘‘In speech balloons,
we have something that is unique to the medium . . ..
In all other graphic representations – in all other
pictorial narratives – characters are doomed to word-
less posturing and pantomime. In comics, they speak’’
(quoted in Groensteen, 2000: 1).
Even other American historians (Bill Blackbeard,
Les Daniels, and Maurice Horn) recognized the value
of verbal components, so much so that they inserted
verbal components into the definition of the medium.
According to this approach, the uniqueness of comics
lies exactly in the possibility of articulating words and
images together in panels. Art Spiegelman has even
proposed to change the term ‘comics’ into ‘commix’:
a commixing of words and images.
Silent Comics: Verbal and Visual Forms in Comics
The Belgian-French Thierry Groensteen (2000) com-
mented, a little maliciously, on the insistence of
American theorists on the mixing of words and
images; according to him, this is mainly a way of
endorsing the fact that the medium was ‘Made in
the U.S.A.’ In fact, the official date of birth of comics
is made to coincide with the publication, in 1886, of
the American Sunday page Yellow Kid. The adven-
tures of the hairless boy are distinguished exactly
because they were the first comic with a verbal
component integrated into the graphic composition.
Of course, Groensteen was not interested in the
controversy that surrounds the argument. Rather,
what was of interest to him were the linguistics. Al-
though a student of Fresnault-Deruelle, Groensteen
kept his distance from traditional semiology, con-
vinced that, as far as comics are concerned, a specific
theory was needed. As he explained in his essay ‘Sys-
tème de la bande dessinée’ (Groensteen, 1999),
comics (strips, pages, and books) are a mainly visual
narrative space. While you can imagine comics with-
out words, you cannot imagine comics without
images.
Groensteen cited, as an example, Arzach, by
Moebius (Jean Giraud). With the abolition of

balloons, captions, sound effects, and even kinetic
signs, the silent stories of this surreal character live in
the essentiality of juxtaposed panels. Something simi-
lar, with grotesque connotations, was done by the
Argentineans Carlos Trillo and Domingo Mandrafina
with their cycle of mute ‘short novels.’ But stories
without dialogues and captions can be found, occasion-
ally, in more popular serial comics (from Batman to
Ken Parker). With these cases at hand, one could agree
with Groensteen and Scott McCloud, who excluded
from his famous definition of the medium any reference
to the verbal component. In the opinion of McCloud,
comics are ‘‘Juxtaposed pictorial and other images in
deliberate sequence, intended to convey information
and/or to produce an aesthetic response in the viewer’’
(McCloud, 1993: 9).
McCloud’s definition is especially interesting.
His essays represented an original methodological
frontier for studies on this subject. Understanding
comics (McCloud, 1993) and Reinventing comics
are theoretical works on the language of comics, by
a cartoonist, using the language of comics.
The verbal component has a fundamental role: the
protagonist (a caricature of McCloud) constantly
uses balloons to explain the theoretical steps. In ef-
fect, rather than completely denying the importance
of words, the author reminds us of how difficult it
is to measure their exact expressive importance. To
illustrate this, McCloud used a graphic picture/word
scale (McCloud, 1993, Chap. 6). In comics differing
in format, genre, and nationality, the scale can tip
from one side to the other without altering the ex-
pressive quality of the story. McCloud, therefore,
relinquished any theoretical certainty and rather put
his trust in experience: the word/image relationship of
comics is more an alchemy than a science.
This solution reminds us of certain cooking recipes
that say ‘‘add salt as necessary,’’ leaving the cooks
to their own devices. Perhaps ‘words as necessary’
could satisfy able comic gourmets such as Scott
McCloud or Will Eisner, but it does not satisfy in
the semiotic sense.
If, as Groensteen says, the specificity of the medium
resides in the visual juxtaposition of images, may we
continue to consider graphic texts such as Prince
Valiant, Peanuts, Superhero Comic Books, and others
in which words have a preponderant role, as comics?
Would it not be more appropriate to define them as
illustrated stories?
Blind Comics: The Analysis of Verbal Form in
Comics
Examples of verbose comics are not lacking, but a
typical example, mentioned in every essay, is Prince
Valiant. In the Sunday page of this chivalric hero,
Comics: Semiotic Approaches 631
created by Harold Foster in 1934, the captions be-
neath the illustrations are the essence of the story (see
the examples of Peeters, 1998). Paradoxically, the
events that are narrated would be understandable
even without the images. As opposed to the silent
comics, so praised by Groensteen, Valiant could
be termed a ‘blind’ comic, in which the word
completely dominates over the visual aspect. For
this reason, some academics (e.g., Will Eisner, Robert
C. Harvey, and Scott McCloud) go so far as to ex-
clude Valiant from the comics club and consider it an
illustrated story. But this reclassification is not totally
convincing.
Even if we were to remove these precious captions
from Prince Valiant, it would still remain a story told
by images, although not very fluid or effective, but
nonetheless a visual story. In effect, as Benoit Peeters
pointed out (Peeters, 1998: 97–98), in Foster’s work
the word is not a substitute for images; they are used
alongside each other as a stylistic effect. Barthes’
‘Rhétorique de l’image’ of 1964 had already codified
redundancy as one of the possible verbal/iconic com-
binations. According to Barthes, the image is poly-
semic, a fluctuating chain of meanings with which
words can have various types of relationships.
In Prince Valiant, the captions reinstate the epical-
chivalric tone of the world that is being represented in
a modern chanson de geste. In other comics, the same
dynamics are used for different stylistic effects. Alack
Sinner (by Carlos Sampayo and José Munoz) con-
stantly sets out in its panels the ‘voice-over’ of the
protagonist to reinforce the Chandlerian tone of the
detective story. In the comics by Frank Miller, David
McKean, and Bill Sienkewicz, the thought-captions
of the characters, a sort of ‘stream of consciousness,’
triumph.
And so we can identify the fundamental semiotic
difference between the use of words in comics and
in literature. In literary works, and verbal stories in
general, words need somebody to utter them, and that
somebody, by consequence, is present in the text as a
personal or impersonal narrator. On the contrary, in
comics (and even in cinema and paintings) the image
tells itself, and no subtitles are needed. Words, if
present, are intended as components of a vast system
of expressions. Another consequence is the so-called
metaphonological language (Cigada, 1989): if in a
book the mood of the characters and its influences
on their utterances are to be described through other
words (‘‘said the man in a sad voice,’’ ‘‘the girl cried,’’
‘‘proclaimed aloud,’’ etc.), in comics mood and quali-
ty of voice are expressed by means other than words
(by the images themselves and by other iconic tools).
From this point of view, ‘blind’ and ‘silent’ comics
are not incompatible categories but rather the
632 Comics: Semiotic Approaches
extreme ends of a graduated continuum on which
every text is situated according to the particular
combination of its components. It is therefore
not very advisable to determine the ‘purity’ of a par-
ticular comics only by means of the juxtaposition of
words and images. As Daniele Barbieri wrote, ‘‘Even
if we were dealing with a ‘simple’ juxtaposition, the
global effect would result neither from the words
themselves alone nor from the images themselves
alone, but from their relationship’’ (Barbieri, 1991:
203).
The study of the way this relationship functions is
the primary objective of the modern semiotic ap-
proach to comics. This was determined also in the
volume The language of comics: word and image,
edited by Christina Gibbons and Robin Varnum
(2002). For instance, Frank L. Cioffi proposed a
study on the ‘‘disturbing dissonances’’ triggered in
the reader by the image/word relationship of under-
ground commix. Robert C. Harvey stressed, instead,
how the close complementarities of verbal and graph-
ic components can become the distinctive trait of a
particular genre of comics, the so-called one-panel
cartoons. Even more original was the contribution
offered by Gene Kannenberg, Jr., through his analy-
sis of the experimental comics of Chris Ware.
Kannenberg stressed the innovative composition of
the pages of this cartoonist, which couple graphic
and verbal elements in an insoluble ‘visual totality.’
The works cited above give proof of the variety of
points of view and of the research being done on what
continues to be one of the main topics in the semiotic
debate on comics.
From Panel to Panel: Comics as a
Sequential Language
The discussion on the words/images relationship has
brought to light the differences between literature and
comics, but it has also highlighted comics’ resem-
blances to cinema, a medium born around the same
period and which has in common with comics the
juxtaposition of images in sequence. This resem-
blance in expressions has often promoted an inter-
twining of semiological analyses.
Even the historic dating coincides. The year 1964,
the conventional date of birth of semiotic research
on comics, is also the year of publication of essays
that have become classics on cinema research, such
as ‘Le Cinéma: langue ou langage?’ by Metz and
‘Rhétorique de l’image’ by Barthes.
As a matter of fact, those suggestive studies origi-
nated a heterogeneous line of research (some of
it sensible, some rather dubious), with the intention
of giving iconic texts universal morphologies and
syntheses, in some cases adopted by verbal language,
in other cases created from scratch.
For example, right from the start, the frame shots
of movies and the panels of comics were equated to
the linguistic notion of syntagmas. In the same way
that syntagmas are the basic units of verbal discus-
sions, so are frames and panels to visual stories. These
are the foundations of the particular dynamics of
the shots.
In fact, unlike paintings or photographs, the shots
of comics and of the cinema are never closed or ends
in themselves. Each image is a partial step in the story,
constantly ‘in search of’ a mate in order to complete
its sense. The elements present in each single shot
(situations, characters, backdrops) are always orga-
nized in respect to what is outside the particular shot
and perhaps present in the one that follows. Roman
Gubern (1972) was the first to stress how the cogni-
tive discrepancy generated by a shot with respect to
its preceding one becomes the principal center of
interest to the spectator/reader. The most effective
definition of these dynamics is that of Eisner’s
‘sequential art’ (Eisner, 1985).
The Analysis of Sequential Dimension in Comics
Sequentiality bases its process of signifying on what
Roman Jakobson defined as the two polar axes of
language: contiguity and similarity, or in rhetorical
terms, metonymy and metaphor. In fact, on the one
hand, the sequential story works by metonymic com-
bination, on the basis of a principle of contiguity,
through the juxtaposition of images along temporal
paths (actual in cinema, suggested in comics). On the
other hand, a metaphoric selection intervenes: every
single shot ‘replaces’ the preceding one, and the per-
ception of the narrative continuum (logical or chro-
nological) lies in the principle of similarity, in seeing
the same forms that vary from one frame to the next.
Contiguity and similarity cooperate in suggesting
connections between the images to the spectator/
reader.
The repertoire of these connections, which consti-
tute the grammar of sequential footage (alternated,
parallel, etc.), has been the object of several classifi-
cations in comics, among which the most famous is
still that of McCloud (1993). His catalogue is based
on the psychological concept of closure: a completion
operated by inference by the reader on the basis of ex-
perience. The different types of connections inferred
by the reader correspond to the different types of
closures.
Although McCloud did not make an explicit dis-
tinction between the footage of cinema and that of
comics, we must stress that the greatest differences
between the two languages lie at the level of closures.

The sequentiality of the frames, unlike in cinema, is
not the product of the mechanical running of photo-
grams but an instruction of the text to the reader in
order for him to read the static images in a series. We
could say that the story is completely in the eye of the
reader. As far as visual suggestion may be effective,
there remains the physical limit, made by the white
lines that outline the frames. Groensteen stressed the
importance of the ‘‘interconic white’’ as the site of an
ulterior articulation of the language of comics
(Groensteen, 1999). The white hiatus creates a dis-
continuity, a jump, great or small as it may be in terms
of time and space, between one shot and the next.
There is another substantial difference between the
sequentiality of the two languages. The concept is
‘iconic solidarity,’ coined by Groensteen to stress
that the panels are to be interpreted, simultaneously,
both as isolated units and as parts of a whole, deter-
mined by the form of the comics (strips, pages,
books). As Jakobson put it, the axis of similarity
prevails in cinematographic sequences: one shot
frame ‘chases away’ the preceding one. In comics,
on the contrary, the axis of contiguity is dominant:
the constant reiteration of panels. Iconic solidarity is
manifested by the planar (a succession of panels along
the same strip) and vertical (a succession of strips in
the same page) directions together in the same space.
Comics as Polyphonic Language
This is a very particular prerogative because it allows
comics, more than any other language, to have mean-
ing both with the narrative process (intradiegetic),
given the succession of events in the story, and the
paranarrative process, given the succession of graphic
forms on the page. Usually the latter is at the service
of the former: a panel of greater size indicates a
narrative event of special importance. But there is
no universal law on the subject. For example, in
superhero comic books, splash panels (giant frames)
are used even for the less important parts of the story
not to mention all those stylistic variables that cannot
be included in the intentions of the single cartoonist,
but that instead derive from general cultural codes. In
fact, the meaning of comics is activated, aside from
the story line, by the perceptive architectures that
catch the eye of the reader.
From this reflection, the semiologist Daniele
Barbieri developed an analysis paradigm that consid-
ered the ‘rhythmic’ architecture of comics. A student
of Eco, Barbieri borrowed his interpretative approach
and extended the notion of rhythm, traditionally tied
to a musical context, to any text (verbal, graphic,
audiovisual) that develops in a sequence (Barbieri,
2004). In a semiotic sense, rhythm is the recurrence
Comics: Semiotic Approaches 633
inside a (textual) structure of homologous elements
that are perceptible sequentially. In the case of
comics, the layout, the dialogues, the graphics, the
story, etc., are rhythmical forms. On each of these
rhythms, any element in contrast to the order set
previously is perceived as unexpected, as a novelty.
Narrative and paranarrative forms work to build an
architecture of tension made of climaxes and down-
falls, accelerations and slowing downs, so as to feed
the interest of the reader.
This rhythmical paradigm gives rise to a modern
semiotic conception of comics. This medium is made
rich by the exchanges with other forms of expression,
but it is also an autonomous language, able to arrange
meaning in polyphonic ways, articulating various
levels of expression, all of them tightly interwoven.
The Semiotic Approach to Comics, Today
and Tomorrow
Almost 40 years after ‘A reading of Steve Canyon,’
Eco wondered at the appropriateness of scientific
studies (especially semiotic ones) of comics. In his
article ‘Quattro modi di parlare di fumetti’ [Four
ways of speaking about comics], he distinguished,
with subtle irony, four analytical tendencies. A couple
of them are more concerned with the critique of
the sector rather than with the research, while the
remaining two are relevant here.
In the first (‘Saggi sui Comics come medium’
[essays about comics as medium]), he included him-
self and the other pioneers of this field, along with the
young students (whom he criticizes), among those
who still today in their dissertations passionately ‘‘re-
write, for the umpteenth time, that there is a syntax of
shots, a semantics of balloons, a textual theory on
footage, or that the first comics was the mosaic of San
Clemente . . . . However it is clear that this phase is
over, and at most can now generate useful archive
research, perhaps a critical edition of Yellow Kid’’
(Eco, 1999: 1).
In the second (‘Dimenticare il medium’ [forgetting
the medium]), Eco praised all those who dedicate
themselves to the study of the texts and ignore
the analysis of expressive forms in general (‘‘as they
are no longer in question’’), to concentrate on the
evolution of ‘‘genres, themes, techniques and topics
in the universe of the comic-medium’’ (Eco, 1999: 1).
Eco’s words demonstrate the evolution of the semi-
otics of the past, from the ‘abstract’ discussions on
signs and codes, into the concrete analysis of the text
(built with signs and codes). The change to the textual
approach has permitted, especially in the cases of
languages with aesthetic goals (literature, cinema,
634 Comics: Semiotic Approaches
comics), the maturing of more precise theoretical
schemes. Therefore, he is right in maintaining that it
makes no sense to study comics in the same manner as
was done in the past.
Nevertheless, the general theory on comics does
not seem to have reached its ‘Nirvana.’ In fact, this
article has highlighted that, despite the indubitable
progress made, uncertainties and errors remain. Para-
doxically, however, this circumstance must not be
seen as a limit of research but rather a stimulus for
the future. After all, are there any languages for which
we can say with absolute certainty that we know all
the grammar and possible meanings? Languages live
in their usages and in the creativity of daily use. This
is the case with comics: many love them still, read
them still, create them still. Styles are evolving,
genres are becoming more mature, and reading prac-
tices are becoming more refined. In the face of such a
dynamic scenario, various research perspectives are
opening up.
Of course, as Eco suggests, it is important to focus
the analysis of the text on specific themes and techni-
ques, ‘forgetting’ the medium; but it is also important
to remember it from time to time and reevaluate the
theoretical perspectives.
See also: Barthes, Roland: Theory of the Sign; Eco, Um-
berto: Theory of the Sign; Iconicity; Russian Formalism;
Visual Semiotics.
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Command Relations
T Reinhart, Utrecht University, Utrecht,
The Netherlands
T Siloni, Tel-Aviv University, Tel-Aviv, Israel
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Since the earliest stages of transformational grammar,
it has been observed that linguistic rules are sensitive
to the structural relations between nodes in the syn-
tactic tree. Historically, this was noted first for inter-
pretative rules, such as those governing anaphora and
quantifier scope. The syntactic relations discussed in
the 1960s include ‘command,’ ‘clause-mate,’ and the
linear relation ‘precede.’ The relation found most use-
ful at this stage was the composed relation ‘precede
and command’ that was introduced in Langacker
(1966) to capture the relations between pronouns
and their antecedents (which he viewed as governed
by a transformation of pronominalization). The rela-
tion was later applied to the analysis of the scope of
negation in Ross (1967) and of quantifier scope in
Jackendoff (1972). We illustrate the development of
the view of command relations with the problem of
coreference (between pronouns and antecedents)
since this was the problem around which most of
the discussion centered historically.
The relation command is defined, following
Langacker (1966), as follows:
(1) A node a commands a node b iff neither a nor b
dominates the other and the S node most
immediately dominating a also dominates b.
(2a) *[S She denied that Lucie stole the diamond].
Command Relations 635
Mattotti L (words and art) (1985). Fires. Barcelona:
Catalan Edition. [English translation by Tom Leighton.]
McCay W (words and art) (1905–1989). Marschall R (ed.)
The complete Little Nemo in Slumberland: vol. I: 1905–
1907. Seattle: Fantagraphics.
Miller F (words and art) (1986). ‘The Dark Knight returns.’
In Batman: the dark knight. New York: DC Comics.
Moebius (Giraud J) (words and art) (1977–1993). The
airtight garage. New York: Epic Comics.
Pratt H (words and art) (1967). Ballad of the Salt Sea
(Corto Maltese Adventure). New York: Harvill Publish-
ing. [English translation by Ian Monk.]
Spiegelman A (words and art) (1983). Maus: a survivor’s
tale. New York: Pantheon Books.
Ware C (words and art) (1993). The ACME novelty library
No. 1. Seattle: Fantagraphics Books.
(2b) The man who [S t traveled with her] denied that
Lucie stole the diamond.
(2c) [NP Her husband] denied that Lucie stole the
diamond.
Combined with the relation of ‘precedence,’ Lan-
gacker’s generalization on coreference (stated in cur-
rent terminology) was that a pronoun cannot both
precede and command its antecedent. Thus, in (2a)
the pronoun both precedes and commands Lucie;
hence; coreference (marked with bold type) is impos-
sible. In (2b), however, the preceding pronoun does
not command Lucie (the first sentence (S) node domi-
nating it does not dominate Lucie); hence, corefer-
ence is not excluded. By this definition of command,
(2c) should be blocked as well, because the first S node
dominating her also dominates Lucie. Hence, the
pronoun both precedes and commands its antecedent.
However, Jackendoff (1972: 140) and Lasnik (1976)
suggested a modification of the definition (1) that
makes use of the notion ‘cyclic node’ rather than
just S. At the time, the cyclic nodes were believed to
be both S and noun phrase (NP). (Lasnik proposed
the term ‘kommand’ for the modified relation.) Their
view on the restriction on anaphora remained the
same: A pronoun cannot corefer with a full NP that
it both precedes and commands. In (2c), the first
cyclic node that dominates the pronoun is the NP,
which does not dominate Lucie. Hence, the pronoun
precedes, but does not command, the antecedent, and
coreference is permitted.
Reinhart (1976, 1981) argued that structural rela-
tions like command can be best understood as defin-
ing the syntactic domain of a given node – roughly,

Peeters B (1998). Case, planche, récit. Lire la bande dessi-
née. Paris: Casterman.
Varnum R & Gibbons C T (eds.) (2002). The language of
comics: word and image. Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi.
Comics Cited
Eisner W (words, art) (1985). A contract with God: and
other tenement stories. New York: Titan Books.
Feineinger L (words and art) (1906–1980). The Kin-der-
Kids: the complete run of the legendary comic strip.
New York: Dover.
Foster H (words and art) (1934–1984). Prince Valiant vol.
1–20. Seattle: Fantagraphics Books.
Herriman G (words and art) (1935–1990). The komplete
kolor Krazy Kat. Abington: Remco Worldservice Books.
Command Relations
T Reinhart, Utrecht University, Utrecht,
The Netherlands
T Siloni, Tel-Aviv University, Tel-Aviv, Israel
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Since the earliest stages of transformational grammar,
it has been observed that linguistic rules are sensitive
to the structural relations between nodes in the syn-
tactic tree. Historically, this was noted first for inter-
pretative rules, such as those governing anaphora and
quantifier scope. The syntactic relations discussed in
the 1960s include ‘command,’ ‘clause-mate,’ and the
linear relation ‘precede.’ The relation found most use-
ful at this stage was the composed relation ‘precede
and command’ that was introduced in Langacker
(1966) to capture the relations between pronouns
and their antecedents (which he viewed as governed
by a transformation of pronominalization). The rela-
tion was later applied to the analysis of the scope of
negation in Ross (1967) and of quantifier scope in
Jackendoff (1972). We illustrate the development of
the view of command relations with the problem of
coreference (between pronouns and antecedents)
since this was the problem around which most of
the discussion centered historically.
The relation command is defined, following
Langacker (1966), as follows:
(1) A node a commands a node b iff neither a nor b
dominates the other and the S node most
immediately dominating a also dominates b.
(2a) *[S She denied that Lucie stole the diamond].
Command Relations 635
Mattotti L (words and art) (1985). Fires. Barcelona:
Catalan Edition. [English translation by Tom Leighton.]
McCay W (words and art) (1905–1989). Marschall R (ed.)
The complete Little Nemo in Slumberland: vol. I: 1905–
1907. Seattle: Fantagraphics.
Miller F (words and art) (1986). ‘The Dark Knight returns.’
In Batman: the dark knight. New York: DC Comics.
Moebius (Giraud J) (words and art) (1977–1993). The
airtight garage. New York: Epic Comics.
Pratt H (words and art) (1967). Ballad of the Salt Sea
(Corto Maltese Adventure). New York: Harvill Publish-
ing. [English translation by Ian Monk.]
Spiegelman A (words and art) (1983). Maus: a survivor’s
tale. New York: Pantheon Books.
Ware C (words and art) (1993). The ACME novelty library
No. 1. Seattle: Fantagraphics Books.
(2b) The man who [S t traveled with her] denied that
Lucie stole the diamond.
(2c) [NP Her husband] denied that Lucie stole the
diamond.
Combined with the relation of ‘precedence,’ Lan-
gacker’s generalization on coreference (stated in cur-
rent terminology) was that a pronoun cannot both
precede and command its antecedent. Thus, in (2a)
the pronoun both precedes and commands Lucie;
hence; coreference (marked with bold type) is impos-
sible. In (2b), however, the preceding pronoun does
not command Lucie (the first sentence (S) node domi-
nating it does not dominate Lucie); hence, corefer-
ence is not excluded. By this definition of command,
(2c) should be blocked as well, because the first S node
dominating her also dominates Lucie. Hence, the
pronoun both precedes and commands its antecedent.
However, Jackendoff (1972: 140) and Lasnik (1976)
suggested a modification of the definition (1) that
makes use of the notion ‘cyclic node’ rather than
just S. At the time, the cyclic nodes were believed to
be both S and noun phrase (NP). (Lasnik proposed
the term ‘kommand’ for the modified relation.) Their
view on the restriction on anaphora remained the
same: A pronoun cannot corefer with a full NP that
it both precedes and commands. In (2c), the first
cyclic node that dominates the pronoun is the NP,
which does not dominate Lucie. Hence, the pronoun
precedes, but does not command, the antecedent, and
coreference is permitted.
Reinhart (1976, 1981) argued that structural rela-
tions like command can be best understood as defin-
ing the syntactic domain of a given node – roughly,
636 Command Relations
the portion of the tree consisting of those nodes that a
given node bears the structural relation to. The struc-
tural conditions on linguistic rules, which are based
on these relations, restrict these rules to operate on
two nodes just in case one of them is in the domain of
the other. In the case of semantic interpretation rules
of the type mentioned previously, the domain of a
given node corresponds to the portion of the syntactic
tree in which that node can effect the interpretation of
other nodes. For example, in the case of quantifiers’
scope, the syntactic domain of a given quantified
NP determines its potential scope over other NPs.
Characterized in terms of syntactic domains, the rela-
tion ‘precede and command’ defines the domain in
(3). The coreference restriction assumed previously
can now be stated as in (4):
(3) The domain of a node a consists of a together
with all and only the nodes that a precedes and
commands.
(4) A pronoun cannot corefer with (non-pronoun)
NPs in its domain.
From this perspective, Reinhart argued that if linguis-
tic rules operate indeed within the domains defined
by (3), it would be rather mysterious why this is so
since these domains are arbitrary units – chunks of
the tree that do not necessarily correspond to inde-
pendently established syntactic units. The source of
the problem is the incorporation of the relation pre-
cede in the definition of domains. By this definition,
any sequence that follows a given node within the
same S (or cyclic node) forms a domain. For instance,
given a sentence such as Ben introduced Max to Rosa
in September, the domains defined are, first, the do-
main of the subject (the whole sentence) and, next,
the domain of the verb (the verb phrase (VP)). These
domains correspond to syntactic constituents, but the
next domains would be [Max to Rosa in September],
[to Rosa in September], and [Rosa in September]. If
such arbitrary chunks of the tree constitute syntactic
domains, it is difficult to see what content the notion
could have.
Next, linear order varies across languages. If (3)
is the definition of the domains linguistic rules
operate on, different languages may have dramatical-
ly different domains. Reinhart (1976: 41, ex. 31)
illustrated this with the following example from
Malagasy, a VOS language:
(5a) namono azy ny anadahin-d Rakoto
hit/killed him the sister-of Rakoto
‘Rakoto’s sister killed him’
(5b) *namono ny anadahin-d Rakoto izy
hit/killed the sister-of Rakoto he
‘*He killed Rakoto’s sister’
The domain of the subject pronoun in the English
translation of (5b) is the whole sentence. However,
in the subject-final Malagasy, the domain of the pro-
noun includes only the pronoun since nothing follows
it. In (5a), it is the other way around: Whereas in
English the object pronoun has nothing in its domain,
in Malagasy its domain is the arbitrary chunk [him the
sister of Rakoto]. As shown in (5), the coreference op-
tions are precisely the same in Malagasy and English.
However, if the coreference rule operates on domains
based on linear order, it should incorrectly allow
coreference in (5b) and rule it out in (5a).
Along with the principled questions, Reinhart ar-
gued that there are many empirical problems with
rules based on the relation precede and command,
even for right branching languages such as English.
In the area of coreference, for instance, coreference is
permitted in (6) (from Reinhart, 1976), although the
pronoun precedes and commands its antecedent:
(6a) The chairman hit him on the head before the
lecturer had a chance to say anything.
(6b) Rosa won’t like him anymore, with Ben’s
mother hanging around all the time.
Reinhart concluded that linear order is universally
irrelevant for the definition of syntactic domains,
and hence for linguistic rules of the type under con-
sideration. On the other hand, the domains for the
relevant linguistic rules must be narrower than those
defined by the relation command, and they consist
of constituents rather than S or cyclic nodes. The
initial definition of Reinhart (1976: 32, (36)) for the
relation c-command (constituent command) is given
in (7):
(7) A node a c-commands a node b iff neither a nor b
dominates the other and the first branching
node dominating a also dominates b.
(8) The domain of a node a consists of a together
with all and only the nodes that a c-commands.
As observed in Reinhart (1976), this relation is similar
to (the converse of) the relation ‘in construction with,’
which was suggested by Klima (1964) for the analysis
of the scope of negation. It also bears resemblance to
‘superiority’ suggested by Chomsky (1973), the differ-
ence being that superiority is asymmetric. Thus, sister
nodes cannot be superior to each other, whereas (7)
allows them to c-command each other. The formal
properties of c-command were further investigated in
Reinhart (1981), where she argued that the require-
ment that neither a nor b dominate the other is empiri-
cally superfluous and leads to formal complications. If
it is dropped from the definition, then c-command is a
reflexive relation (namely, nodes c-command them-
selves), which has formal advantages. This line was

further pursued in Baker and Pullum (1990). However,
the definition that is most widely assumed remains the
one in (7). Given this definition, syntactic domains
must be defined as in (8). (For a simpler definition, see
Reinhart, 1981.)
Given the c-command domains in (7), the corefer-
ence restriction (4) captures all cases of coreference
discussed here. In the Malagasy (5a), just as in its
English translation, the first branching node dominat-
ing the subject pronoun is S (inflection phrase (IP));
hence, its domain is the whole S, regardless of wheth-
er the other nodes in S precede or follow it. Thus, (4)
equally rules out its coreference with Rakoto in both
English and Malagasy. In (5b) the pronoun does not
c-command the antecedent. The domain of the object
pronoun for both English and Malagasy is only the
VP, which does not dominate the subject. Hence, (4)
does not rule out coreference.
In the sentences of (6), the pronoun is an object,
and the NP with which it corefers is in a clausal
prepositional phrase (PP) attached higher than the
VP. The syntactic tree of (6a) is given in (9):
The first branching node dominating the pronoun
is V’, which does not dominate the PP containing
the lecturer. Hence, the pronoun does not c-command
the potential antecedent, which means that the
latter is not in the syntactic domain of the pronoun,
so the coreference restriction (4) does not rule out
coreference here. Given the command relation, by
contrast, the relevant node for defining the domain
of the pronoun is not the VP but, rather, the first IP (S)
that dominates it. That IP also dominates the poten-
tial antecedent; hence, (4) would rule out coreference
if it applies in the command domain. For the sen-
tences of (2), the c-command and the precede and
command domains give the same results for English.
In (2a) the pronoun both c-commands and commands
its antecedent (since the first branching node is S).
In (2b) and (2c) the pronoun neither commands
nor c-commands its antecedent. The coreference
Command Relations 637
restriction (4), applying at c-command domains,
was later reformulated as condition C in the binding
theory of Chomsky (1981).
As mentioned previously, command relations were
first introduced for rules governing semantic de-
pendencies. However, Reinhart (1976) argued that
semantic dependencies are just a specific instance
of a broader generalization, which she labeled the
‘C-command domain condition’: All sentence-level
linguistics rules and operations are restricted to apply
only within the c-command domain. Within this
domain, the dependent node must be c-commanded
by the node it depends on. Syntactic movement can
be viewed as an instance of this dependency – the
trace left by the moved element fully depends for
its interpretation upon the moved element. Corre-
spondingly, syntactic movement is allowed only into
a c-commanding position, namely the target position
of the moved element must c-command its source
position. Among the illustrations of this principle
that Reinhart provides is (10) (couched here in current
syntactic terms):
(10a) Felix did not realize he is a failure until whose
remarks (underlying)
(10c) (Remind me) [CP1 until whose remarksi [IP
Felix did not realize [CP2 [IP he is a failure]]
ti]]
(10d) *[CP1 [IP Felix did not realize [CP2 until whose
remarksi [IP he is a failure]] ti]]
In the underlying (10b), the wh-phrase has to move to
a Spec of CP (COMP). If we look at the sequence
linearly, the first available Spec is that of the embed-
ded CP2. However, this Spec does not c-command it,
and indeed, it cannot move there, as witnessed in
(10d). The only permitted option is movement to
638 Command Relations

the top Spec of CP1, which c-commands the wh- For the anaphora rules, the objects in (11) should
phrase, as in (10c). No independent principle, known c-command the PP: The coreference restriction disal-
at the time, could explain why (10c) should be lows the pronoun to corefer with an NP in that PP, as
blocked. The subjacency condition on movement, in (11a). The bound anaphora restriction (which we
introduced in Chomsky (1973), disallows movement did not discuss here) allows quantified antecedent to
that crosses more than one cyclic node (IP or NP), bind a pronoun only in their c-command domain. As
but the movement in (10c) does not cross any such seen in (11b), the quantified object can, indeed, bind
node. the pronoun in the PP. However, the actual represen-
For examples such as (10), the same results would tation of, for example, (11a) is (12), where the PP is an
be obtained if the domains were to be defined in terms adjunct rather than a complement (sister) of the verb.
of command, rather than c-command, because the If what determines c-command is the first branching
lower Spec also does not command the wh-phrase. node, the object pronoun does not c-command Ben in
However, Reinhart (1976, 1983) cited extraposition (12), and coreference would be incorrectly permitted.
from NP subjects and result clause extraposition as an It was later found that the branching node defini-
example in which the command condition is not suf- tion of c-command is too restrictive also in certain
ficient and concluded that the relevant domain for instances of syntactic movement, which also involves
movement is the c-command domain. adjunction. Head movement (e.g., the movement of
The domain condition also provided an explana- V (Chomsky, 1986)) adjoins a given head to another
tion for why there can be no syntactic ‘lowering’ head, as illustrated in the French (13a) and (13b):
movement, a hypothesis advocated by Chomsky
(13a) Jean souvent voit Marie (underlying)
(1977) at the time. Such movement violates the prin-
Jean often sees Marie
ciple that the target must c-command the source po- (13b) Jean voit souvent t Marie
sition. This condition is still broadly assumed in
syntax theory, at least for overt syntactic movement,
and it is believed to hold universally.
Let us now pay closer attention to the definition of
c-command. The definition in (7) counts any branch-
ing node as relevant for c-command. However, it was
noted already in Reinhart (1976) that this definition
is too restrictive for interpretative rules (e.g., the
anaphora rules). In current terms, the reason is that
it disregards the special status of adjuncts. This can be
illustrated with the VP adjuncts in (11):
(11a) *We met him in Ben’s office.
(11b) We met every researcher in his office.

The domain condition allows only movement to a

c-commanding position, but the first branching
node dominating the verb in its new position in
(13c) is the higher I, which does not dominate the
trace. Hence, by the branching definition, the moved
verb does not c-command its original position.
Reinhart (1976) argued that in view of facts like
(11), intermediate categories of the same type should
be ignored in the full definition of c-command. At
the time, X-bar theory was not available (and the
PP of (12) was analyzed as adjoined to VP), so
capturing this extension of c-command required the
rather complex definition in (14) (Reinhart, 1976:
148, (4)):

(14) A node a c-commands a node b iff (neither a nor
b dominates the other and) the first branching
node g1 dominating a either dominates b or is
immediately dominated by a node g2 which
dominates b, and g2 is of the same category
type as g1.
In (12), the first V’ dominating the object pronoun is
immediately dominated by another V’, which domi-
nates the PP. Since the two instances of V’ are of the
same category type, the first V’ does not count, so
given (14), the pronoun c-commands the PP.
With the development of X-bar theory, in Jackend-
off (1977) and Chomsky (1981), it became possible to
simplify the definition in (14). Aoun and Sportiche
(1983) argued that the intuition behind this definition
is that the nodes relevant for c-command are not
arbitrary branching nodes but, rather, maximal pro-
jections (the maximal categorical expansion of a
head, e.g., NP, VP, and IP). More broadly, linguistic
rules are restricted to operate within constituents
that are full projections of a given head. Aoun and
Sportiche (1983) coined the term ‘m-command’
(maximal-command) for the relation under consider-
ation, defined in (15):
(15) A node a m-commands a node b iff (neither a
nor b dominates the other and) the first
maximal projection dominating a also
dominates b.
In (12), the first maximal projection dominating the
pronoun is the VP; hence, it m-commands the PP. In
(13c), the first maximal projection dominating the
moved V is IP; hence, V m-commands its trace. As
Aoun and Sportiche pointed out, there is further mo-
tivation to replace the definition of c-command with
(15). In the case of an intransitive verb, the first
branching node that dominates the verb turns out to
be the clause node (IP or I’) because the VP in that
case is not branching. This may be irrelevant for
anaphora but would cause problems in other areas,
such as government and Case.
Other extensions of the m-command domain have
been proposed throughout the years: May (1985)
proposed an extension of the domain of adjuncts,
which was needed for quantifier raising (QR) and
quantifier scope. This rests on the definition (16) for
the relation ‘dominate’:
(16) a dominates b iff every segment of a dominates b.
In the case of adjunction, which creates identical
nodes, each occurrence of these nodes is viewed as a
segment. In the structure in (17b), QR has applied to
adjoin everyone to IP. IP does not dominate the NP
everyone because there is a segment of IP that does
not dominate it.
Command Relations 639
(17a) Who does everyone like t?
Hence, the first maximal projection that dominates
this NP is only the CP, which means that everyone
m-commands who, which is why it can take wide
scope over who. Chomsky (1986) applied the seg-
ment definition of dominate to other areas of syntax.
Under Kayne’s (1994) approach to phrase structure,
specifiers are an instance of adjunction. Combined
with the definition of dominate in (16), this means
that specifiers have the same c-command domain as
their maximal projection. This has broad implica-
tions in Kayne’s system; regarding the problems dis-
cussed here, Kayne’s definition derives the fact that
quantifier binding is possible in examples such as
Every girl’s father thinks she’s a genius, discussed by
Reinhart (1983: 177).
Reinhart assumed that there is only one relation
relevant to linguistic rules, namely the extended
c-command in (14), which is better captured in (15).
(She viewed (7) as a simplified definition of
c-command needed only for expository reasons.) In
that view, branching node c-command is just a sub-
case, or a specific instance, of m-command. However,
in subsequent research since Chomsky (1981), two
distinct relations have been assumed – the basic
branching node c-command defined in (7), repeated
here, and m-command, as previously defined:
(7) A node a c-commands a node b iff (neither a nor
b dominates the other and) the first branching
node dominating a also dominates b.
This left open the question of whether different rules
may be sensitive to different command relations – a
question we return to later.
In the Principles and Parameters framework (‘Gov-
ernment and Binding,’ (Chomsky, 1981)), the relation
640 Command Relations
m-command played a central role. It was used to
define the relation of ‘government,’ which was be-
lieved at the time to determine the domain of many
local linguistic processes. A version of the definition
of government, adapted from Chomsky (1986), is
given in (18):
(18) a governs b iff a m-commands b and there is no
maximal projection which dominates b and
not a.
The m-command domain of a given node a, along the
lines examined previously, is a together with all the
nodes it m-commands. Assuming that m-command is
the relevant command relation of natural language,
this means that no linguistic rule can operate on any
two nodes if one of them is not in the m-command
domain of the other. However, the domains defined
by m-command (just as those defined by c-command)
may still be quite large, extending down the tree from
the m-commanding node. Many linguistic processes,
known as ‘local,’ are restricted to apply in a smaller
subdomain of the m-command domain. At this stage of
linguistic theory, government was believed to be the
relation defining these local domains. The government
domain of a consists only of the nodes it m-commands
within the same maximal projection, with a few local
extensions built into the theory. (Most notably, the verb
can govern the subject of its clausal complement.)
To understand why it seemed necessary to take
m-command, rather than the branching c-command,
as the relation defining government, let us examine
case assignment.
(19a) Der Student hat den Mann
the student.NOM has the man.ACC
gesehen. (German)
seen
‘The student saw the man’
The basic assumption in this framework is that in
(19), the object gets its accusative case from V, and
the subject gets its nominative case from the function-
al head I. More broadly, heads of the relevant type (V,
N, P, A, and tensed I) are case-assigners. The question
was what is the structural relation that must hold
between the head and an NP to enable case assign-
ment. In terms of c-command, V and I do not bear
the same relation to the NP to which they assign case.
In (19), V c-commands the object, but I does not
c-command the subject. However, V and I equally
m-command the relevant NP. Hence, it was con-
cluded that m-command is the relevant relation for
case assignment. The domain for case assignment is
further restricted by the government requirement. For
example, if we added a PP to (19), such as mit einem
Feldstecher (‘with binoculars’), the NP in that PP
cannot be assigned accusative case because it is not
in the government domain of the verb (the PP being
an intervening maximal projection). Its governor is
only the P, which assigns it dative.
However, at the stage of the minimalist program
(MP), the relation government was found to be a
superfluous relation (Chomsky, 1995). Chomsky
(2005) argued that core syntactic processes are sensi-
tive only to c-command, so from this perspective m-
command is superfluous as well. Syntactic movement
of XPs is permitted only to a c-commanding position.
This is the case with wh-movement and NP-move-
ment, which were traditionally labeled ‘substitution,’
but also XP movement by adjunction (topicalization
and extraposition at the overt structure (SS)) and QR
at the covert structure (LF) are possible only into a
c-commanding position. Regarding the problem of
nominative case assignment exemplified in (19),
Chomsky (2001) handled it without resort to m-
command. Under the VP-internal subject hypothesis
(Sportiche (1988), among others), the original position
of the subject in (19) is VP internal, as in (20):
At this position, I c-commands the subject and can
therefore check its nominative case (the mechanism is
called ‘agree’). Subsequently, the subject moves to the
Spec IP position (to satisfy the extended projection
principle, which requires that Spec IP be filled). Within

the MP, syntactic structure is built gradually, and case
checking applies immediately upon the introduction of
the relevant case checking head. It follows that an NP
can have its case checked only by the closest c-com-
manding case checker. Thus, the ban against interven-
tion added by the government requirement turned out
to be superfluous since it is derived independently.
Head movement, illustrated in (13), is the only
instance of a syntactic process that still seems to be
restricted by m-command rather than c-command.
Pointing out that head movement differs from the
core rules of syntax in important respects (not only
does head movement violate c-command but also it
does not conform to the extension principle, dis-
cussed later), Chomsky (2001) suggested that it is a
phonological process resulting from the affixal char-
acter of the inflectional heads.
This leaves us with the question of semantic inter-
pretation rules. These must still operate in
m-command domains. This was illustrated here only
with the anaphora problems in (11), but Reinhart
(1983) argued that precisely the same holds for rela-
tive quantifier scope and other interpretative proce-
dures. The upshot so far seems to be that two distinct
syntactic domains must be assumed – the c-command
domain for core syntactic processes and the
m-command domain for interpretative processes.
An alternative perspective on the c-command
domain is offered in Epstein (1999) and Epstein et al.
(1998). They argued that what appears to be the
c-command restriction on syntactic movement is in
fact an entailment of an independent linguistic factor.
In current MP views, there is one primitive syntactic
operation, ‘merge,’ which constructs a new object from
two objects. There are two types of merge: ‘external
merge,’ which puts together two distinct categories,
and ‘internal merge,’ which attaches to a category a
phrase that is part of that category (hence, the label
‘internal’). Internal merge is movement. There is a
general principle governing merge, the extension prin-
ciple, which determines that a node can be merged only
to the root (the topmost node available). Since move-
ment is a subtype of merge, its landing site, the position
it merges into, must always c-command its original
position. This is so because the moved element must
be merged to the root, which obviously dominates the
original position. Under the assumption that case
checking is done upon merge – namely, case is checked
as soon as the head with the case feature is merged –
case checking is also possible only when the head
c-commands the argument it assigns case to.
In this view, then, only one command relation
must be assumed – m-command, which governs
mainly interpretative rules. Syntactic processes are
executed derivationally and are governed by merge.
Command Relations 641
Interpretative rules must take into consideration the
full derivation tree, including adjoined constituents.
In the MP, adjunction (‘pair-merge’ in MP terms) (as
in the case of the PP in (11)) is a different process than
argument merge (‘set-merge’). It applies freely and is
not restricted by the extension principle. Hence, a
constituent that does not belong to the c-command
domain of a given node, because it was inserted by
adjunction, may still belong to its interpretative do-
main if it is inserted in the same maximal projection.
See also: Configurationality; Island Constraints; Principles
and Parameters Framework of Generative Grammar;
Subjects and the Extended Projection Principle; Transfor-
mational Grammar: Evolution; X-Bar Theory.
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Analysis 2, 1–22.
642 Command Relations
May R (1985). Logical form. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Reinhart T (1976). The syntactic domain of anaphora.
Ph.D. diss., MIT. (Distributed by MIT Working Papers
in Linguistics).
Reinhart T (1981). ‘DefiniteNP anaphora and c-command
domains.’ Linguistic Inquiry 12, 605–635.
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London/Chicago: Croom Helm/University of Chicago
Press.
Communication in Grey Parrots
I M Pepperberg, Brandeis University, Waltham, MA,
USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
For over 25 years, I have taught Grey parrots the
meaningful use of English speech. Using English
speech, the oldest, Alex, matches certain cognitive
capacities of apes, marine mammals, and sometimes
4- to 6-year-old children (Pepperberg, 1999). His
abilities are inferred not from operant tasks common
in animal research, but from vocal responses to vocal
questions; that is, he also demonstrates intriguing
communicative parallels with young humans, despite
his phylogenetic distance. I doubt I taught Alex and
other parrots these abilities de novo; their achieve-
ments likely derive from existent cognitive and neural
architectures. My data thus suggest an avian role in
the evolution of intelligence and communication.
Animals and Human Language
Historically, animal–human communication studies
have focused on cetaceans and apes. ‘Talking’ birds
were rarely included (except by a very small number
of researchers, e.g., Mowrer, 1954), birds being
viewed as unintelligent mimics. Operant experiments
with pigeons had demonstrated capacities inferior
to those of mammals and those results were extrapo-
lated to all birds, despite separate intriguing evidence
for parrots’ cognitive and possibly communicative
feats (Pepperberg, 1999). Correlates of intelligence –
relatively large brain to body weight ratios, highly
social natures, and long lives during which they must
continuously be able to both remember and update
information about their physical and social environ-
ments – do exist in parrots, and proper training
induces language-like abilities matching those of
other species.
Ross J R (1967). Constraints on variables in syntax. Ph.D.
diss., MIT. (Published in 1986 as Infinite syntax.
Norwood, NJ: Albex).
Sportiche D (1988). ‘A theory of floating quantifiers and its
corollaries for constituent structure.’ Linguistic Inquiry
19, 425–449.
What Greys Can Learn
Alex’s accomplishments are impressive (Pepperberg,
1999). He vocally labels more than 50 objects, seven
colors, five shapes, quantities to 6, and three cate-
gories (color, shape, material), and appropriately uses
‘‘no,’’ ‘‘come here,’’ ‘‘wanna go X,’’ and ‘‘want Y’’ (X
and Y are, respectively, locations or items). He
answers queries concerning relative size, categories,
quantity, presence or absence of attribute similarity/
difference, and label comprehension. He combines
labels to identify, request, comment upon, or refuse
more than 100 items and to alter his environment.
He can state color, shape, material, and object name
of an exemplar. Given two items, he answers the
questions ‘‘What toy?’’, ‘‘How many?’’, ‘‘What’s
same/different?’’, ‘‘What color bigger/smaller?’’, and
‘‘What matter bigger/smaller?’’ Shown collections of
mixed numbers of, for example, red and blue balls
and blocks, he answers the question ‘‘How many blue
block?’’, thus comprehending recursive, conjunctive
queries. He uses very limited forms of segmentation –
sentence frames and consistent adjective þ noun con-
structions. He semantically separates labeling from
requesting. He requests absent objects and refuses
substitutes, demonstrating that his labels are repre-
sentational; that is, he recognizes dissonance between
the concept encoded in the request and proffered
items. He exhibits solitary practice, apparently build-
ing new labels from sounds already in his repertoire;
for children, Bruner (1977) referred to this behavior
as ‘scaffolding.’ Thus, after learning ‘‘grey’’ he spon-
taneously produced ‘‘grape,’’ ‘‘grate,’’ ‘‘grain,’’
‘‘cane,’’ and ‘‘chain,’’ subsequently mapping these
labels referentially onto relevant objects. Ongoing
studies with younger parrots show that he is not
exceptional.
Alex’s behavior is not simple object-label associa-
tion. He is equally accurate on items related, but
not identical, to training objects, and he transfers
642 Command Relations
May R (1985). Logical form. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Reinhart T (1976). The syntactic domain of anaphora.
Ph.D. diss., MIT. (Distributed by MIT Working Papers
in Linguistics).
Reinhart T (1981). ‘DefiniteNP anaphora and c-command
domains.’ Linguistic Inquiry 12, 605–635.
Reinhart T (1983). Anaphora and semantic interpretations.
London/Chicago: Croom Helm/University of Chicago
Press.
Communication in Grey Parrots
I M Pepperberg, Brandeis University, Waltham, MA,
USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
For over 25 years, I have taught Grey parrots the
meaningful use of English speech. Using English
speech, the oldest, Alex, matches certain cognitive
capacities of apes, marine mammals, and sometimes
4- to 6-year-old children (Pepperberg, 1999). His
abilities are inferred not from operant tasks common
in animal research, but from vocal responses to vocal
questions; that is, he also demonstrates intriguing
communicative parallels with young humans, despite
his phylogenetic distance. I doubt I taught Alex and
other parrots these abilities de novo; their achieve-
ments likely derive from existent cognitive and neural
architectures. My data thus suggest an avian role in
the evolution of intelligence and communication.
Animals and Human Language
Historically, animal–human communication studies
have focused on cetaceans and apes. ‘Talking’ birds
were rarely included (except by a very small number
of researchers, e.g., Mowrer, 1954), birds being
viewed as unintelligent mimics. Operant experiments
with pigeons had demonstrated capacities inferior
to those of mammals and those results were extrapo-
lated to all birds, despite separate intriguing evidence
for parrots’ cognitive and possibly communicative
feats (Pepperberg, 1999). Correlates of intelligence –
relatively large brain to body weight ratios, highly
social natures, and long lives during which they must
continuously be able to both remember and update
information about their physical and social environ-
ments – do exist in parrots, and proper training
induces language-like abilities matching those of
other species.
Ross J R (1967). Constraints on variables in syntax. Ph.D.
diss., MIT. (Published in 1986 as Infinite syntax.
Norwood, NJ: Albex).
Sportiche D (1988). ‘A theory of floating quantifiers and its
corollaries for constituent structure.’ Linguistic Inquiry
19, 425–449.
What Greys Can Learn
Alex’s accomplishments are impressive (Pepperberg,
1999). He vocally labels more than 50 objects, seven
colors, five shapes, quantities to 6, and three cate-
gories (color, shape, material), and appropriately uses
‘‘no,’’ ‘‘come here,’’ ‘‘wanna go X,’’ and ‘‘want Y’’ (X
and Y are, respectively, locations or items). He
answers queries concerning relative size, categories,
quantity, presence or absence of attribute similarity/
difference, and label comprehension. He combines
labels to identify, request, comment upon, or refuse
more than 100 items and to alter his environment.
He can state color, shape, material, and object name
of an exemplar. Given two items, he answers the
questions ‘‘What toy?’’, ‘‘How many?’’, ‘‘What’s
same/different?’’, ‘‘What color bigger/smaller?’’, and
‘‘What matter bigger/smaller?’’ Shown collections of
mixed numbers of, for example, red and blue balls
and blocks, he answers the question ‘‘How many blue
block?’’, thus comprehending recursive, conjunctive
queries. He uses very limited forms of segmentation –
sentence frames and consistent adjective þ noun con-
structions. He semantically separates labeling from
requesting. He requests absent objects and refuses
substitutes, demonstrating that his labels are repre-
sentational; that is, he recognizes dissonance between
the concept encoded in the request and proffered
items. He exhibits solitary practice, apparently build-
ing new labels from sounds already in his repertoire;
for children, Bruner (1977) referred to this behavior
as ‘scaffolding.’ Thus, after learning ‘‘grey’’ he spon-
taneously produced ‘‘grape,’’ ‘‘grate,’’ ‘‘grain,’’
‘‘cane,’’ and ‘‘chain,’’ subsequently mapping these
labels referentially onto relevant objects. Ongoing
studies with younger parrots show that he is not
exceptional.
Alex’s behavior is not simple object-label associa-
tion. He is equally accurate on items related, but
not identical, to training objects, and he transfers

utterances to novel contexts: After learning to answer
‘‘none’’ to the question ‘‘What’s different?’’ with re-
spect to two identical items, he spontaneously
responded ‘‘none’’ when asked ‘‘What color bigger?’’
regarding two equally sized, differently colored blocks
(Pepperberg and Brezinsky, 1991). Alex lacks all but
a very few verbs, but nevertheless exhibits certain
communicative capacities that were once presumed
limited to primates.
How Greys Learn: Parallels with Humans
My Greys’ learning sometimes parallels human pro-
cesses, providing insights into how acquisition of
complex communication may have evolved. Refer-
ential, contextually applicable (functional), and
socially rich input allows parrots, like young children
– as shown by researchers such as Hollich et al.
(2000) – to acquire communication skills effectively
(Pepperberg, 1999). Reference, the object-word con-
nection, is exemplified by rewarding birds with
objects they label. Context/function involves the situ-
ation in which an utterance is used and effects of its
use; initially using labels as requests motivates birds
to learn human speech. Social interaction engages
subjects directly, accents environmental components
(e.g., contextual explanations for actions and their
consequences), emphasizes common attributes – and
possible underlying rules – of diverse actions, and
allows continuous adjustment of input to learners’
levels. I next describe the training technique of our
laboratory, then experiments to determine the
necessary and sufficient input for engendering
learning.
Model/Rival (M/R) Training
My model/rival (M/R) system (background in
Pepperberg, 1999) uses three-way social interactions
among two humans and a parrot to demonstrate
targeted vocal behavior. The parrot watches the train-
er display, and query the second human about, one or
more item(s) (e.g., ‘‘What’s here?’’, ‘‘How many?’’)
and reward correct answers referentially with praise
and the object(s). Incorrect responses (like the bird
may make) are punished by scolding and temporarily
removing item(s) from sight. The second human is a
model for the parrot’s responses and its rival for the
trainer’s attention, and illustrates error consequences
by trying again or talking more clearly if the
responses were first (deliberately) incorrect or gar-
bled. Because the bird is also queried and rewarded
for successive approximations to correct responses,
training is adjusted to its level.
Unlike the modeling procedures of other research-
ers (i.e., those reviewed in Pepperberg and Sherman,
Communication in Grey Parrots 643
2000), ours (a) interchanges the roles of the trainer
and the model to emphasize that one is not always
the questioner and the other the respondent and that
the procedure can effect environmental change, and
(b) exclusively uses intrinsic rewards. Todt (1975), for
example, showed that birds whose trainers never
reverse roles responded only to the questioner; our
birds, however, interact with and learn from all
humans. Intrinsic rewards – uttering ‘‘X’’ gets X –
ensure the closest possible correlations of labels or
concepts to be learned with their appropriate
referents.
M/R training demonstrated which input elements
enabled referential acquisition, not what was neces-
sary and sufficient. What if elements were lacking?
Answering that question required additional
parrots: Alex might cease learning because training
had changed, not because of how it changed. With
three naive Greys – Kyaaro, Alo, and Griffin – my
laboratory tested the importance of reference,
context/function, and social interaction in training.
Eliminating Aspects of Input
We performed eight experiments (Pepperberg, 1999;
Pepperberg et al., 2000). First, we concurrently pre-
sented Alo and Kyaaro with (a) audiotapes of Alex’s
sessions, which were nonreferential, not contextually
applicable, and noninteractive; (b) videotapes of
Alex’s sessions, which were referential, minimally
contextually applicable, and noninteractive; and (c)
standard M/R training. In (a) and (b), birds were
socially isolated. Condition (a) paralleled early allo-
specific song acquisition studies such as those of Mar-
ler (1970); (b) involved issues about avian vision and
video: Ikebuchi and Okanoya (1999) demonstrated
that birds might not see standard video output as do
humans. Second, because Rice and her colleagues
(Rice et al., 1990) found that interactive coviewers
could increase young children’s learning from video, a
coviewer now provided social approbation for view-
ing and pointed to the screen with comments like
‘‘Look what Alex has!’’ Birds’ labeling attempts
would garner only vocal praise. Social interaction
was limited; referentiality and functionality matched
earlier video sessions. Third, because the extent of
coviewer interaction might be relevant, he or she
now uttered targeted labels and asked questions.
Fourth, so that lack of reward would not deter
learning, socially isolated parrots watched videos
while a student in another room monitored utter-
ances and could deliver rewards remotely. Fifth, be-
cause birds might habituate to the single videotape
used per label (although each tape depicted numerous
Alex–trainer interactions), we used live video from
Alex’s sessions. Sixth, because Baldwin (1995) had
644 Communication in Grey Parrots
demonstrated that labels were not acquired if adult–
child duos failed to focus jointly on objects being
labeled, a single trainer faced away from the bird
(who could reach, e.g., a key) and chatted about the
item (‘‘Look, a blue key!’’, ‘‘You want key?’’, etc.;
sentence frames, Pepperberg, 1999) but had no visual
or physical contact with either the parrot or the ob-
ject; a bird’s labeling attempt would receive only
vocal praise, thereby eliminating some functionality
and considerable social interaction. Parrots failed at
referential targeted label acquisition in any non-M/R
condition, but succeeded in concurrent M/R sessions
(Pepperberg, 1999). Seventh, we eliminated some
aspects of modeling: one trainer jointly focused with
the bird on objects, using labels and making queries.
Griffin did not utter labels during 50 such sessions,
but clearly produced labels after two or three
subsequent M/R sessions. (NB: Birds that were
switched to M/R training after 50 video sessions
needed ~20 sessions before producing labels.) We
suspected latent learning: Griffin apparently stored
but could not use labels without observing their use
modeled. Finally, we used a liquid crystal monitor to
see if cathode ray tube flicker-fusion hindered video
learning (Ikebuchi and Okanoya, 1999); parrots still
failed at video learning (Pepperberg and Wilkes,
2004). The results emphasized that training must
include reference, social interaction, and functionali-
ty/contextual use if parrots are to communicate with
humans rather than mimic speech.
Mutual Exclusivity: Studying Subtle Changes
in Input
Parrots’ learning processes may also parallel young
children’s mutual exclusivity (ME) (Pepperberg and
Wilcox, 2000). This term, used by researchers such as
Liittschwager and Markman (1994), refers to many
children’s early belief that each object has one, and
only one, label. Along with the ‘whole object assump-
tion’ (that a label identifies the entire object, not some
feature), ME supposedly guides initial word acquisi-
tion. Liittschwager and Markman (1994), for exam-
ple, suggested that ME eventually helps children
interpret novel words as feature labels (overcome
the whole object assumption), but very young chil-
dren may initially reject second labels as unacceptable
alternatives. Input, however, affects ME: Gottfried
and Tonks (1996) showed that children, and
I showed that parrots like Alex, who receive inclusiv-
ity data (X is a kind of Y; e.g., colors taught as
additional, not alternative, labels: ‘‘Here’s a key;
it’s a green key’’), accept multiple labels for items
and easily form hierarchical relations. Given an ob-
ject, Alex answers the questions ‘‘What color?’’,
‘‘What shape?’’, ‘‘What matter?’’, and ‘‘What toy?’’
(Pepperberg, 1999). But parrots taught colors or
shapes as alternative labels (e.g., ‘‘Here’s key’’, later,
‘‘It’s green’’) have difficulty using these modifiers for
previously labeled items. Griffin, thusly trained, initi-
ally answered the question ‘‘What color?’’ with object
labels. Similarly, he had difficulty learning an object
label – cup – and answered the question ‘‘What toy?’’
with colors (Pepperberg and Wilcox, 2000). Even
small input differences affect acquisition as much
for parrots as they do for young children.
Combinatory Learning
Researchers (e.g., Johnson-Pynn et al., 1999) have ar-
gued, pointing primarily to behavioral data, that a
common neural substrate initially underlies young chil-
dren’s parallel development of communicative and ob-
ject (manual) combinations and that a homologous
substrate in apes allows similar, limited, parallel devel-
opment, thus suggesting a shared evolutionary history
for linguistic and physical behavior. But Heather Shive
and I (Pepperberg and Shive, 2001) demonstrated
that Griffin showed comparable limited, parallel com-
binatorial development of three-item and three-label
combinations. The percentages of physical and vocal
combinations were roughly equal; vocal three-label
combinations emerged only when Griffin initiated
three-object combinations; only one of 14 vocal com-
bination types that Griffin produced had been trained;
and physical combinations were performed with his
beak, not with his feet. Moreover, unlike Johnson-
Pynn et al.’s Cebus (1999), Griffin’s physical tasks
were untrained.
Although Griffin’s – or even Alex’s (Pepperberg,
1999) – behavior matches neither human language
nor combinatory behavior in complexity, our data
show that parallel combinatory development is not
limited to primates and that mammalian brains are
not a prerequisite for such behavior. According to
some researchers, responsible substrates are likely
analogous, arising independently under similar evo-
lutionary pressures; other researchers believe that the
structures may indeed be homologous (see discussion
in Medina and Reiner, 2000).
Parallel Evolution of Avian and
Mammalian Abilities?
Although human and animal behavior are not
isomorphic, many species provide information on
evolutionary pressures that helped shape existent
systems (Pepperberg, 1999). Such pressures were not
exclusive to primates; hence we see analogous
complex avian communication systems and likely
analogous neural architectures. Moreover, complex

communication apparently requires or coevolves
with complex cognition: Although communication
is functionally social, its complexity is based on the
complexity of information communicated, processed,
and received, thus contingencies that shape cognition
(social, ecological, etc.) likely shape communication.
If, as researchers such as Rozin (1976) and Humphrey
(1976) have claimed, intelligence indeed correlates
with primates’ complicated social systems and long
lives – the outcome of selection processes favoring
animals that flexibly transfer skills across domains
and that remember/act upon knowledge of detailed
group social relations – these patterns might drive
parrot cognition and communication: long-lived
birds with complex primate-like social systems
might use abilities honed for social gains to direct
information processing and vocal learning. When
you add the need for categorical classes (e.g., to
distinguish neutral stimuli from predators), the ability
to recognize/remember environmental regularities yet
adapt to unpredictable changes over extensive life-
times, and a primarily vocal communication system,
then parrots’ capacities are not surprising. Whether
similar adaptive responses evolved independently for
birds and humans under comparable environmental
pressures is unclear, but a common core of skills likely
underlies complex cognitive and communicative
behavior across species, even if specific skills manifest
differently. By looking for species commonalities, we
can develop theories about behavioral elements
essential to, and evolutionary pressures that shape,
complex capacities (Pepperberg, 1999).
See also: Animal Communication: Dialogues; Animal Com-
munication Networks; Animal Communication: Overview;
Animal Communication: Vocal Learning; Apes: Gesture
Communication; Birdsong; Categorical Perception in Ani-
mals; Cognitive Basis for Language Evolution in Non-
human Primates; Development of Communication in Ani-
mals; Individual Recognition in Animal Species; Non-
human Primate Communication; Traditions in Animals;
Vocal Production in Birds.
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Communication in Marine Mammals
V M Janik, University of St Andrews, Fife, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Marine mammals are not a monophyletic group but
include species as phylogenetically different as whales,
manatees, seals, and polar bears. Traditionally marine
mammals have been treated as one group because of
their adaptations to the marine environment. These
adaptations can make distantly related marine species
appear physically more similar than closely related
terrestrial species. Behaviorally, marine mammals can
differ tremendously. This allows for interesting com-
parisons of evolutionary pathways in animals that live
in the same environment. This section concentrates
on cetaceans (whales, dolphins, and porpoises, com-
prising 85 species), pinnipeds (seals and sea lions,
comprising 35 species) and sirenians (sea cows, com-
prising 4 species). While polar bears, otters, and other
mammals feeding on marine species have sometimes
been considered to be marine mammals, they are not
covered in this section. I will also focus on acoustic
communication. While marine mammals use visual
signals at close range, most species are rather limited
in their physical expressiveness, due to the evolution
of streamlined bodies suitable for swimming. Fur-
thermore, most marine habitats have very limited
underwater visibility, which favors the evolution of
acoustic communication since it is not affected by
visibility.
Types of Sounds
Cetacean sounds are often split into three categories:
tonal calls, clicks, and burst-pulsed sounds. Addition-
ally, cetaceans use a variety of other mammalian-type
sounds that are described as barks, grunts, squeals, or
similar onomatopoetic descriptors. Little is known
about the production mechanisms of these sounds.
Tonal calls include many elements of baleen whale
songs and whistles of dolphins (reviewed in Tyack
and Clark, 2000). The most famous case of a marine
mammal acoustic display is probably the song of the
humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae), which
N (eds.) Progress in psychobiology and physiological
psychology, vol. 6. New York: Academic Press. 245–280.
Todt D (1975). ‘Social learning of vocal patterns and modes
of their applications in Grey Parrots.’ Zeitschrift für
Tierpsychologie 39, 178–188.
typically consists of five to nine different themes
(Payne and Payne, 1985) (Figure 1). Each theme con-
sists of a repeated phrase. A phrase consists of a
stereotypical sequence of elements. Each phrase lasts
for around 15 seconds, but it can be repeated multiple
times before the animal switches to the next theme.
A whole song usually lasts between 8 and 16 minutes.
The sequence of themes in a song is fairly stable, but
around 10% of theme transitions in songs skip themes
in the sequence. Humpback whales repeat their song
many times in singing bouts that can last for several
hours. It appears that only males produce song, pri-
marily during the breeding season. All individuals in
one population share the same song. However, the
song sung by all males is different at the start and the
end of the breeding season. In the following breeding
season they start out with the last song they sang in the
previous year. Thus, song changes over the years in
synchrony among all males in a population. The only
explanation for this change is that males use vocal
learning to alter their own song in relation to what
other whales produce. A similar pattern seems to exist
in bowhead whales (Balaena mysticetus) with a
somewhat simpler song organization and less change
in the song. Blue (Balaenoptera musculus) and fin
whales (Balaenoptera physalus) produce even simpler
sequences, consisting of a repeated, single element. In
fin whales it appears that only males sing while this is
not known for blue whales. Once baleen whales come
together in social groups, they produce a variety of
burst-pulsed sounds often called grunts or snorts.
Some species like the northern (Eubalaena glacialis)
and southern right whales (Eubalaena australis) and
the gray whale (Eschrichtius robustus) do not appear
to sing at all but only engage in sound production
during such social encounters.
Dolphins and other toothed whales also do not
produce song. Their signals are either used in social
interactions akin to the way primates use their signals
or for echolocation. Echolocation is a specific adap-
tation to explore the environment, as is found in bats.
An animal produces a click sound and listens to
echoes from sound-reflecting objects extracting ob-
ject feature information from the acoustic parameters
646 Communication in Grey Parrots
Rice M L, Huston A C, Truglio R & Wright J (1990).
‘Words from ‘‘Sesame Street’’: Learning vocabulary
while viewing.’ Developmental Psychology 26, 421–428.
Rozin P (1976). ‘The evolution of intelligence and access to
the cognitive unconscious.’ In Sprague J M & Epstein A
Communication in Marine Mammals
V M Janik, University of St Andrews, Fife, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Marine mammals are not a monophyletic group but
include species as phylogenetically different as whales,
manatees, seals, and polar bears. Traditionally marine
mammals have been treated as one group because of
their adaptations to the marine environment. These
adaptations can make distantly related marine species
appear physically more similar than closely related
terrestrial species. Behaviorally, marine mammals can
differ tremendously. This allows for interesting com-
parisons of evolutionary pathways in animals that live
in the same environment. This section concentrates
on cetaceans (whales, dolphins, and porpoises, com-
prising 85 species), pinnipeds (seals and sea lions,
comprising 35 species) and sirenians (sea cows, com-
prising 4 species). While polar bears, otters, and other
mammals feeding on marine species have sometimes
been considered to be marine mammals, they are not
covered in this section. I will also focus on acoustic
communication. While marine mammals use visual
signals at close range, most species are rather limited
in their physical expressiveness, due to the evolution
of streamlined bodies suitable for swimming. Fur-
thermore, most marine habitats have very limited
underwater visibility, which favors the evolution of
acoustic communication since it is not affected by
visibility.
Types of Sounds
Cetacean sounds are often split into three categories:
tonal calls, clicks, and burst-pulsed sounds. Addition-
ally, cetaceans use a variety of other mammalian-type
sounds that are described as barks, grunts, squeals, or
similar onomatopoetic descriptors. Little is known
about the production mechanisms of these sounds.
Tonal calls include many elements of baleen whale
songs and whistles of dolphins (reviewed in Tyack
and Clark, 2000). The most famous case of a marine
mammal acoustic display is probably the song of the
humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae), which
N (eds.) Progress in psychobiology and physiological
psychology, vol. 6. New York: Academic Press. 245–280.
Todt D (1975). ‘Social learning of vocal patterns and modes
of their applications in Grey Parrots.’ Zeitschrift für
Tierpsychologie 39, 178–188.
typically consists of five to nine different themes
(Payne and Payne, 1985) (Figure 1). Each theme con-
sists of a repeated phrase. A phrase consists of a
stereotypical sequence of elements. Each phrase lasts
for around 15 seconds, but it can be repeated multiple
times before the animal switches to the next theme.
A whole song usually lasts between 8 and 16 minutes.
The sequence of themes in a song is fairly stable, but
around 10% of theme transitions in songs skip themes
in the sequence. Humpback whales repeat their song
many times in singing bouts that can last for several
hours. It appears that only males produce song, pri-
marily during the breeding season. All individuals in
one population share the same song. However, the
song sung by all males is different at the start and the
end of the breeding season. In the following breeding
season they start out with the last song they sang in the
previous year. Thus, song changes over the years in
synchrony among all males in a population. The only
explanation for this change is that males use vocal
learning to alter their own song in relation to what
other whales produce. A similar pattern seems to exist
in bowhead whales (Balaena mysticetus) with a
somewhat simpler song organization and less change
in the song. Blue (Balaenoptera musculus) and fin
whales (Balaenoptera physalus) produce even simpler
sequences, consisting of a repeated, single element. In
fin whales it appears that only males sing while this is
not known for blue whales. Once baleen whales come
together in social groups, they produce a variety of
burst-pulsed sounds often called grunts or snorts.
Some species like the northern (Eubalaena glacialis)
and southern right whales (Eubalaena australis) and
the gray whale (Eschrichtius robustus) do not appear
to sing at all but only engage in sound production
during such social encounters.
Dolphins and other toothed whales also do not
produce song. Their signals are either used in social
interactions akin to the way primates use their signals
or for echolocation. Echolocation is a specific adap-
tation to explore the environment, as is found in bats.
An animal produces a click sound and listens to
echoes from sound-reflecting objects extracting ob-
ject feature information from the acoustic parameters
 Communication in Marine Mammals 647

Figure 1 Spectrogram of a section of a humpback whale song. Themes are separated by thick vertical lines. Phrases within themes
are separated by thin vertical lines. Recording kindly provided by P. Miller. (FFT size 1024, Flat top window, DF: 44 Hz, DT: 23 ms.)

of the echo. Most cetacean echolocation signals con-
sist of high-frequency clicks that can extend up to
above 200 kHz. It has also been argued that the re-
petitive sequences of fin and blue whale calls could be
used for long-range echolocation (Tyack and Clark,
2000). Similarly, sperm whales (Physeter macro-
cephalus) produce click trains of signals that have a
bandwidth of 0.1–30 kHz with temporal patterning
similar to echolocation click trains used by dolphins.
However, this does not mean that every click is an
echolocation signal. Sperm whales, porpoises, and
some dolphin species almost only have click signals
in their repertoires. They are used in social contexts as
well and the distinction between echolocation and
social signal can be difficult in these species.
Most dolphins use tonal whistles extensively as so-
cial signals (Tyack, 1999). Many of these have harmon-
ics extending to more than 100 kHz, but the
fundamental frequency is mostly between 2 and 30
kHz. Burst-pulsed sounds are signals that consist of
very fast click trains that result in a tonal quality to the
human ear. Killer whales (Orcinus orca) use these
signals as their main social signal and bottlenose dol-
phins (Tursiops truncatus) have a wide variety of
burst-pulsed sounds at their disposal. However, many
signals produced by cetaceans do not fall into any of
648 Communication in Marine Mammals
Figure 2 Spectrogram of a harbor seal song. It consists of only
one element, which is repeated many times. (FFT size 1024, Flat
top window, DF: 37 Hz, DT: 27 ms.)
the three traditional categories of clicks, burst-pulsed
sounds and tonal sounds (Janik, 1999). Bottlenose
dolphins, for example, produce gunshot-like sounds,
pops, squeals, and other sounds that reflect their ver-
satility in sound production. Little is known about
these signals because they are common in close social
encounters when it is difficult to observe the exact
call context.
Pinnipeds produce sounds underwater and in air.
Most of their sounds lie in a frequency band between
0.1 and 10 kHz (review in Richardson et al., 1995).
Like baleen whales, the walrus (Odobenus rosmarus)
and several of the so-called true seals (Phocids) pro-
duce underwater song. Examples are the Weddell seal
(Leptonychotes weddellii), the bearded seal (Erig-
nathus barbatus), the harp seal (Pagophilus groenlan-
dicus), and the harbor seal (Phoca vitulina). In all of
these species, calling activity peaks in the mating sea-
son. The simplest song comes from the harbor seal.
Males produce a low-frequency growl sound that is
repeated many times (Figure 2). The call itself lasts
between 5 and 15 seconds. A similar pattern can be
found for the walrus, where males produce repetitive
sequences of a sound reminiscent of a church bell.
Bearded seal songs consist of very tonal trill sounds
that are around 14–30 seconds long. There are six
basic trill types, which most often occur alone but can
be produced in longer sequences. Only males are
believed to produce these calls. In harp and Weddell
seals, both sexes have been confirmed to produce
underwater calls. However, the general behavior dur-
ing the breeding season suggests that male calls play a
role in mate attraction and territorial defense, the
main two song functions in other species. Males also
appear to have more call types in their repertoire than
females. Repertoire sizes are difficult to determine,
since little is known about how animals classify sig-
nals they perceive. Thus, researchers can look at spec-
trograms and sort calls into types, but it is unclear to
what extent this reflects classification by a marine
mammal. Not surprisingly though, learning seems to
lead to larger and more complex repertoires.
Sea lions and fur seals do not appear to produce
song. Their sound repertoires consist of bark and
moan sounds as well as noisy growls, very similar to
those produced by dogs. Most of these are produced
in air at haul-out sites. To date there is no evidence for
vocal learning in these groups. Hybrids of Antarctic
(Arctocephalus gazella) and Subantarctic fur
seals (Arctocephalus tropicalis) display a hybrid rep-
ertoire of calls suggesting a strong genetic influence
on call development (Page et al., 2000). Northern
elephant seals (Mirounga angustirostris) have been
thought to have different dialects between colonies
but these differences could be traced back to a found-
er effect when small groups of animals repopulated
colony sites after heavy depletion (Janik and Slater,
1997). Once the number of animals increased, vocal
differences disappeared. Sirenians are relatively quiet
animals. Manatees produce very tonal whistle sounds,
while dugongs appear to have a larger repertoire of
sounds used in social interactions.
Sound Transmission and Active Space
Sound propagation in the sea is much better than in
air. In addition to normal spreading loss, an under-
water sound of 1 kHz loses around 0.04 dB/km
through absorption while the same sound in air
loses 4 dB/km. The result is that marine mammal
calls have a much larger active space than those of
most terrestrial animals. The active space is defined as
the area over which a receiver can detect the call of a
conspecific. Most marine mammals can produce un-
derwater sounds that have an active space of more
than 10 km (reviewed in Janik, 2005). Calls of baleen
whales can even be detected over several 100 km. The
most detailed information is available for bottlenose
dolphins and killer whales. Both species appear to
have a maximum active space of around 25 km. How-
ever, high frequency components are attenuated more
rapidly and are often more directional than low fre-
quency ones. Thus, while it is likely that animals can
detect each other over these distances, recognition of
a particular call or individual may only be possible at
closer range. Data on the active space of pinniped or
sirenian calls are not available, but most of the seals
that produce underwater song, like bearded seals,
Weddell seals, and harp seals can be heard over
more than 20 km.

While active spaces of low-frequency signals under-
water tend to be large, there are many marine mam-
mal underwater signals that are much quieter and do
not travel nearly as far (reviewed in Janik, 2005). Most
marine mammals produce sounds at different source
levels, many of which are only audible to conspecifics
within 100 m or less. Furthermore, several species,
such as porpoises and dolphins belonging to the
genus Cephalorhynchus, hardly use low-frequency
sounds (i.e., <20 kHz), but instead use click sounds
to communicate. Thus, their signals are subject to
much larger transmission loss. Communicative clicks
are very similar to echolocation clicks and travel only
a few hundred meters, making the active space of
these signals relatively small. Communication net-
works in these species are therefore much smaller and
more comparable to those found in some terrestrial
species.
The difference between sound transmission in air
and in water is demonstrated best by comparing large
underwater active spaces with those of in-air calls of
elephant seals (Southall et al., 2003). The in-air fe-
male attraction call of a pup only reaches animals
within 5 to 70 m, depending on ambient noise condi-
tions. The largest active space was found for the male
clap threat call, which can travel up to 507 m in quiet
conditions. In air, seal colonies often cause an impres-
sive amount of noise. Such colonies can be detected
over a few kilometers, but the recognition of single
individuals is largely masked by the noise caused by
other members of the colony. Thus, recognition of
call types or individuals is likely to be compromised
by biological background noise.
Social Contexts
Marine mammal sounds can also be split by function
into echolocation signals and social signals, including
calls and song. Echolocation has been demonstrated
in several toothed whale species and larger whales
may be able to extract information about objects
or whole shore lines using low frequency sounds.
Bottlenose dolphins can also extract information
from echolocation signals of conspecifics (Xitco and
Roitblat, 1996). Several authors have speculated how
dolphins swimming side-by-side perceive echoes from
signals sent out by the animal next to them. This may
lead to a wider field of coverage letting individuals
share the same perceptional experience. However,
clicks are also used in communication and different
types of clicks have been identified that are used in
different social contexts. Bottlenose dolphins can be
trained to modify click as well as whistle parameters,
giving them the potential to produce a vast number of
different signals (review in Janik and Slater, 1997).
Communication in Marine Mammals 649
As in terrestrial mammals, many marine mammals
have been shown to use calls if a mother and a calf
become separated. Examples are manatees, harbor
seals, southern right whales, California sea lions,
and bottlenose dolphins, but it is likely to be much
more widespread. Bottlenose dolphins are particular-
ly interesting in this context, since they do not simply
produce a shared isolation call, but develop individ-
ually distinctive signature whistles (review in Janik,
1999) that are used if closely bonded animals are
separated from each other (Janik and Slater, 1998)
(Figure 3). Each individual develops its own signature
whistle in the first few months of life and uses it into
adulthood to indicate identity and position. Signature
whistle development is strongly influenced by learn-
ing. It appears that individuals use other animals’
whistles as models and develop their own whistle by
modifying an existing model. Signature whistles are
more plastic in males than in females. Initially, the
signature whistle of many males is similar to that of
the mother but it may change later in life when a male
enters into an alliance with other males. Males in an
alliance tend to have similar whistles, too, suggesting
a change by at least some of the animals (Watwood
et al., 2004). The signature whistle of a female, on the
other hand, is very dissimilar to that of her mother
from the start and it is remarkably stable even over
decades (Sayigh et al., 1990). Fifty-two percent of all
whistles used by wild, unrestrained bottlenose dol-
phins are signature whistles (Cook et al., 2004).
Janik and Slater (1998) showed that dolphins tend to
produce signature whistles when isolated from their
group, demonstrating the importance of signature
whistles in group cohesion. Bottlenose dolphins have
also been found to imitate each other’s signature whis-
tles, most likely in an attempt to address a specific
individual (Janik, 2000). Given that this is a learned
signal, signature whistles could be considered names
of animals. However, we do not know to what extent
a receiving dolphin has a mental representation of
an individual if it hears that individual’s signature
whistle.
Several marine mammal calls have group-specific
features that allow a researcher to identify which
group it came from. Killer whales, for example, use
group-specific repertoires of burst-pulsed sounds (re-
view in Janik and Slater, 2003). These calls appear to
be acquired through vocal learning and show only
subtle changes over long periods of time. Killer whale
groups off British Columbia that specialize in preying
on fish socialize frequently and share many of their
calls. Others in the same geographic area specialize
in preying on smaller marine mammals and do not
socialize or share calls with the fish eaters. Different
killer whale call repertoires are often referred to as
650 Communication in Marine Mammals
Figure 3 Spectrograms of signature whistles of four bottlenose dolphins. Each line shows three examples of the signature whistle of
one individual. Signature whistles are very different among the four individuals but highly stereotypical within individuals. (FFT size
1024, Hamming window, DF: 56 Hz, DT: 18 ms.)
dialects. Sperm whales and blue whales display a
similar pattern, but here animals belong to much
larger groups that, unlike killer whales, do not appear
to be purely matrilineal (review in Janik, 2005). These
groups are characterized by shared vocal features and
are called vocal clans. Different clans are sympatric
but rarely socialize with each other. It appears likely
that closed groups like those of killer whales use the
degree of sharing to recognize their own and other
known groups. It is less clear whether acoustic differ-
ences are functional in clans. Clan variation could be
used for recognition or be a byproduct of genetically
or culturally inheriting calls from relatives that show
a particular association or mating pattern. In pinni-
peds, group specific calls have not been described,
largely because they have not been shown to form
the same individualized social groups that can be
found in cetaceans. Several pinniped species show
geographic variation in their call repertoires (review
in Janik and Slater, 1997), but this is most likely
caused by genetic drift and environmental differ-
ences. In some species geographic variation has been
described for haul-out sites that were only a few tens
of kilometers apart. However, most of these did not
stand up to closer scrutiny of longer-term data.
Other calls that are common in animals are alarm
and food calls. There are no specific alarm calls in
marine mammals. In fact, most of them become re-
markably quiet once they detect a predator. This can
be explained by the behavior of the most common
predator, the killer whale, which seems to use passive
listening to detect prey. Food-related calls have been
described for bottlenose dolphins. Many observations
exist from other dolphin species rushing toward a
feeding site from several kilometers away, suggesting
a similar cue. Such calls can be beneficial to the sender
for different reasons. They may indicate a food source
to relatives. If attracted animals are not related to the
caller, they may aid in prey capture by involuntarily
chasing fish toward the caller. Finally, such calls may
be directed at prey, perhaps modifying prey behavior
in a predictable way to facilitate capture. Other dol-
phins may use these calls as a cue to a food source, but
the signal did not evolve to attract them. Alarm and

food calls in marine mammals are reviewed in Janik
(2005).
Finally, territory defense and mate attraction are
very prominent contexts in marine mammal sound
production. As in birds, it is difficult to distinguish
between these two functions. Many male marine
mammals produce elaborate song displays during
the breeding season (see above). Playback studies
have been conducted with humpback whales and
Weddell seals. In both species, males react to the
playback of song while females appear less interested.
However, while males may want to repel an intruder
immediately, females may need much longer listening
periods before they decide on a mate. Thus, their
reactions would be less apparent in a playback study
where stimuli are only played for a few minutes.
Territorial defense is also an obvious calling context
at pinniped haul-out sites.
Traditions in Marine Mammal Calls
In animal communication research, the term ‘tradi-
tion’ refers to vocal displays that are learned socially
and remain in a population for a set amount of time.
This time window has been defined differently by
different authors, so that most studies concentrate
on whether a display was acquired through social
learning or not and how many individuals share it at
any one time. Recently, some authors have used the
term ‘culture’ instead of tradition. However, the defi-
nition used for ‘culture’ was the same as the one given
for ‘tradition’ here.
Vocal traditions have been described in a variety of
animal species. They occur by definition in all vocal
learners, like birds and marine mammals. Examples
are the group-specific call repertoires of killer whales
or sperm whale clans, the geographic variation of
whistle parameters found in bottlenose dolphins,
and seemingly the small-scale geographic variation
in calls of some phocid seals (review in Janik and
Slater, 2003). Even the changing songs of humpback
whales can be considered to be traditions, albeit
short-lived ones. While usually 63% of all themes in
a humpback whale song are shared between all indi-
viduals in subsequent years, this rate is not stable. An
observed immigration of a few individuals from the
west to the east coast of Australia led to a complete
adaptation of the west coast song by east coast ani-
mals in only one year. While the description of such
patterns is a useful first step, the question remains
whether such differences have a function. In killer
whales, the stability of differences between call reper-
toires of sympatric groups suggests that variation helps
in group recognition. Larger scale variation, however,
may just be a byproduct of copying errors when social
Communication in Marine Mammals 651
learning occurs. This can lead to a drift in the trait that
could explain the geographic variation found in calls
of seals and bottlenose dolphins.
Cognitive Abilities Affecting
Communication
Marine mammals have been shown to pay careful at-
tention to their acoustic environment and they have
remarkable sound production and perception abilities
(review in Janik, 2005). Harbor seals in the wild, for
example, learn to recognize calls of mammal-eating
killer whales but ignore those of fish-eating killer
whales. Harbor seals are also capable of vocal learning
(Ralls et al., 1985), the ability to modify signals in form
as a result of experience with those of other individuals
(Janik and Slater, 1997). Several captive individuals
have been found to copy human speech sounds, prob-
ably one of the most convincing demonstrations of
vocal learning since it requires copying sounds from
another species. However, evidence for vocal learning
in other pinnipeds is sparse. Cetaceans also show
impressive vocal learning skills (review in Janik and
Slater, 1997). A careful investigation of the ability to
copy computer-generated tonal signals has been con-
ducted with bottlenose dolphins (Richards et al.,
1984). Once the animal had learned the paradigm it
was able to produce close imitations of novel sounds
in the first trial they were used. The patterns of change
in humpback whale song also indicate that learning
plays a major role in their maintenance. Gray seals can
learn to produce existing signals of their repertoire in
novel contexts (Shapiro et al., 2004), and bottlenose
dolphins can be taught to use learned signals to label
objects in their tank. Once some objects have been
removed dolphins can report presence or absence of
an object by pressing one of two paddles if artificial
labels are used to request this information (Herman
and Forestell, 1985). Bottlenose dolphins also seem to
be capable of responding correctly to referential
pointing gestures performed by humans (Herman
et al., 1999), even if an object is placed in a novel
location. In pointing studies on other species the ex-
perimental setup was usually more restricted so that
an apparently correct response to pointing could often
be explained by a simple conditioning effect causing
the animal to move to the left or the right. This sum-
mary demonstrates that marine mammals have ad-
vanced cognitive abilities that can facilitate complex
communication.
Animal Language Studies
Before the discovery that each individual dolphin
has its own signature whistle type, dolphin whistle
652 Communication in Marine Mammals
repertoires were thought to be boundless, since every
investigation of a new individual added novel whistle
types. This led to fairly naı̈ve attempts to apply lin-
guistic methods to the study of dolphin communica-
tion. For example, several researchers applied Zipf’s
analysis to dolphin whistles and found that the result-
ing slope is comparable to that found in humans (e.g.,
Dreher, 1961). This was taken as evidence for dolphin
communication to be as complex as human language.
However, it is widely accepted now that Zipf’s law
can apply to a large variety of processes and does not
necessarily imply transmission of complex informa-
tion (Suzuki et al., 2005). John Lilly tried to establish
interspecies communication between humans and
dolphins by constructing a living environment that
allowed a volunteer to live with a dolphin over pro-
longed periods of time. He hoped that this situation
would lead to the development of complex communi-
cation between the two. The study failed. It also
lacked scientific rigor since the volunteer was also
the observer for the study (review in Tyack, 1999).
Early experiments on information transmission in
dolphins were conducted by Bastian (1967). He placed
two individuals in the same pool with a visual barrier in
between them. Each animal had a set of two paddles in
its enclosure. Bastian then trained them in a task where
only one individual could see a light that indicated
which paddle to press. However, only if both animals
pressed the correct paddle did they receive a reward.
The animals performed successfully in this task.
Bastian argued that this demonstrated referential
communication about which paddle to press between
the two individuals. However, it does not imply that
the first dolphin invented a signal for left and right.
It is more likely that the second individual received
acoustic cues from the position of the first one. Dol-
phins usually echolocate as they approach a target.
When the first animal approached the two different
paddles in different locations in the pool, the resulting
echoes from pool walls audible to the second animal
could have been distinctive enough to serve as condi-
tioning stimuli for that second animal in the paddle
pressing task. This means that the result achieved by
Bastian can be explained without any intentional com-
munication taking place. The first animal was trained
by the experimenter to press one of two paddles, and
the second one could have learned to use acoustic cues
to achieve the same result. Unfortunately, the neces-
sary tests to identify the cue used by the second animal
have not been conducted. Bastian did notice a large
amount of clicks sounds during the performance of the
task. Nevertheless, the explanation given here could
still be too simple. As we have seen earlier, Richards
et al. (1984) demonstrated that dolphins can learn to
use novel sounds as labels for objects. Thus, a more
complicated explanation that involves referential
communication with novel signals is theoretically
still possible.
Animal language studies have been conducted on
two marine mammal species, the bottlenose dolphin
(Herman et al., 1984; Herman et al., 1993) and the
California sea lion (Schusterman and Krieger, 1986;
Gisiner and Schusterman, 1992). In 1984 Herman
and his colleagues published their results on the com-
prehension of sentences by bottlenose dolphins. This
long-term study used artificial communication sys-
tems to instruct two female dolphins what tasks to
perform. In the first instance it consisted of signals for
objects and actions that could be combined in differ-
ent ways. One individual was exposed to a purely
acoustic system, while the other one received hand-
signals. Each dolphin was taught a different syntax.
While the first one consisted of sentences structured as
OBJECT-ACTION-OBJECT, the second one would
receive the same message as OBJECT-OBJECT-
ACTION. An example in which the dolphin was sup-
posed to bring a surfboard to a hoop, two of many
items in the pool, would read SURFBOARD-FETCH-
HOOP in the first system and SURFBOARD-HOOP-
FETCH in the second. Once these systems were estab-
lished, Herman and his colleagues added additional
signals called modifiers that indicated object location
or direction. The vocabulary in each of these systems
consisted of 35 to 40 signals. Novel sequences of these
signals were used to test the dolphins’ ability to pro-
cess syntax. Herman and colleagues found that the
animals reacted correctly to almost all novel se-
quences. Another test involved presenting incomplete
or incorrect sequences. These tests seemed to demon-
strate that the dolphins had a concept of the artificial
language system and its rules. Kako (1999) compared
the syntactical abilities of three language-trained spe-
cies, the gray parrot, the bonobo, and the bottlenose
dolphin, concentrating on discrete combinatorics,
category-based rules, argument structure, and
closed-class items. Discrete combinatorics refers to
the situation when word meanings do not blend into
each other when they are combined, but stay discrete.
Category-based rules are rules that determine where a
word of a particular category can occur in a sequence.
To understand argument structure an animal needs to
know how many arguments each verb can have,
where these arguments are positioned in a sequence
and what relationship they have to the verb in these
positions. Finally, closed-class items are items that
provide structure in a syntax system rather than refer-
ring to actions or objects. Examples are prepositions,
quantifiers and determinators like A or THE. Kako
found evidence for correct processing of the first
three aspects in bonobos, parrots, and dolphins.

Closed-class items were only investigated in dolphins,
where it has been shown that they can process such
items like the demonstrative pronoun THAT and the
conjunction AND. It is important, though, to keep
in mind that using syntactical category names is
problematic in the interpretation of the performances
of language-trained animals. Animals may use their
learning skills to perform successfully in such tasks
without necessarily using anything like human syntax.
Schusterman and colleagues tried to replicate the
dolphin results with a female California sea lion using
the OBJECT-FETCH-OBJECT structure (review in
Schusterman and Gisiner, 1997). They found that the
sea lion was capable of comparable processing as that
demonstrated in Herman’s study (but not testing
closed-class items). However, while Herman argued
that dolphins have linguistic capacities, Schusterman
and colleagues used a more cautious approach. They
suggested that the performances by dolphins and sea
lions can be explained by the formation of functional
equivalence classes between signals and objects and
conditional discrimination learning abilities, and that
the development of linguistic concepts was unneces-
sary to produce the required action sequences. There
were several differences in the studies on dolphins and
sea lions. The dolphins were taught contrasting terms
in relational sentences, for example different signals
for taking one object to another or placing one object
inside another one. The sea lion, on the other hand,
was taught a different set of modifiers that included
object features such as size and color. One major
difference between the dolphins’ and the sea lion’s
performances was in their responses to incomplete
or incorrect sequences. While the dolphins often
used parts of the sequence to perform a behavior
sequence, the sea lion frequently refused to perform
at all. However, Gisiner and Schusterman (1992)
argue that this can be explained by different training
regimes. While the dolphins were rewarded for any
performance in a test trial, the sea lion would never
be rewarded in test trials. Thus, it paid for the dol-
phins to produce a behavioral sequence while it did
not for the sea lion. If the dolphins or the sea lion
did respond, the way they performed in these trials
suggested a close attention to the components of the
command sequences they received. However, the ex-
tensive exposure to similar sequences in their training
history makes it difficult to interpret performances.
Thus, it is useful to see the results of these experi-
ments as a remarkable demonstration of rule-learning
skills that might also be relevant in humans for lan-
guage comprehension, but not necessarily as evidence
for a linguistic capacity as such, since the animals may
use these skills in their own communication system
in a very different way.
Communication in Marine Mammals 653
Language studies that required the animals to pro-
duce sounds themselves have been sparse, and an
attempt to teach a dolphin to use a keyboard for
interspecies communication had little success. Thus, it
is difficult to compare the production side of the sys-
tem with results found in other animals like parrots
and great apes.
See also: Animal Communication: Dialogues; Animal Com-
munication: Long-Distance Signaling; Animal Communi-
cation Networks; Animal Communication: Vocal Learning;
Development of Communication in Animals; Individual
Recognition in Animal Species; Traditions in Animals.
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mental information between bottlenose dolphins.’ In
Busnel R G (ed.) Animal sonar systems – biology and
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Dreher J J (1961). ‘Linguistic considerations of porpoise
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Gisiner R C & Schusterman R J (1992). ‘Sequence, syntax,
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Herman L M, Richards D G & Wolz J P (1984). ‘Compre-
hension of sentences by bottlenosed dolphins.’ Cognition
16, 129–219.
Herman L M & Forestell P H (1985). ‘Reporting presence or
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Herman L M, Kuczaj S & Holder M D (1993). ‘Responses
to anomalous gestural sequences by a language-trained
dolphin: evidence for processing of semantic relations
and syntactic information.’ Journal of Experimental
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Herman L M, Abichandani S L, Elhajj A N, Herman E Y K,
Sanchez J L & Pack A A (1999). ‘Dolphins (Tursiops
truncatus) comprehend the referential character of the
human pointing gesture.’ Journal of Comparative
Psychology 113, 347–364.
Janik V M (1999). ‘Origins and implications of vocal learning
in bottlenose dolphins.’ In Box H O & Gibson K R (eds.)
Mammalian social learning: comparative and ecological
perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
308–326.
Janik V M (2000). ‘Whistle matching in wild bottlenose
dolphins (Tursiops truncatus).’ Science 289, 1355–1357.
Janik V M (2005). ‘Acoustic communication networks in
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munication networks. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press. 390–415.
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Janik V M & Slater P J B (1997). ‘Vocal learning in mam-
mals.’ Advances in the Study of Behavior 26, 59–99.
Janik V M & Slater P J B (1998). ‘Context-specific use
suggests that bottlenose dolphin signature whistles are
cohesion calls.’ Animal Behaviour 56, 829–838.
Janik V M & Slater P J B (2003). ‘Traditions in mammalian
and avian vocal communication.’ In Perry S & Fragaszy
D (eds.) The biology of tradition: models and evidence.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 213–235.
Kako E (1999). ‘Elements of syntax in the systems of three
language-trained animals and ‘‘commentaries.’’’ Animal
Learning and Behavior 27, 1–27.
Page B, Goldsworthy S D & Hindell M A (2000). ‘Vocal
traits of hybrid fur seals: intermediate to their parental
species.’ Animal Behaviour 61, 959–967.
Payne K & Payne R (1985). ‘Large scale changes over
19 years in songs of humpback whales in Bermuda.’
Zeitschrift für Tierpsychologie 68, 89–114.
Ralls K, Fiorelli P & Gish S (1985). ‘Vocalizations and vocal
mimicry in captive harbor seals, Phoca vitulina.’ Canadian
Journal of Zoology 63, 1050–1056.
Richards D G, Wolz J P & Herman L M (1984). ‘Vocal
mimicry of computer-generated sounds and vocal label-
ing of objects by a bottlenosed dolphin, Tursiops trunca-
tus.’ Journal of Comparative Psychology 98, 10–28.
Richardson W J, Greene C R, Malme C I & Thomson D H
(1995). Marine mammals and noise. San Diego: Academic
Press.
Sayigh L S, Tyack P L, Wells R S & Scott M D (1990).
‘Signature whistles of free-ranging bottlenose dolphins,
Tursiops truncatus: mother-offspring comparisons.’ Be-
havioral Ecology and Sociobiology 26, 247–260.
Schusterman R J & Krieger K (1986). ‘Artificial language
comprehension and size transposition by a California sea
Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation:
Philosophical Aspects
D Hunter, State University of New York at Buffalo,
NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Philosophers have asked questions about both the
nature and the extent of communication. What, for
instance, is the difference between expressing a belief
and communicating one, and what role does language
play in communication? What must one know to
interpret another person, and can we ever really un-
derstand another person? Philosophers are still at
work refining these questions and considering
answers. This discussion aims to sketch the direction
of this work.
lion (Zalophus californianus).’ Journal of Comparative
Psychology 100, 348–355.
Schusterman R J & Gisiner R C (1997). ‘Pinnipeds, por-
poises, and parsimony: animal language research viewed
from a bottom-up perspective.’ In Mitchell R W,
Thompson N S & Miles H (eds.) Antropomorphism,
anecdotes, and animals. New York: State University of
New York Press. 370–382.
Shapiro A D, Slater P J B & Janik V M (2004). ‘Call usage
learning in gray seals (Halichoerus grypus).’ Journal of
Comparative Psychology 118, 447–454.
Southall B L, Schusterman R J & Kastak D (2003). ‘Acoustic
communication ranges for northern elephant seals
(Mirounga angustirostris).’ Aquatic Mammals 29,
202–213.
Suzuki R, Buck J R & Tyack P L (2005). ‘The use of Zipf’s
law in animal communication analysis.’ Animal
Behaviour 69, F9–F17.
Tyack P L (1999). ‘Communication and cognition.’ In
Reynolds J E & Rommel S A (eds.) Biology of marine
mammals. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.
287–323.
Tyack P L & Clark C W (2000). ‘Communication and
acoustic behavior of dolphins and whales.’ In Au W W L,
Popper A N & Fay R R (eds.) Hearing by whales and
dolphins. New York: Springer Verlag. 156–224.
Watwood S L, Tyack P L & Wells R S (2004). ‘Whistle
sharing in paired male bottlenose dolphins, Tursiops
truncatus.’ Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology 55,
531–543.
Xitco M J & Roitblat H L (1996). ‘Object recognition
through eavesdropping: passive echolocation in bottle-
nose dolphins.’ Animal Learning and Behavior 24,
355–365.
The Nature of Communication
There might seem nothing especially puzzling about
the nature of communication. After all, we seem to
communicate with each other all the time and suc-
ceed, largely without having to reflect on the nature
of our success. We tell others what we think or be-
lieve, and they in turn tell us what they think or
believe. One way to begin to see what philosophers
have found puzzling about the nature of communica-
tion is to consider whether nonhuman animals – dogs
and cats, for instance – ever communicate with each
other or with us.
Suppose that Fido knocks his food bowl over
whenever he is hungry, and he does it only in the
presence of his master, whom he then looks at
654 Communication in Marine Mammals
Janik V M & Slater P J B (1997). ‘Vocal learning in mam-
mals.’ Advances in the Study of Behavior 26, 59–99.
Janik V M & Slater P J B (1998). ‘Context-specific use
suggests that bottlenose dolphin signature whistles are
cohesion calls.’ Animal Behaviour 56, 829–838.
Janik V M & Slater P J B (2003). ‘Traditions in mammalian
and avian vocal communication.’ In Perry S & Fragaszy
D (eds.) The biology of tradition: models and evidence.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 213–235.
Kako E (1999). ‘Elements of syntax in the systems of three
language-trained animals and ‘‘commentaries.’’’ Animal
Learning and Behavior 27, 1–27.
Page B, Goldsworthy S D & Hindell M A (2000). ‘Vocal
traits of hybrid fur seals: intermediate to their parental
species.’ Animal Behaviour 61, 959–967.
Payne K & Payne R (1985). ‘Large scale changes over
19 years in songs of humpback whales in Bermuda.’
Zeitschrift für Tierpsychologie 68, 89–114.
Ralls K, Fiorelli P & Gish S (1985). ‘Vocalizations and vocal
mimicry in captive harbor seals, Phoca vitulina.’ Canadian
Journal of Zoology 63, 1050–1056.
Richards D G, Wolz J P & Herman L M (1984). ‘Vocal
mimicry of computer-generated sounds and vocal label-
ing of objects by a bottlenosed dolphin, Tursiops trunca-
tus.’ Journal of Comparative Psychology 98, 10–28.
Richardson W J, Greene C R, Malme C I & Thomson D H
(1995). Marine mammals and noise. San Diego: Academic
Press.
Sayigh L S, Tyack P L, Wells R S & Scott M D (1990).
‘Signature whistles of free-ranging bottlenose dolphins,
Tursiops truncatus: mother-offspring comparisons.’ Be-
havioral Ecology and Sociobiology 26, 247–260.
Schusterman R J & Krieger K (1986). ‘Artificial language
comprehension and size transposition by a California sea
Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation:
Philosophical Aspects
D Hunter, State University of New York at Buffalo,
NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Philosophers have asked questions about both the
nature and the extent of communication. What, for
instance, is the difference between expressing a belief
and communicating one, and what role does language
play in communication? What must one know to
interpret another person, and can we ever really un-
derstand another person? Philosophers are still at
work refining these questions and considering
answers. This discussion aims to sketch the direction
of this work.
lion (Zalophus californianus).’ Journal of Comparative
Psychology 100, 348–355.
Schusterman R J & Gisiner R C (1997). ‘Pinnipeds, por-
poises, and parsimony: animal language research viewed
from a bottom-up perspective.’ In Mitchell R W,
Thompson N S & Miles H (eds.) Antropomorphism,
anecdotes, and animals. New York: State University of
New York Press. 370–382.
Shapiro A D, Slater P J B & Janik V M (2004). ‘Call usage
learning in gray seals (Halichoerus grypus).’ Journal of
Comparative Psychology 118, 447–454.
Southall B L, Schusterman R J & Kastak D (2003). ‘Acoustic
communication ranges for northern elephant seals
(Mirounga angustirostris).’ Aquatic Mammals 29,
202–213.
Suzuki R, Buck J R & Tyack P L (2005). ‘The use of Zipf’s
law in animal communication analysis.’ Animal
Behaviour 69, F9–F17.
Tyack P L (1999). ‘Communication and cognition.’ In
Reynolds J E & Rommel S A (eds.) Biology of marine
mammals. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.
287–323.
Tyack P L & Clark C W (2000). ‘Communication and
acoustic behavior of dolphins and whales.’ In Au W W L,
Popper A N & Fay R R (eds.) Hearing by whales and
dolphins. New York: Springer Verlag. 156–224.
Watwood S L, Tyack P L & Wells R S (2004). ‘Whistle
sharing in paired male bottlenose dolphins, Tursiops
truncatus.’ Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology 55,
531–543.
Xitco M J & Roitblat H L (1996). ‘Object recognition
through eavesdropping: passive echolocation in bottle-
nose dolphins.’ Animal Learning and Behavior 24,
355–365.
The Nature of Communication
There might seem nothing especially puzzling about
the nature of communication. After all, we seem to
communicate with each other all the time and suc-
ceed, largely without having to reflect on the nature
of our success. We tell others what we think or be-
lieve, and they in turn tell us what they think or
believe. One way to begin to see what philosophers
have found puzzling about the nature of communica-
tion is to consider whether nonhuman animals – dogs
and cats, for instance – ever communicate with each
other or with us.
Suppose that Fido knocks his food bowl over
whenever he is hungry, and he does it only in the
presence of his master, whom he then looks at
 Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects 655
intently. Is Fido trying to communicate with his mas-
ter? To answer this, we need to know more about
what it is to try to communicate. One initially helpful
distinction is between communicating a belief and
merely manifesting or revealing one. Agents manifest
or reveal something about their beliefs, desires, and
intentions whenever they act, and ordinarily we can
explain and predict these actions by reference to what
(we think) they believe, want, and intend. This
applies as much to dogs and cats as to people. We
might, for instance, speculate that Fido is knocking
his bowl over in part because he knows it is empty
and wants it to be full. We might even, somewhat
more ambitiously perhaps, say that Fido knows that
if he knocks the bowl around his master will fill it for
him. These attitudes are manifested by Fido’s actions,
in the sense that we can infer from the actions that he
has these beliefs and desires. But, of course, it is one
thing for an action to reveal what one believes or
desires and another to communicate what one
believes or desires. After all, sometimes our actions
reveal more than we want, as when we let something
slip or when someone is spying on us. Genuine com-
munication, it seems, requires intending to reveal
what one believes; it requires manifesting one’s beliefs
or desires on purpose. Communication is thus an
intentional activity. Did Fido intend to communicate
his beliefs and desires when he knocked the bowl
over?
Part of the difficulty in answering this stems from
an ambiguity in the phrase ‘communicate what he
believes’. In one sense, for Fido to communicate
what he believes is for him to communicate, in this
case, that his bowl is empty, that it should be full, and
that he is hungry. In this sense, what is communicated
are the facts, or at least the facts as Fido takes them to
be. But in another sense, for Fido to communicate
what he believes is for him to communicate the fact
that he has those beliefs and desires. In this sense,
what is communicated is the fact that Fido takes or
wants the world to be some way. Plausibly, to com-
municate what one believes or desires in the second
sense, one must be aware that one has those beliefs
and desires; one might doubt whether dogs and cats
are aware of their own beliefs and desires. To doubt
this is not to doubt whether dogs and cats have beliefs
and desires or whether their actions are caused by
their beliefs and desires. One can admit all of this
while still doubting whether dogs and cats have the
level of self-awareness necessary for intending to re-
veal that they have certain beliefs and desires. It is an
empirical question whether dogs and cats have this
level of self-awareness. In any event, the two senses of
‘communicate what one believes’ differ only over
what is communicated and not over what it is to
communicate. So even if it is true that Fido is incapa-
ble of communicating that he believes that his bowl
of food is empty, it might still be true that he can
communicate that his bowl of food is empty.
But before we can decide this, there is still more we
need to know about what Fido is trying to do. More
specifically, is Fido trying through his action to influ-
ence his master’s beliefs or actions? Is Fido trying to
get his master to believe something, or is he trying to
get him to do something? To try to influence a per-
son’s beliefs requires, it seems, some awareness that
that person has beliefs that can be influenced. I think
it is clear that this is something that humans do when
they communicate with one another. But if one
doubted that dogs and cats are aware of their own
beliefs and desires, then one would likely doubt that
they are aware that people have beliefs and desires.
Still, we sometimes communicate with others with the
intention of influencing their actions, as when we give
warnings or orders. But perhaps we do this with the
primary intention of influencing their beliefs, hoping
that this will lead to the desired action. What is clear,
in any event, is that we humans often do communi-
cate with the intent of influencing the beliefs and
desires of other people, whether or not this intention
is required for genuine communication.
It is also clear that, whether it is necessary or not,
acting with an intention to influence someone’s
beliefs is not enough for genuine communication.
I might leave the milk carton on the counter,
intending that when my wife notices that it is empty
she will plan to buy one on her way home. If my plan
succeeds, I will have influenced her beliefs. But it
seems wrong to say that I would have communicated
to her that the milk carton is empty, or that we need
more milk, even though I deliberately caused her to
believe these things. If, instead, I had made a show
of holding the carton upside down in her presence
I might well have communicated these things to her.
But what is the relevant difference? Part of the differ-
ence, in this example anyway, is that in the second
case my wife would know that I am trying to influ-
ence her beliefs. She would recognize that in making
a show of holding the carton upside down I was
trying to make her see that the milk is gone (or that
I believe that it is gone). Genuine communication, it
seems, may require that the audience recognize one’s
intention to influence his or her beliefs or actions.
This gives rise to a possible asymmetry in the case
of dog-human communication. Plausibly, in knocking
his food bowl around, Fido is intending to show his
master that the bowl is empty, and no doubt his
master can recognize this intention. This could be so
even if Fido himself is not aware of having this inten-
tion or of his master’s recognizing it. And of course
656 Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects
the master can act with the intention of influencing
Fido’s beliefs or actions. But can Fido, or any dog,
recognize such an intention in his master? Can Fido
figure out that when his master pulls back on the
leash he or she is trying to get Fido to heel? Again,
if one doubts that dogs and cats are aware of their
own beliefs and intentions then one might well doubt
whether they are aware of the beliefs and intentions
of others. And if they cannot recognize intentions and
beliefs in others, and if this recognition is needed for
the audience in genuine communication, then dogs
and cats cannot be the audience of genuine communi-
cation. But so long as trying to communicate does not
itself require being aware of intentions, then dogs and
cats might be able to communicate, even if they are
incapable of being the audience of a communication.
This is the potential asymmetry.
One might think – perhaps with some justification
– that the question of whether Fido is communicating
or not is, at this point in the discussion, more than a
little terminological. After all, all sides can agree –
supposing certain empirical questions about the self-
awareness of dogs and cats to have been settled –
about what dogs and cats and humans can and cannot
do to try to influence beliefs and actions. Deciding
whether to call what nonhuman animals do ‘commu-
nication’ may seem less important than recognizing
the differences and similarities between what all sides
agree that human and nonhuman animals can do. In
any event, progress in understanding animal commu-
nication requires further empirical study, not termi-
nological decision.
The discussion until now has left language out of
the picture. The examples have all been of nonlinguis-
tic communication. It is undeniable that we do com-
municate nonlinguistically with others using waves,
winks, and kicks under the table (although there are
terminological questions about just how to draw the
line between linguistic and nonlinguistic communica-
tion). When we do so, we hope that our audience will
be able to recognize our intention to communicate.
There is nothing, I think, essentially new about lin-
guistic communication except that it involves speech
acts – acts done with words having a conventional
meaning. However, reliance on conventions is not
unique to linguistic communication, since nonlinguis-
tic communication using signals and codes may also
involve conventions. There is considerable current
research about the nature or essence of human lan-
guage and how it differs from codes or signal systems.
Some leading philosophers also question whether
human language is in any interesting sense meant
for or designed for communication.
Some philosophers have argued, though, that
nonlinguistic forms of communication are in a way
dependent on linguistic forms. Some, such as René
Descartes in the 17th century and Donald Davidson
in the 20th century, held that genuine communication
is essentially linguistic. With this view, having beliefs
and intentions requires having language, and since
(as we have seen) communication requires having
beliefs and intentions, communication requires hav-
ing language. Since dogs and cats have no beliefs they
are, on this view, incapable of communication. This
is, however, a minority opinion.
The rough definition of communication I have
sketched applies just as much to linguistic commu-
nication as to nonlinguistic communication. To
communicate is to perform an action, perhaps a
speech act, with the intention of influencing an audi-
ence’s beliefs or actions and whose success requires
that the audience recognize this intention. This is just
a rough sketch of a complete picture. Considerable
ongoing philosophical research is aimed at filling in
the details. In particular, research is focused on the
precise nature of the relevant intentions.
Interpretation and Understanding
Communication, whatever it is, succeeds only when
the audience correctly understands the communica-
tor, when he or she correctly interprets what the
communicator intended him or her to come to believe
or do. Philosophers have asked various epistemologi-
cal questions about the extent to which we can and do
understand each other. Some are quite skeptical that
communication ever succeeds.
One kind of philosophical question concerns the
possibility that some of an agent’s thoughts are essen-
tially private, in the sense that only that agent can
think them. Such thoughts would be essentially in-
communicable, ones an agent could never communi-
cate to anyone else. One purported kind of example
includes thoughts about the character of an agent’s
own conscious experience. If no one else can know
what it is like for me to taste chocolate or to see red,
perhaps no one else can truly understand what I say
when I try to describe these experiences. Perhaps
what it is like to be me, from the inside, is something
I can never fully communicate with another. A related
kind of purportedly private thoughts are so-called
first-person thoughts: thoughts an agent has about
her own place in the world. Perhaps what I think
when I think that I am in Buffalo is not what you
(or I) think when you (or I) think that David Hunter
is in Buffalo. Perhaps thoughts that locate my own
position for me are not thoughts that others can
share. If some thoughts are private in this way,
then they would mark one principled limit to commu-
nication. But what such private thoughts might be
 Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects 657
like – and indeed whether they are even possible – are
areas of ongoing philosophical research.
A more generalized skepticism about communica-
tion derives from the fact that what a person means
by his or her words can never neatly be separated
from what he or she believes. We use our words to
express our beliefs, but what we intend to say
depends on what we believe our words can be used
to say. So we cannot understand what someone is
saying without knowing what they believe, but our
best insight into what they believe is through our
understanding of what they say. This fact about the
interdependence of meaning and belief has led some
philosophers to suggest that what a person means
depends on their entire cultural milieu. Different
cultures, according to this position, have different
systems of belief, or different worldviews, and inter-
preting or understanding an agent from another
culture requires sharing or at least knowing that
worldview. A related position is that scientists work-
ing within different scientific paradigms, such as
pre- and post-Einsteinian physics, cannot genuinely
understand each other, because the meanings of
their shared words derive from different theoretical
structures. It is not just that what Newton meant by
‘energy’ is not what Einstein meant by it. Rather, the
claim is, Einstein could not even understand what
Newton meant by it, since he did not share Newton’s
scientific paradigm.
This skepticism conflicts with the apparent ease
of cross-cultural communication and ordinary inter-
pretation. Perhaps this skepticism rests on mistaken
semantic assumptions. But it may be that the appear-
ance of easy communication stems from the fact that
we typically assume that other people generally share
our beliefs and meanings. Perhaps this ‘principle of
charity’ in interpretation creates an illusion of suc-
cessful communication. In any event, the general
point that there is some interdependence between
what a person means by their words and what they
believe can hardly be doubted and is enough to
raise some doubt about just how successful ordinary
communication really is.
A more severe skeptical worry starts from the fact
that any theory is under-determined by evidence. It
is a general fact about the nature of theories that
very different, even conflicting, accounts of some
phenomena will be compatible with all the available
evidence. In the case of communication, this means
that very different interpretations of someone’s
speech act will make equally good sense of all avail-
able (indeed, of all possible) evidence. Just as a scien-
tific theory can be adjusted in countless ways to
accommodate new evidence, so our interpretation
of a speech act can be varied in countless ways by
varying our interpretation of the agent’s beliefs or
meanings. By itself, this under-determination suggests
that we might never be in a position to know that our
interpretations are correct, since no amount of evi-
dence could identify a single best interpretation.
Meaning might forever transcend our ability to know.
Some doubt whether this brand of skepticism con-
stitutes a special problem for communication, since
all of our theories are under-determined by evidence.
Perhaps if our epistemic position with respect to
meaning is no worse than that with respect to,
say, atomic physics, then we can live with this much
skepticism about interpretation.
However, the American philosopher W. V. O. Quine
argued powerfully that there is a special problem in
the case of communication. In early work, he stressed
the idea that the under-determination of translation
would occur, even if there were no under-determina-
tion of physics. Even if we agreed on all the physical
facts, we might not, he argued, be able to agree on a
unique best interpretation of an agent’s speech act,
since there would still be room to vary the agent’s
beliefs and desires. The physical facts, in his view, do
not determine the semantic ones. In later work, Quine
stressed the idea that in the case of, say, physics, we
are prepared to admit that the physical facts might
transcend our cognitive capacities. We might, he held,
simply lack the intellectual resources needed to dis-
cover those facts, since nothing in the facts themselves
guarantees that we can know them. As a result, he
said, we are prepared to say that even though con-
flicting physical theories might be equally compatible
with all available evidence, at most one of them can
be true. This means that we might not be able to tell
which theory is true. However, Quine argued, it
makes no sense to suppose that what someone
means by his or her words or what he or she believes
could transcend the evidence we have at our disposal.
Facts about meaning and belief are, he held, essential-
ly public and knowable by us. So, he concluded, the
special problem for interpretation and understanding
is that it makes no sense to say that one interpretation
is truer than any other, so long as they each make
equally good sense of the evidence. It is not that facts
about meaning could go beyond what we can know;
it is that there is nothing more to meaning than what
we can know. And because what we can know fails
to determine a unique translation, this means that
translation is indeterminate.
While Quine’s writings on this topic have been
extremely influential, there is little consensus about
just what his arguments are, let alone what the con-
sequences of his view would be. And while he has
won few converts, there is no consensus about where
his arguments go wrong. Some have responded that
658 Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects
Quine unjustly adopted behaviorist limits on the
available evidence or that he overlooked other
sources of evidence at our disposal. Still, the thesis
of the indeterminacy of translation is one of the
most significant contributions to the philosophy of
communication of the 20th century.
See also: Behaviorism: Varieties; Causal Theories of Ref-
erence and Meaning; Conventions in Language; Empiri-
cism; Epistemology and Language; Indeterminacy,
Semantic; Radical Interpretation, Translation and Inter-
pretationalism.
Bibliography
Bach K & Harnish R M (1979). Linguistic communication
and speech acts. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Castaneda H (1966). ‘‘‘He’’: a study in the logic of self-
consciousness.’ Ratio 8, 130–157.
Chomsky N (1969). ‘Quine’s empirical assumptions.’ In
Davidson D & Hintikka J (eds.) Words and objections.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Davidson D (1984). Inquiries into truth and interpretation.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Davidson D (1984). ‘Thought and talk.’ In Davidson D
(ed.) Inquiries into truth and interpretation. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Communication: Semiotic Approaches
E Rigotti and S Greco, University of Lugano, Lugano,
Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Rise of a Controversy
The topic at issue in this article shows several prob-
lematic aspects. In communication research, we are
presently crossing a phase of intensive innovation, in
which the paradigm and the role of the different dis-
ciplines are changing remarkably. For a long time, the
leading role in this area was played by the sciences du
language, in particular by semiotics and linguistics.
Nowadays, this role is played by a complex epistemo-
logical interplay, where other human and social
sciences – focusing on the organizational assets of
communication context – as well as technological
disciplines contribute to the study of real communi-
cative events. Thanks to these contributions, it
has become evident that real communicative events
are not only influenced, but functionally governed
by their actual context (enterprises, institutions,
Dummett M (1993). ‘Language and communication.’ In
The seas of language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Frege G (1918/1977). ‘Thoughts.’ Geach P T & Stoothoff
R H (trans.). In Geach P T (ed.) Logical investigations.
New Haven: Yale University Press. xxx–xxx.
George A (1986). ‘Whence and whither the debate between
Quine and Chomsky?’ Journal of Philosophy.
Grice H P (1967/1989). ‘Logic and conversation.’ In Grice
H P (ed.) Studies in the way of words. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Kripke S (1982). Wittgenstein on rules and private lan-
guage. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.
Kuhn T (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd
edn., enlarged). Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Perry J (1993). The problem of the essential indexical.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Quine W V O (1960). Word and object. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Quine W V O (1992). Pursuit of truth. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Searle J (1969). Speech acts. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1988). Relevance: communication
and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press.
Whorf B J (1956). Language, thought and reality. Carroll
J M (ed.). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Wittgenstein L (1953). Philosophical investigations.
Anscombe G E M (trans.). Oxford: Blackwell.
communities, and other social organizations . . .) and
by the media, by which they are not only broadcasted,
but also structured.
Moreover, even linguistic sciences, which are
expected to explain the internal structure of a commu-
nicative event, are largely adopting a model of com-
munication whose conceptual frame is no longer
essentially semiotic, but rather pragmatic. The prevail-
ing of a pragmatic paradigm seems to have strongly
redimensioned the semiotic claim. More specifically,
both major trends – Speech acts Theory and Relevance
Theory (i.e., the ostensive inferential model of commu-
nication) – are proposing a vision of communication
that does not focus on semiotic aspects.
While the former of these trends has developed its
own model essentially ignoring the semiotic approach
(Austin, 1962 and Searle, 1969), the latter has created
a proper controversy, initiating a sort of campaign
against the semiotic approach and its academic
power.
At this point, it is useful to outline the ostensive-
inferential model of Relevance theory synthetically, in
658 Communication, Understanding, and Interpretation: Philosophical Aspects
Quine unjustly adopted behaviorist limits on the
available evidence or that he overlooked other
sources of evidence at our disposal. Still, the thesis
of the indeterminacy of translation is one of the
most significant contributions to the philosophy of
communication of the 20th century.
See also: Behaviorism: Varieties; Causal Theories of Ref-
erence and Meaning; Conventions in Language; Empiri-
cism; Epistemology and Language; Indeterminacy,
Semantic; Radical Interpretation, Translation and Inter-
pretationalism.
Bibliography
Bach K & Harnish R M (1979). Linguistic communication
and speech acts. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Castaneda H (1966). ‘‘‘He’’: a study in the logic of self-
consciousness.’ Ratio 8, 130–157.
Chomsky N (1969). ‘Quine’s empirical assumptions.’ In
Davidson D & Hintikka J (eds.) Words and objections.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Davidson D (1984). Inquiries into truth and interpretation.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Davidson D (1984). ‘Thought and talk.’ In Davidson D
(ed.) Inquiries into truth and interpretation. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Communication: Semiotic Approaches
E Rigotti and S Greco, University of Lugano, Lugano,
Switzerland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Rise of a Controversy
The topic at issue in this article shows several prob-
lematic aspects. In communication research, we are
presently crossing a phase of intensive innovation, in
which the paradigm and the role of the different dis-
ciplines are changing remarkably. For a long time, the
leading role in this area was played by the sciences du
language, in particular by semiotics and linguistics.
Nowadays, this role is played by a complex epistemo-
logical interplay, where other human and social
sciences – focusing on the organizational assets of
communication context – as well as technological
disciplines contribute to the study of real communi-
cative events. Thanks to these contributions, it
has become evident that real communicative events
are not only influenced, but functionally governed
by their actual context (enterprises, institutions,
Dummett M (1993). ‘Language and communication.’ In
The seas of language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Frege G (1918/1977). ‘Thoughts.’ Geach P T & Stoothoff
R H (trans.). In Geach P T (ed.) Logical investigations.
New Haven: Yale University Press. xxx–xxx.
George A (1986). ‘Whence and whither the debate between
Quine and Chomsky?’ Journal of Philosophy.
Grice H P (1967/1989). ‘Logic and conversation.’ In Grice
H P (ed.) Studies in the way of words. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Kripke S (1982). Wittgenstein on rules and private lan-
guage. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.
Kuhn T (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions (2nd
edn., enlarged). Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Perry J (1993). The problem of the essential indexical.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Quine W V O (1960). Word and object. Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press.
Quine W V O (1992). Pursuit of truth. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Searle J (1969). Speech acts. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1988). Relevance: communication
and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press.
Whorf B J (1956). Language, thought and reality. Carroll
J M (ed.). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Wittgenstein L (1953). Philosophical investigations.
Anscombe G E M (trans.). Oxford: Blackwell.
communities, and other social organizations . . .) and
by the media, by which they are not only broadcasted,
but also structured.
Moreover, even linguistic sciences, which are
expected to explain the internal structure of a commu-
nicative event, are largely adopting a model of com-
munication whose conceptual frame is no longer
essentially semiotic, but rather pragmatic. The prevail-
ing of a pragmatic paradigm seems to have strongly
redimensioned the semiotic claim. More specifically,
both major trends – Speech acts Theory and Relevance
Theory (i.e., the ostensive inferential model of commu-
nication) – are proposing a vision of communication
that does not focus on semiotic aspects.
While the former of these trends has developed its
own model essentially ignoring the semiotic approach
(Austin, 1962 and Searle, 1969), the latter has created
a proper controversy, initiating a sort of campaign
against the semiotic approach and its academic
power.
At this point, it is useful to outline the ostensive-
inferential model of Relevance theory synthetically, in

order to specify its criticism of the semiotic model of
communication, and also what it justly presupposes a
semiotic model to be. In fact, the ostensive-inferential
model, whose roots are Paul Grice’s and David Lewis’
works (Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 2) is intro-
duced by means of those aspects that oppose it to the
semiotic model (Sperber and Wilson, 1986: 6) ‘‘The
semiotic approach to communication (as Peirce called
it and we will call it ourselves), or the semiological
approach (as Saussure and his followers called it), is a
generalization of the code model of verbal communi-
cation to all forms of communication,’’ and is thus
to be abandoned, since it does not seem to explain
the real functioning of communicative events: ‘‘The
code model of verbal communication is only a hy-
pothesis, with well-known merits and rather less well-
known defects. [. . .] Its main defect, as we will shortly
argue, is that it is descriptively inadequate: compre-
hension involves more than the decoding of a linguis-
tic signal’’ (Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 6). In
other words, the semiotic appoach appears to inter-
pret communication as a process where a speaker
constructs a message by coding a certain meaning by
means of a linguistic system, and transfers it to a
hearer who simply decodes it, thus retrieving its orig-
inal meaning. The roles of the speaker and the hearer
in a communicative event are thus reduced to cod-
ing and decoding respectively. The scholars of the
ostensive-inferential approach to communication, re-
lying on wide and unquestionable evidence, argue
that the process of interpreting a message by the
hearer is far more complex, and that the semiotic
component represents a rather short stretch of the
communicative process.
The semiotic component is neither necessary nor
sufficient to explain the process of communication.
Firstly, it is not necessary because many messages
do not make use of a linguistic system; very often, the
communicator addresses the hearer not through
words of a certain natural language, or through an-
other semiotic system, but through traces by which
the hearer is expected to be guided to infer the com-
municative intention of the message. Sperber and
Wilson (1995/1986: 25) argued in fact that Grice’s
originality consisted in suggesting that the identifica-
tion of the communicator’s intentions is sufficient for
the achievement of successful communication, and
the mediation of a verbal code is not necessarily
needed. The authors give an example (Sperber and
Wilson, 1995/1986: 25–26) that shows how commu-
nication may succeed even without the help of the
coding-decoding process. If Peter asks Mary: ‘How
are you feeling today?’, Mary may answer by pulling
a bottle of aspirin out of her bag and showing it to
him. Although there is no code or convention that
Communication: Semiotic Approaches 659
rules the interpretation of her behavior, this action
can be taken as strong evidence that she wants to
inform Peter that she does not feel well. In this
sense, Mary and Peter can be said to have commu-
nicated, even if they have not made use of any verbal
or nonverbal code.
The semiotic component is not even sufficient, even
in the very usual cases where it is present. However,
large it may be, interpretation requires that various
contextual aspects are involved in order to complete
the information carried by the semiotic component:
‘‘Verbal communication is a complex form of com-
munication. Linguistic coding and decoding is
involved, but the linguistic meaning of an uttered
sentence falls short of encoding what the speaker
means: it merely helps the audience infer what she
means’’ (Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 27). Within
this complex form of communication, the results of
the decoding process are considered a piece of evi-
dence from which the hearer, through a noncoded
mechanism, can infer the speaker’s intentions. In
this sense, the semiotic component becomes subservi-
ent to the inferential process. Using the terminology
of Relevance Theory, an enrichment of the linguistic
form of the message is however indispensable to ob-
tain the semantic and pragmatic interpretation of a
message. This is crucial to distinguish between ‘sen-
tence’ and ‘utterance of a sentence.’ According to
these authors, generative grammars fail to consider
that a certain sentence may appear in an enormous
variety of utterances that, though sharing a ‘core of
meaning’ (Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 9) bound
to the linguistic code, each includes a different non-
linguistic, context-bound meaning that can be neither
predicted nor ‘calculated’ through a decoding pro-
cess. Therefore, an inference process is required in
order to grasp a complete representation of the com-
municator’s intentions. To give just an example
(adapted from Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 11),
a sentence like ‘You’re leaving’ contains different
levels of noncoded meaning: (1) an indexical (you)
whose interpretation depends on the actual commu-
nicative event where the sentence is uttered; and (2) a
set of possible interpretations: is the speaker inform-
ing the hearer that she is to leave? Is she making a
guess? Or is she rather expressing disappointment
because he is leaving?
Thus, the process of comprehension, through
which the hearer reconstructs the communicator’s
intentions, is not a decoding process, but rather an
inferential process. Whereas the decoding process
‘‘starts from a signal and results in the recovery of a
message which is associated to the signal by an un-
derlying code’’ (Sperber and Wilson, 1995/1986: 13),
an inferential process starts from a set of premises and
660 Communication: Semiotic Approaches
reaches a conclusion warranted by the premises them-
selves. Among possible interpretations of an utter-
ance, the hearer chooses the most adequate to
certain expectations of truthfulness, informativeness,
and comprehensibility. The inferential process of
comprehension is an essential component of commu-
nication, which is nonetheless often integrated by the
employment of a code. A common code between
the interlocutors turns out to be the most powerful,
however not indispensable, tool for communicating.
Sperber and Wilson’s critical remarks are generally
convincing and acceptable, where they criticize the
attempt to explain the interpretative process merely
in terms of decoding. Less convincing is the more
general criticism of all semiotic models of communi-
cation, accusing them of reducing communication to
a coding and decoding process.
Saussurean ‘Signification’ as Keyword
and Sign of Contradiction
Our thesis is that Sperber and Wilson’s criticism,
which is legitimate in relation to certain semiotic
models, is unacceptable for others. Furthermore, in
our opinion, their reductive vision of the function of
the semiotic component within a communicative pro-
cess is by no means convincing.
For both points, we should briefly reconsider some
of the communication models more or less explicitly
proposed by semioticians and linguists in the past
century. It is almost compulsory to start by referring
to Ferdinand de Saussure, with whom the beginning
of modern linguistics in its structuralist phase is usu-
ally connected. His representation of the communica-
tion process seems to constitute a typical coding and
decoding model, Figure 1.
Here the speaker, having in mind a particular sig-
nifié, correlates it to the corresponding ‘signifiant’ of
her linguistic system (langue), which is perceived by
the hearer who correlates it to the correspondent
signifié of the same linguistic system. Nonetheless,
Saussure’s Cours has a problematic nature; its real
function is to witness a deep and complex meditation
rather than systematicly expounding a theory. Thus,
beyond the approximate presentation of the discourse
circle (circuit de la parole), the Saussurean text intro-
duces the fundamental but problematic distinction
between signifié – defined as a meaning carried
by an element of a langue (a linguistic system) –
and signification – a term denoting a notion that
remains rather opaque in the Saussurean text. Its
interpretation and the evaluation of its role in Saus-
sure’s doctrine is nevertheless crucial, and turned out
to characterize the two main divergent trends that
emerged within post-Saussurean structuralism. It is
Figure 1 Ferdinand de Saussure’s model.
worth noticing that these two trends have developed
considerably different attitudes toward communica-
tion in their theoretical elaboration. Relevant repre-
sentatives of both trends being numerous, only
those scholars who cover significant and universally
acknowledged cruxes will be mentioned here.
The Functionalist Reading
Let us consider Saussure’s text. In a passage in chapter
IV of the second part of the Cours de linguistique
générale (1916/1995: 158–159), Saussure seems to
employ the term signification as equivalent to signifié:
signification seems to be nothing but the counterpart
of the auditive image, ‘‘un des aspects de la valeur
linguistique’’ or, better, the value of the conceptual
component of the linguistic sign. Nonetheless, in the
following passages, Saussure opposes signification to
signifié throughout a series of interlinguistic confron-
tations (mouton vs. sheep and mutton, French plural
vs. Sanskrit plural and dual, etc). So, without explic-
itly saying it, Saussure employs signification as op-
posed to signifié; interlinguistic comparisons between
different language-bound signifiés are possible thanks
to a conceptualization of reality that is formed some-
how independently of these signifiés. This distinction
lets us guess the existence of a complex correlation
between the two semantic dimensions (reasonably
understood as interpretation), which goes from the
signifiés obtained through the coding to the significa-
tions, which articulate the parole (the speaker’s actual
message). Without this conceptualization, evoked by
the use of the term signification, such a comparison
between different languages would be simply impos-
sible (on this point, see Rigotti & Rocci, in press).
Signification, thus, has to be interpreted as an inter-
or translinguistic category independent of the linguis-
tic code, however correlated to it. If we integrate this
notion into the Saussurean circuit de la parole, we
obtain a more comprehensive model of communica-
tion, where the correlation of signifiant and signifié
is only a stretch of a more complex path, starting
with the actual meaning intended by the speaker,
and ending with the reconstruction of this meaning
tentatively operated by the hearer.

The interpretation of the Saussurean text presup-
posed by this model is explicitly adopted by
N. Troubezkoy in his Grundzüge der Phonologie
(1939), where the signifiés are considered, at the
level of langue, as abstract rules and conceptual
schemes, which need to be related to the actual
significations emerging from language use (see also
Rigotti & Rocci, in press: 5). On this point, M. Bréal
(1844–1995: 552b) observes that, where we need to
employ a certain word in communication, we ‘forget’
all possible meanings of that word except the one that
corresponds to our thought (‘‘s’accorde avec notre
pensée’’). Although the other meanings are still some-
how present to our mind, we choose the one that
corresponds to the meaning we want to express –
i.e. to the signification. Here, the relation between
signifiant and signifié is certainly not a coding-
and-decoding one, since it is mediated by the speak-
er’s choice to her communicative intention. The
same approach to communication may be found in
Karl Bühler’s Organonmodell, as outlined in his
Sprachtheorie (1934). Among the numerous pages
of Bühler’s text, which could be useful to elucidate
his position on this issue, one passage seems particu-
larly revealing (1934: 63), where Bühler argues that
no code can ensure the correct interpretation of the
word ‘horse’ as it is used in a text, where it can refer
to a single entity or to the species of horses in general.
The use within a text is not ‘‘morphologisch erkenn-
bar,’’ i.e., it cannot be decoded by means of morpho-
logical aspects of the language, neither in Latin, a
language that does not foresee articles, nor in the
Indo-Germanic, article-provided languages. What
allows us to correctly interpret the use of the word
‘horse,’ is a ‘detective-attitude’ towards the context of
the communicative event, which aims at evaluating
what the speaker has in mind: ‘‘Man muss es detekti-
visch gleichsam dem Kontexte oder den Umständen
der Sprechsituation entnehmen, ob der Sprecher
das eine oder das andere im Auge hat und meint.’’
Moreover, an author to whom Bühler is quite indebt-
ed, Philipp Wegener, had also stressed the interpreta-
tive aspect of communication 50 years previously.
Wegener argues that the hearer has the complex task
of understanding the speaker’s action; for this pur-
pose, he has to figure out what the ‘goal’ of the
communicative action may be. Comprehension of
verbal messages is achieved through ‘inferences’
(Schlüsse), which rely both on the meaning of the
verbal signs as well as the experience of reality. So,
where experience is lacking, comprehension is impos-
sible (Wegener, 1885–1991: 128). For instance, one
could not understand a sentence such as ‘a whistle of
the train, and my brother was gone,’ if one had no
experience of a train setting off from a station.
Communication: Semiotic Approaches 661
If, speaking of a semiotic approach to communica-
tion, we refer to this research tradition in linguistics
and semiotics, the criticism put forward by the scho-
lars of Relevance Theory loses its bite: in fact, the
process of communication is not referred to as a
coding-decoding process within this trend. Rather,
one should acknowledge that the process of commu-
nicative inference is constantly associated with the
concept of interpretation.
Nor would the objection be acceptable that, in
these models, inference only plays the subservient
role of integrating the semiotic process. Here, it
must be noticed that, if inference is acknowledged as
a necessary integration of the semiotic component,
it follows that the semiotic component itself is not
considered sufficient for the accomplishment of the
communicative event. Therefore, the inferential com-
ponent becomes essential for communication. More
specifically, in this first tradition, neither the speaker’s
coding nor the hearer’s decoding hold the supremacy
in the communicative process; the crucial moment is
rather when it becomes clear what the speaker
intended to communicate, and the hearer understands
it. As Bühler claims, on the backdrop of a Husserlian
philosophical vision, language always appeals to the
speaker’s knowledge of reality; and each time we
understand the meaning of a communicative event,
we deeply and unavoidably rely on a ‘reality-driven
selection’ (sachgesteuerte Selektion, Bühler, 1934:
65), which constitutes the core of communication.
Not by chance, a large part of Bühler’s research is
devoted to the study of the specific semantic mecha-
nism of the ‘indexicals’ or ‘deictics’ (Zeigwörter).
This term refers to linguistic units and structures
whose meaning is reconstructed through the identifi-
cation of an aspect of the communicative situation
(Bühler, 1934 see in particular p. 107).
Here, given the importance that Bühler attributes
to reality in the process of communication, it becomes
clear why he adopts a ‘triadic’ notion of the sign,
which is rather innovative if we compare it to other
structuralist models. In his Organonmodell (1934:
24), the sign is conceived as an ‘instrument’ for com-
municating; and communication is interpreted prag-
matically, as an action accomplished by the speaker
and the hearer. According to Bühler (1934: 52),
communication must be viewed as a human ‘action,’
vitally bound to other meaningful human behaviors.
Communication is related to other actions, and is
an action in itself. In particular, Bühler distinguishes
between Sprechhandlung (1934: 53), which is the
human activity of communicating, i.e., the Saussur-
ean parole, as opposite to Sprachgebilde (the langue,
1934: 57); moreover, with the notion of Sprechakt
(1934: 62), he focuses on a single communicative
662 Communication: Semiotic Approaches
Figure 2 Karl Bühler’s Organonmodell.
action, and with Sprachwerk (1934: 53), he denotes
the linguistic products resulting from a single human
action of communicating.
Within the model, the sign is related to the speaker
(Sender), the addressee (Empfänger) and the objects
and states of affairs in reality (Gegenstände und
Sachverhalte). The sign is bound to each dimension
by a specific relation: with regard to the speaker, the
sign is a ‘symptom,’ bound by a relation of ‘expres-
sion’ (Ausdruck); with regard to the addressee, the
sign is a ‘signal,’ and stands in the relation of appeal
(Appel); and, finally, with regard to the object,
the sign is a ‘symbol,’ and stands in the relation of
‘representation.’ The following diagram, Figure 2,
illustrates Bühler’s model (1934: 28):
The distinction between code dimension and
discourse dimension of semantics, implied by the
Saussurean terms signifié and signification, is tackled
and deepened by another linguist: E. Benveniste, who
introduced the terms ‘semiotic’ and ‘semantic’
(Benveniste, 1966a). He underlines that the content
dimension of code units is a semiotic one; while the
content dimension of the same units, insofar as they
are used within a discourse, is truly semantic (on this
point, see also Rocci, 2003). Moreover, among the
indexicals investigated by Bühler, he focuses on per-
sonal pronouns, by which the communicative act and
its constituents are mirrored in specific linguistic
structures (Benveniste, 1966b). The study of personal
pronouns on both the diachronic and the synchronic
axes brings Benveniste to single out the essential role
that is played by subjectivity (I and You) in commu-
nication.
On the basis of the Saussurean notion of ‘significa-
tion,’ conceived as the actual, situation-bound mean-
ing of the sign in the communicative process, and of
Bühler’s interpretation of the sign as an instrument
for communicating, we could modify Saussure’s dia-
gram and build a model of communication that is
shared in its fundamental aspects by all the authors
within the research tradition we have examined so
far, Figure 3.
Even in its visual diversity, the well-known model
proposed by Roman Jakobson (Jakobson, 1960/
1995) is, in many respects, reminiscent of Bühler’s
sign model. Being evidently influenced by Shannon
and Weaver’s model, it brings to light the process of
transmitting a message, thus offering a rather obvious
metaphor of the communicative process, Figure 4.
Jakobson’s model has two indubitable merits: first-
ly, it takes into account, and represents synthetically,
a complex set of factors; secondly, it deepens many of
the specific functions of the message in relation to
each of these factors in the communication process.
This Russian linguist treasures his former belonging
to the significant experience of Russian formalism, by

Figure 3 The model of communication within the functionalist reading.
Figure 4 Roman Jakobson’s model of the fundamental factors
of communication.
Figure 5 Roman Jakobson’s model of the textual functions.
introducing the poetic function into his model, as an
autotelic orientation of the message towards itself,
Figure 5.
The graphic representation of Jakobson’s model
appears to be richer than the sign scheme provided
by Bühler. However, if we consider the model implicit
in the theory of the latter, we have to recognize
that Bühler’s model is richer in important respects:
indeed, in Jakobson’s perspective, the pragmatic di-
mension is weakened; the essential role of inference in
interpretation is ignored, as well as the relevance of
context for interpretation. Another important aspect
concerns the distinction between signifié and signifi-
cation, reflecting the more general difference between
language (langue) and speech (parole), which remains
outside the graphic model outlined by Jakobson,
even though it is adumbrated in some significant
research (Jakobson, 1957).
Communication: Semiotic Approaches 663
Some Code-model Approaches
The precise definition of the Saussurean model repre-
sents a core issue for a large segment of semioticians
of the past century. Indeed, besides the tradition we
have tackled so far, another tradition of semiotic
studies starts from a different interpretation of
Saussure’s signification. The second trend does not
concentrate on the notion of signification, and there-
fore it does not focus on the textual and discursive
dimension of the parole, whereas the point of view of
the code (langue) is preferred. This position can be
found not only in Hjemslev’s Prolegomena to a theory
of language (1961), but also in various scholars be-
longing to French structuralism – among which
R. Barthes plays a paradigmatic role – and in
Umberto Eco’s first semiotic theory, expounded in
his work Trattato di semiotica generale (1979).
It is worth noticing that it is quite difficult to infer a
model of communication from these positions.
Barthes, for instance, stresses the interpretation of
language as a system, whereby the individual perform-
ing a particular act of parole (a discourse) simply
selects and actualizes one of the possible states of
the system (Barthes, 1964). As the semantic dimen-
sion is exhaustively represented by the system of the
signifiés, the meaning of communicative messages is
not built by a speaker for an addressee, but it is rather
one possible product the system can generate. The
human subject is excluded from the communication
process; communication itself, conceived as a com-
municative interaction between two human beings,
i.e., as the junction of the communicative action of
the speaker with the interpretative action of the ad-
dressee, fails to be considered at all. Umberto Eco
(1979: 8) defined communication as ‘‘the passage of
a signal (not necessarily a sign) from a source
(through a transmitter, along a channel) to a destina-
tion.’’ This definition is meant to include both cases of
664 Communication: Semiotic Approaches
machine-to-machine passages of information (see
also 1979: 32), and cases where the destination (and
not necessarily the source) is a human being. In the
latter case, communication involves the process of
signification, ‘‘provided that the signal is not merely
a stimulus but arouses an interpretive response in the
addressee’’ (1979: 32). The process of signification is
not conceived as a communicative action; the focus
here is on the signification system, ‘‘an autonomous
semiotic construct that has an abstract mode of exis-
tence independent of any possible communicative act
it makes possible’’ (1979: 9). Thus, it is the system
that guarantees communication, and the existence of
the system does not presuppose the existence of actual
communicative events. On the contrary, communica-
tion between human beings necessarily presupposes a
signification system (thus excluding cases of nonver-
bal, ostensive communication). It must be observed
that Eco explicitly discusses the problem of what the
place of the human being, i.e., ‘‘the ‘acting subject’ ’’
(1979: 314) within semiotics should be. He concludes
that what is outside the signification system – its
‘‘material expressions’’ (1979: 317) might even be
‘‘tremendously important,’’ but it is beyond the sub-
ject of semiotics. In fact, as Eco argues, the proper
subject of signification is ‘‘nothing more than the
continuously unaccomplished system of systems of
signification that reflects back on itself,’’ whereas
individual material subjects only ‘‘obey, enrich,
change and criticize’’ the signification system (1979:
315).
As emerges from our survey of some theories with-
in the second trend of Saussurean semiotics, speaking
of a proper ‘model of communication’ in relation to
them turns out to be quite difficult. In fact, commu-
nication in itself is intrinsically ignored. What they
hypothesize are the mysterious workings of an auton-
omous semiotic program, which would auto-install
and run on a mass of undifferentiated terminals, thus
defining their individual or network sign production.
Charles Sanders Peirce
The model of communication of the first trend
inspired by Saussurean semiotics, which we found in
Bühler, and which is confirmed by recent pragmatic
models, shows interesting analogies with another tra-
dition, often considered as alternative to the Saussur-
ean one: the semiotic model by Charles Sanders
Peirce. As Bühler would do in the 1930s, Peirce had
already proposed a triadic notion of sign at the end of
the 19th century, Figure 6.
According to what Peirce wrote in 1897 (1897–
1935–1958: 2.228), ‘‘A sign, or ‘representamen’ is
something which stands to somebody for something
Figure 6 Charles Sanders Peirce’s model of sign.
in some respect or capacity. It addresses somebody,
that is, creates in the mind of that person an equiva-
lent sign, or perhaps a more developed sign. That sign
which it creates I call the interpretant of the first
sign.’’ Although Peirce is often considered one of the
founders of semiotics, it must not be forgotten that his
contribution is particularly relevant from the logical
and philosophical points of view. And his interest
for semiotics concerns the cognitive rather than the
communicative dimensions. Nonetheless, his contri-
bution is also significant for semiotics and for a theo-
ry of communication. Concerning semiotics, we have
to underline that Peirce’s notion of sign includes ‘sym-
bols,’ as well as ‘indexes’ (bound to the object
through a real connection), and ‘icons,’ which remind
of objects by reproducing their features. Semiotics
turns out to include both verbal and nonverbal
dimensions. Nevertheless we should also consider
that, within Peirce’s enormous scientific production,
we find some significant cues for a significantly com-
prehensive communication model.
Firstly, the correlation of the sign with both sub-
jectivities involved in communication is highlighted
by the above-quoted definition, where the subject to
whom the sign is addressed is explicitly mentioned
and the addresser is presupposed. On this point,
M. Hansen (2002) argued that Peirce’s approach
implies an active involvement of the speaker and the
addressee in the process of interpretation. In fact, the
‘representamen’ does not univocally imply a certain
‘interpretant,’ but it rather suggests several possible
interpretations. Here, the interaction of the speaker
and the addressee is necessary to evaluate the inter-
pretation to be chosen: the context of interpretation is
actively constructed by the interlocutors, on the basis
of the experience of the knowledge community.
Secondly, we find in the Peircean text a truly prag-
matic reading of the process of interpretation, as the
‘final interpretant’ of a sign is the ‘habit change,’ i.e.,
‘‘a modification of a person tendencies toward action’’
(Peirce, 1897–1935–1958: 5.476; on this point, see
also Rigotti & Rocci, 2001: 48).

Conclusive Remarks
We might conclude by arguing that the criticism moved
against the semiotic tradition by the scholars of
Relevance Theory is only valid for those semiotic
approaches which can be defined as code-driven, and
depend on a reductive interpretation of Saussure. They
conceive of the sign as a binary unit, and thus reduce
communication to a coding and decoding process. The
criticism does not hold for all those, indeed rather
numerous, approaches (Peirce and the functionalist
interpretation of the Saussurean Cours: Troubetzkoy,
Bühler, Jakobson, Bally, Sechehaye, Karcevskij . . .),
where a pragmatic (in the sense of the Organonmodell
of language) and triadic representation of the sign
allows to understand communicative events in an
adequately comprehensive perspective.
Our short survey of semiotic approaches to com-
munication in the 20th century shows that not all of
them can be considered as code-models, it also puts
forward – this concerns in particular some authors
like Peirce, Bühler, and Benveniste – the possibility
and even the reasonableness of constructing a semio-
pragmatic model of communication (Searle, 1969;
Clark, 1996), concerning both the wording and the
interpretation side, this latter being based on semiot-
ic, metaphoric (Lakoff, 1980; Danesi, 2004) and in-
ferential processing (Sperber and Wilson, 1995–
1986); comprehending both verbal and nonverbal
communication (Rocci, 2003), and including a theory
of subjectivity as one of its relevant components (see
Rigotti and Cigada, 2004). And the semiotic tradition
of the 20th century could be shown to be helpful in
this endeavor.
See also: Austin, John Langshaw (1911–1960); Barthes,
Roland (1915–1980); Benveniste, Emile (1902–1976); Büh-
ler, Karl (1879–1963); Bickerton, Derek (b. 1926); Grice,
Herbert Paul (1913–1988); Hjelmslev, Louis Trolle (1899–
1965); Jakobson, Roman (1896–1982); Peirce, Charles
Sanders (1839–1914); Saussure, Ferdinand (-Mongin) de
(1857–1913); Trubetskoy, Nikolai Sergeievich, Prince
(1890–1938); Wegener, Philipp (1848–1916); Relevance
Theory; Structuralism; Speech Acts; Eco, Umberto: Theo-
ry of the Sign; Jakobson, Roman: Theory of the Sign;
Context, Communicative; Nonverbal Communication;
Saussure: Theory of the Sign; Semiosis.
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(Hymes, 1962/1968, 1971). He used it to reflect
the following key positions on knowledge and use
of language:
. The ability to use a language well involves knowing
(either explicitly or implicitly) how to use language
appropriately in any given context.
. The ability to speak and understand language is not
based solely on grammatical knowledge.
. What counts as appropriate language varies
according to context and may involve a range of
modes – for example, speaking, writing, singing,
whistling, drumming.
. Learning what counts as appropriate language
occurs through a process of socialization into par-
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Hymes’s juxtaposition of the word ‘communica-
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the time with Noam Chomsky’s influential use of
the term ‘linguistic competence,’ which Chomsky
used to refer to a native speaker’s implicit knowledge
of the grammatical rules governing her/his language
(Chomsky, 1957, 1965). Such knowledge, Chomsky
argued, enables speakers to create new and grammat-
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She book the read, or in Spanish plaza yo a la voy
(‘square I am going to’). While accepting the impor-
tance of grammatical knowledge, Hymes argued
that in order to communicate effectively, speakers
had to know not only what was grammatically
correct/incorrect, but what was communicatively
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must possess more than just grammatical knowledge;
for example, a multilingual speaker in a multilingual
context knows which language to use in which con-
text and users of a language where there are both
formal and informal forms of address know when to
use which, such as vous (formal) and tu (informal) in
French. Hymes famously stated that a child who pro-
duced language without due regard for the social
context would be a monster (1974b: 75).
The emphasis that Hymes placed on appropriate-
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competence, challenged Chomsky’s view about what
exactly counts as knowledge of a language – knowl-
edge of conventions of use in addition to knowledge of
grammatical rules. In addition, and more fundamen-
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by Chomsky between ‘competence’ and ‘performance’
and the related claim about what the study of linguis-
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universal psycholinguistics of language, the human
capacity for generating the syntactic rules of lan-
guage. His interest in knowledge, captured in his use
of ‘competence,’ was therefore at an ideal or abstract
level rather than in any actual knowledge that any
one speaker or group of speakers might possess. For
Chomsky, the focus of linguistics as a discipline should
be on understanding and describing the general and
abstract principles that make the human capacity for
language possible. In contrast, ‘performance’ or actual
utterances – that is, what people actually say and hear
with all the errors, false starts, unfinished sentences –
could add little to an understanding of the principles
underlying language use and was therefore not deemed
to be a relevant focus of linguistic study.
Hymes acknowledged the value of the more
abstract and idealized approach that Chomsky advo-
cated, not least because such a universalistic ap-
proach challenged any theories of language based on
genetic differences or notions of racial hierarchy
(Hymes, 1971: 4). However, he argued that there
666 Communication: Semiotic Approaches
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Raynaud S & Rigotti E (eds.) Semiotica II. Configura-
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Scuola. 257–319.
Secheaye A (1926). Essay sur la structure logique de la
phrase. Paris: Champion.
Saussure F de (1916/1995). ‘Cours de linguistique générale.’
In Bally Ch & Sechehaye A (ed.) with the collaboration of
Riedlinger A. Paris: Payot.
Communicative Competence
T M Lillis, The Open University, Milton Keynes, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The phrase ‘communicative competence’ was intro-
duced by the North American linguist and an-
thropologist, Dell Hymes, in the late 1960s
(Hymes, 1962/1968, 1971). He used it to reflect
the following key positions on knowledge and use
of language:
. The ability to use a language well involves knowing
(either explicitly or implicitly) how to use language
appropriately in any given context.
. The ability to speak and understand language is not
based solely on grammatical knowledge.
. What counts as appropriate language varies
according to context and may involve a range of
modes – for example, speaking, writing, singing,
whistling, drumming.
. Learning what counts as appropriate language
occurs through a process of socialization into par-
ticular ways of using language through participa-
tion in particular communities.
Hymes’s juxtaposition of the word ‘communica-
tive’ with ‘competence’ stood in sharp contrast at
the time with Noam Chomsky’s influential use of
the term ‘linguistic competence,’ which Chomsky
used to refer to a native speaker’s implicit knowledge
of the grammatical rules governing her/his language
(Chomsky, 1957, 1965). Such knowledge, Chomsky
argued, enables speakers to create new and grammat-
ically correct sentences and accounts for the fact that
speakers are able to recognize grammatically incor-
rect as well as correct sentences such as, in English
She book the read, or in Spanish plaza yo a la voy
(‘square I am going to’). While accepting the impor-
tance of grammatical knowledge, Hymes argued
that in order to communicate effectively, speakers
had to know not only what was grammatically
correct/incorrect, but what was communicatively
Searle J (1969). Speech acts. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1995/1986). Relevance: communi-
cation and cognition (2nd edn.). Blackwell Publishers.
Troubetzkoy N S (1939). Grundzüge der Phonologie.
Prague: Travaux du Cercle Linguistique de Prague.
Wegener Ph (1885–1991). ‘Untersuchungen über die Grund-
fragen des Sprachlebens.’ In Knobloch C & Koerner K
(eds.). Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins.
appropriate in any given context. A speaker therefore
must possess more than just grammatical knowledge;
for example, a multilingual speaker in a multilingual
context knows which language to use in which con-
text and users of a language where there are both
formal and informal forms of address know when to
use which, such as vous (formal) and tu (informal) in
French. Hymes famously stated that a child who pro-
duced language without due regard for the social
context would be a monster (1974b: 75).
The emphasis that Hymes placed on appropriate-
ness according to context, in his use of the term
competence, challenged Chomsky’s view about what
exactly counts as knowledge of a language – knowl-
edge of conventions of use in addition to knowledge of
grammatical rules. In addition, and more fundamen-
tally, Hymes problematized the dichotomy advanced
by Chomsky between ‘competence’ and ‘performance’
and the related claim about what the study of linguis-
tics proper should be. Chomsky’s interest was in the
universal psycholinguistics of language, the human
capacity for generating the syntactic rules of lan-
guage. His interest in knowledge, captured in his use
of ‘competence,’ was therefore at an ideal or abstract
level rather than in any actual knowledge that any
one speaker or group of speakers might possess. For
Chomsky, the focus of linguistics as a discipline should
be on understanding and describing the general and
abstract principles that make the human capacity for
language possible. In contrast, ‘performance’ or actual
utterances – that is, what people actually say and hear
with all the errors, false starts, unfinished sentences –
could add little to an understanding of the principles
underlying language use and was therefore not deemed
to be a relevant focus of linguistic study.
Hymes acknowledged the value of the more
abstract and idealized approach that Chomsky advo-
cated, not least because such a universalistic ap-
proach challenged any theories of language based on
genetic differences or notions of racial hierarchy
(Hymes, 1971: 4). However, he argued that there
 Communicative Competence 667

were other important dimensions to the study of lan- . Given the focus on knowledge as a set of abstract
guage that should not be so readily excluded from rules underlying use, actual use is relegated to only
linguistics as a scientific field. Hymes’s own interest a marginal position in the scientific study of lan-
in language was in large part driven by a concern for guage.
language questions arising in real life contexts, such
Hymes (1972a: 282) offers communicative compe-
as why children from economically advantaged and
tence as a more general and superordinate term to
disadvantaged social backgrounds differ in the lan-
encompass the language capabilities of the individual
guage they use. Chomsky’s and Hymes’s different
that include both knowledge and use: ‘‘competence is
aims for developing language theory are nowhere
dependent upon both (tacit) knowledge and (ability
more clearly evident than in Hymes’s comment on
for) use.’’
Chomksy’s (1965: 3) now famous statement, on the
While Hymes argued against the foundational di-
purpose of linguistic theory: ‘‘Linguistic theory is
chotomy between competence and performance pro-
concerned primarily with an ideal speaker-listener,
posed by Chomsky, he was not dismissing the value of
in a completely homogenous speech-community,
the distinction entirely. Hymes refers to communica-
who knows its language perfectly.. . .’’ Hymes (1971:
tive competence as ‘‘abilities in a broad sense’’ of how
4) comments: ‘‘The theoretical notion of the ideal
to use language, whereas performance is always a
speaker-listener is unilluminating from the standpoint
specific use of language that reflects some of that
of the children we seek to understand and to help.’’
competence (2003: 321). Thus any specific perfor-
Hymes was highly critical of a theory that ex-
mance may partially reflect the nature of the conven-
plicitly set out to ignore the impact of social con-
tions governing an individual or a community’s
text on how language is used and hence the
knowledge of language. In setting up a framework
competence/performance dichotomy set up by
for developing an adequate theory of language,
Chomsky (echoing in some ways the langue and
Hymes argued that both what is known (competence)
parole distinction made by Saussure, 1916). At a
and what is actually done (performance) must be
specific level, his key reasons for challenging such a
taken into account. Such a framework involves
dichotomy can be summarized as follows (based on
exploring and accounting for the following:
Hymes, 1962/1968; 1971; 1974b):
1. Whether (and to what degree) something is
. The dichotomy itself is problematic. It presupposes
formally possible
that knowledge can be understood without refer-
2. Whether (and to what degree) something is
ence to use, yet analyzing actual use of language is
feasible
key to exploring underlying principles for such use.
3. Whether (and to what degree) something is
Hymes argued that ‘‘performance data’’ should be
appropriate
considered a legitimate focus for linguistic study
4. Whether (and to what degree) something is in
both in its own right and as data that reflects
fact done, actually performed (Hymes 1972a:
knowledge underlying any performance.
284–286).
. The dichotomy is built on a series of abstrac-
tions: ideal speaker-listener, homogenous speech- Questions 3 and 4 are central to the socially ori-
community, perfect knowledge of language. ented approach to the study of language advocated
. Chomsky’s notion of speaker-listener does not by Hymes. In contrast to Chomsky and his claim to
acknowledge or account for the differences in re- linguistics as a subfield of psychology and philoso-
ception competence and production competence phy, Hymes seeks to claim a space for the study of
evident in many contexts, as in children from language within ‘‘a science of social man’’ (Hymes,
some social backgrounds understanding formal 1971: 6).
school language yet not producing it.
. What counts as knowledge of language is reduced
A Key Concept in an Emerging
to only one aspect of knowledge, namely grammat-
Sociolinguistic Tradition
ical knowledge, when there are clearly other
aspects to knowledge of language that are impor- Emphasis on the notion of communicative compe-
tant, such as when to use which language, or vari- tence formed part of Dell Hymes’s call for a new
eties of languages, and in which contexts. field of study, the ethnography of communica-
. Within an approach that focuses on compe- tion, sometimes called the ethnography of speaking
tence as idealized knowledge, it is the abstract sys- (Hymes, 1962/1968; Gumperz and Hymes, 1972/
tem of language that becomes the focus rather than 1986). There are a number of concepts and cat-
speakers’/groups of speakers’ use of language. egories presupposed by the notion of communicative
668 Communicative Competence
competence, which continue to be highly influential
in sociolinguistics and in many socially oriented
approaches to study of language.
Sociocultural Context
Given the importance attached to knowledge of the
social conventions governing language use, under-
standing the context of language use is considered to
be central. Exploring such context, that is, the cultur-
al, historical, and social practices associated with the
language use of any particular group or community of
people, involves detailed descriptions and classifica-
tion of language use organized around the following
key questions. What are the communicative events,
and their components, in a community? What are the
relationships among them? What capabilities and sta-
tus do they have, in general and in particular cases?
How do they work? (Hymes, 1974b: 25).
Ethnography of Communication
In order to explore how language is used in context,
Hymes argued for an ethnographic approach to
the study of communication or ways of speaking
(Hymes, 1974a). This involves researchers setting
out to systematically observe the activities of any
given community, through immersing themselves in
such activities and collecting a range of data, such as
recordings, field notes, and documentation. In this
methodology both ‘etic’ and ‘emic’ approaches are
considered important and complementary; the etic
approach refers to observation from the outside as it
were, that is, the researcher seeks to observe in detail
the communicative activities – or speech events – of
participants in a community; the emic involves ex-
ploring such events, from the inside, to determine
how participants make sense of and understand such
events and interactions. Ethnographers emphasize
the importance of emic accounts to any theory of
language; for example, only an emic perspective
would enable a researcher to understand that a clap
of thunder may in some cultural contexts be consid-
ered to be a communicative act (as in the case of
the Ojibwa reported by Hymes, 1974b: 13), or that
certain types of communication are permitted to men
in some contexts while proscribed in others, such as
the disciplining of children (as reported by Philipsen,
1975).
In an attempt to build a descriptive framework of
how language is used in different contexts, Hymes,
drawing on anthropologists such as Malinowski
(1923, 1935), developed a series of categories to
map out the relevant contextual aspects to language
use, such as speech event and speech community.
Speech Event
This is a category (after Jakobson, 1960) that reflects
the idea that all interaction is embedded in sociocul-
tural contexts and is governed by conventions
emerging from those contexts. Examples of speech
events are interviews, buying and selling goods in a
shop, sermons, lectures, and informal conversation.
The speech event involves a number of core compo-
nents identified by Hymes, which are signaled in his
mnemonic device SPEAKING. [See Table 1].
Table 1 SPEAKING – acronym invented by Dell Hymes (1972b)
to specify relevant features of a speech event
S-settings and Setting refers to time, place, physical
scenes circumstances. Scene refers to the
psychological or cultural definitions of
the event: for example what ‘counts’ as
a formal event varies from community
to community.
P-participants Who is involved, as either speaker/
listener, audience.
E-ends Ends can be defined in terms of goals and
outcomes. Goals refer to what is
expected to be achieved in any event:
outcomes refers to what is actually
achieved. Goals and outcomes exist at
both community and individual
participant level: for example, the
conventional goal of a wedding
ceremony may be marriage, however,
individuals within that event may have
other goals.
A-acts Speech events involve a number and
range of speech acts, particular types
of utterances such as requests,
commands, and greetings.
K-keys The tone, manner, and spirit in which acts
are done, for example, serious or
playful. Specific keys may be signaled
through verbal or/and non-verbal
means.
I-instrumentalities The particular language/language
varieties used and the mode of
communication (spoken, written).
N-norms Norms of interaction refer to rules of
speaking, who can say what, when, and
how. Norms of interpretation refer to
the conventions surrounding how any
speech may be interpreted.
G-genres Categories or types of language use, such
as the sermon, the interview, or
the editorial. May be the same as
‘speech event’ but may be a part of a
speech event. For example, the sermon
is a genre and may at the same time be
a speech event (when performed
conventionally in a church); a sermon
may be a genre, however, that is
invoked in another speech event, for
example, at a party for humorous effect.

Speech Community
While the term speech community was not coined by
Hymes (the most notable earlier use being that of
Bloomfield, 1933), Hymes’s elaboration of the term
certainly contributed to its prominence in sociolin-
guistic approaches to the study of language.
The acquisition of communicative competence
takes place within speech communities: speech com-
munities are constituted not just by a shared variety
or language, but shared sets of norms and conven-
tions about how those varieties can and should be
used. Through everyday interaction with others in a
speech community, a child learns how to use language
appropriately, that is, according to the norms of
any given speech community. Some events inevitably
involve people from different speech communities,
which may create tensions: as in for example school
classrooms where participants share a common lan-
guage but may not be members of the same speech
community (Hymes, 1972c).
Diversity
Acknowledgement of diversity and variety between
and across language use, in communities and indi-
viduals, is a basic position in Hymes’s work and is
a central tenet in sociolinguistics. Such diversity
manifests itself in countless ways: the very existence
of language varieties, both as languages and varieties
within languages; the range of conventions govern-
ing the use of such varieties in different contexts
(such differences have been documented in relation,
notably, to social class, ethnic group, gender); the
different values attached to particular usages (for
example, the values attached in different commu-
nities to such phenomena as silence, eloquence, and
interruptions).
Privileging diversity as a universal of language
shifts the emphasis away from any differential status
attached to varieties, or the notion that difference
signals deficiency in any way. All varieties are seen
as equally valid, although some are acknowledged to
be more appropriate in particular contexts.
Appropriateness
This is a key presupposition to the notion of commu-
nicative competence and is a central notion in socio-
linguistics. As discussed, communicative competence
presupposes the following; that a language user’s
knowledge – competence – is more than just gram-
mar-based; that knowledge of language requires
knowledge of the appropriate social conventions
governing what and how something can be said, to
whom and in what contexts. Appropriateness thus
Communicative Competence 669
involves both linguistic and cultural knowledge
(Hymes, 1971: 14).
Within sociolinguistics, a focus on appropriateness
of language use is said to indicate a descriptive
(how language is used) rather than a prescriptive (how
language should be used) approach to language
diversity.
Socialization
People learn the rules of use through everyday inter-
action within speech communities. It is through such
interaction that children acquire knowledge about
appropriate language use, that is, communicative
competence (Hymes, 1971: 10). Hymes indicates
that socialization is not constituted by a rigid trajec-
tory and suggests that both ‘‘a long and short range
view of competency should be adopted’’ (1972a:
287). From his perspective, the short range view con-
cerns innate capacities as they emerge in the first years
of life, and the long range concerns continuing so-
cialization through life. What this short/long range
implies is that competence is not static. In some
instances, quite drastic changes can be made to an
individuals’ competence; as when a child whose
home language variety is significantly different from
the school variety. Of course, as Hymes empha-
sizes, such extensions or shifts in competence are
not necessarily straightforward; there are plenty of
opportunities for misunderstanding to occur when
receivers/listeners accustomed to the language vari-
eties of one community engage in communication
with those from another.
Communicative Competence in
Other Domains
The notion of communicative competence has been
highly influential in fields beyond linguistics, such
as education, sociology, and psychology. In some
instances the basic assumptions surrounding the
term have been maintained, and in others extended
or problematized.
Probably nowhere has the impact of the notion
been more powerful than in the teaching of lan-
guages, including the teaching of English as a second
or foreign language. Whereas the emphasis in lan-
guage teaching had been on grammatical and syntac-
tic accuracy, following the work of Hymes and others
(Gumperz and Hymes, 1972/1986), there was a sig-
nificant turn towards communicative language teach-
ing: this shift involved the teaching and learning of
language considered to be appropriate to specific
situations, based on what speakers actually use, rath-
er than what they are presumed to use (Paulston,
670 Communicative Competence

1992). Assessment of language learning has been and related notions, as they have come to be used
influnced accordingly, with a focus on students’ ca- in sociolinguistics, from both critical and post
pacity to communicate, rather than the ability to structuralist approaches.
produce grammatically correct sentences (Hall and
Eggington, 2000). The extent to which this more Re-examining Appropriateness
situational approach to second and foreign lan-
The notion of appropriateness is central to communi-
guage teaching prevails is a matter of debate, but
cative competence and central to the field of sociolin-
the impact of communicative competence is widely
guistics whose empirical goal has been to explore
acknowledged (Firth and Wagner, 1997).
patterns of language use, according to the norms of
The use of the term has also been extended and
any given community. However, the use of such a
modulated in other domains. For example, Culler
notion has been critiqued by some because it serves
(1975) developed the influential notion of literary
to emphasize norms and underplay differences within
competence to describe readers’ knowledge of the
any given community or communicative context.
conventions required in order to interpret literary
Fairclough (1995), for example, like Bernstein men-
texts. Academic communicative competence has
tioned above, argues that a model of language based
been used to refer to knowledge of the conventions
on appropriateness assumes shared views among all
governing the use of language in academic commu-
users about what counts as appropriate, ignoring
nication (Berkenkotter et al., 1991). Both uses refer
struggles and tensions in any given interaction; for
to knowledge of specific textual features, such as
example, tensions evident in interactions between
metaphor in the case of literary competence and
institutional representatives and clients, men and
argument in academic competence, as well as knowl-
women, or speakers from different cultural and lin-
edge about what counts as specific text types or
guistic backgrounds. Research in some socially ori-
genres (academic, literary) in particular cultural
ented approaches to language, such as feminist
contexts.
linguistics and critical discourse analysis, has made
Other uses of ‘communicative competence’ have
visible the power dynamics in communicative events,
developed, alongside and in contradistinction to the
within and across communities (Cameron, 1992;
Hymesian term. Habermas (1970) uses the term com-
Wodak, 1992; Chouliaraki and Fairclough, 1999).
municative competence more in line with Chomsky’s
In the same vein, emphasis on a normative notion
linguistic competence, to the extent that he is interest-
of communicative competence in second and foreign
ed in theorizing an ideal speech situation, rather than
language teaching has been critiqued by theorists of
elaborating a sociolinguistic description of actual
second language acquisition. Norton (2000) states
situations and utterances. In contrast, Bernstein’s in-
that although it is important for learners to under-
terest was in an elaboration of actual use of language,
stand the conventions of the target language, it is
particularly within the context of schooling. How-
also important for them to explore ‘‘whose interests
ever, he offered a critique of the way in which ‘com-
these rules serve’’ (2000: 15). She argues that any
petence’ models implied an exaggerated capacity of
definition of communicative competence should in-
individual rational choice and control over language
clude an acknowledgement of the importance of the
use, without due attention to ‘‘distribution of power
right to speak (Bourdieu, 1977); such a right to speak,
and principles of control which selectively specialize
or be heard, is not granted to all speakers in all con-
modes of acquisition and realizations’’ (Bernstein,
texts. Thus for example, immigrants using a foreign
1996: 56). The need to theorize power in relation to
language may find that, although familiar with the
competence and language use is a key strand in other
conventions governing a particular use of that lan-
studies re-examining the notion of communicative
guage, they may not be granted the right to speak or
competence in more recent times.
be heard in some contexts.

Re-examining Communicative Re-examining Speech Event and Speech

Competence
The work of Hymes is central in sociolinguistics as
a field and continues to reverberate across socially
oriented approaches to the study of language in
a range of disciplines, including applied linguistics,
education, communication studies, and social psy-
chology. In recent times, there have also been signifi-
cant re-examinations of communicative competence
Community
While Hymes always indicated that he used the
word ‘speech’ to mean all types of communicative
modes/channels, sociolinguistic research has tended
to focus on the spoken word. In more recent times,
explicit attention has been paid to other modes of
communication, thus extending the use of core con-
cepts. For example, those working within literacy

studies have used existing terms to signal a specific
focus, such as ‘‘writing event’’ (Basso, 1974), ‘‘literacy
event’’ (Heath, 1983; Barton and Hamilton, 1998).
Likewise, Swales (1990) has argued that the term
discourse community is more useful than speech com-
munity, as a term for describing and accounting for
practices around written texts. Some theorists have
argued that the word ‘speech’ signals that language is
considered more significant than other practices, or
that language is somehow divorced from other social
purposes and activities, and have argued that the
notion of practice, including the notion of ‘‘commu-
nity of practice’’ is more all encompassing and pow-
erful (Eckert and McConnell-Ginet, 2003; see also
discussion about ways in which ‘practice’ is used in
Schultz and Hull, 2002).
A more fundamental challenge to the notion of
speech community comes from theorists emphasizing
the ways in which recent historical changes, notably
globalization, powerfully influence the ways in which
people engage in the world and disrupt traditional
notions of community and community membership.
Through a whole range of technological, social, and
economic developments – shaping modes of labor,
travel, and communication – individuals’ relations
to others are more diverse and fluid, less restricted
by time and space. The extent to which speech com-
munity with any presumed identifiable boundaries
continues to be a meaningful category of observation
and analysis is debatable within the context of a
rapidly changing world (Rampton, 1998; Collins,
2003).
Re-examining the Notion of Speaker
Just as the notion of speech community has been
challenged, so too have prominent labels used to
categorize individuals in relation to communities –
such as social class, ethnicity, linguistic repertoire,
and gender. Such terms, because they often denote
fixed sets of attributes and capacities, have been
recognized as problematic, particularly by post struc-
turalist writers who stress that identity is always in
process. Indeed, the relationship between language
and identity has established itself as a key area for
research. Such work tends to challenge the idea that
language use reflects categories of identity (I speak
as I do because I am a working class woman) and
emphasizes, rather, how individuals actively con-
struct aspects of social and personal identity through
their use of language in specific contexts (in speaking
as I am, I am constructing and representing myself as
a working class woman). While it is recognized that
such constructions of identity are not free floating but
are regulated by the specific contexts and interactions
in which they occur (Cameron, 1997a), the fluidity of
Communicative Competence 671
identity tends to be emphasized. In these approaches,
the term ‘performativity’ rather than ‘performance’
is used, in order to signal how identity is enacted or
performed through interaction (Cameron, 1997b;
Butler, 1990/1999).
Re-examining Context
The work of Hymes placed the importance of con-
text centrally within the concern of linguistics and
advocated ethnography as the key organizing meth-
odological tool with which to observe language use.
However, there has been considerable debate about
what constitutes context and how context should
be conceptualized and explored. Two significant
and quite distinct approaches to the study of context
can be found in conversation analysis and critical
discourse analysis: the former orients inwards as
it were towards language, the latter orients outwards
towards the social world. Conversation analysts
argue that speakers construct and represent rele-
vant aspects of context through their actual inter-
action and that these can be empirically observed
(Schegloff, 1997). In contrast, critical discourse ana-
lysts (Fairclough, 1995) and feminist linguists
(Cameron, 1992) have signaled the limitations to
approaches that seek to understand context through
empirical observation alone: there have been calls
to draw on social, critical, and post structuralist
theorists and philosophers such as Foucault, Haber-
mas, Bourdieu, and Bakhtin, in order to explore the
ways in which language use is related to ideology and
power, and in order to explore how phenomena such
as globalization are influencing communicative prac-
tices. Some of this work tends to explore language use
through the lens of such theory and pays only mini-
mal attention to examining contexts empirically
(Chouliaraki and Fairclough, 1999), whereas others
drawing on ethnographic traditions such as Hymes’s,
aim to establish an approach that draws on both
empirical observation and specific aspects of social
theory (Rampton, 1995; Lee, 1996; Maybin, 1999).
Attempts have a been made to integrate levels of
analysis at the macro level of society with micro levels
of actual utterances; Gee (1996) for example uses
the terms big ‘D’ discourse to refer to the former and
little ‘d’ discourse to refer to the latter; Fairclough
(1992) has developed a three-layered framework
to explore such relations, which he refers to as a
textually oriented discourse analysis (TODA).
See also: Assessment of Second Language Proficiency;
Chomsky, Noam (b. 1928); Codes, Elaborated and Re-
stricted (Bernstein); Communicative Language Teach-
ing; Context, Communicative; Discourse, Foucauldian
672 Communicative Competence
Approach; Ethnomethodology; Habermas, Jürgen (b. 1929);
Identity in Sociocultural Anthropology and Language; Iden-
tity: Second Language; Intercultural Pragmatics and Com-
munication; Speech and Language Community.
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Hymes D (1972b). ‘Models of the interaction of language
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Hymes D (1972c). ‘Introduction.’ In Cazden C, John V &
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Hymes D (1974b). Foundations in sociolinguistics: an
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Hymes D (2003). Now I know only so far: essays in ethno-
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Rampton B (1998). ‘Speech community.’ In Verschueren J
et al. (eds.) Handbook of pragmatics. Amsterdam: John
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(eds.) Course in general linguistics. Baskin W (trans.).
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Schultz K & Hull G (2002). ‘Locating literacy theory in out-
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out: bridging out-of-school literacies with classroom
Communicative Language Teaching
S J Savignon, Pennsylvania State University,
University Park, PA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Communicative language teaching (CLT) is best un-
derstood within the broader historical spectrum of
methods or approaches to language teaching. Seen
from a 21st-century modernist perspective that
views teaching as rather more science than art, the
theoretical grounding for the epistemology of practice
offered by CLT can be found in (1) the second- or
foreign language acquisition research that began to
flourish in the 1970s and (2) a long-standing func-
tional view of language and language use as social
behavior. The interpretation or implementation of
practice in language teaching contexts around the
world is, of course, yet another matter. A consider-
ation of these various influences highlights the major
issues that confront CLT on the threshold of the 21st
century.
Linguistic Theory and Classroom Practice
The essence of CLT is the engagement of learners in
communication to allow them to develop their com-
municative competence. Use of the term ‘communi-
cative’ in reference to language teaching refers to
both the process and goals of learning. A central
theoretical concept in CLT is communicative compe-
tence, a term introduced in the early 1970s into dis-
cussions of language (Habermas, 1970; Hymes,
1971) and second-language learning (Jakobovits,
1970; Savignon, 1971). Competence is defined as
the expression, interpretation, and negotiation of
meaning and looks to second-language acquisition
research to account for its development (Savignon,
1972, 1983, 1997). The identification of learner com-
municative needs provides a basis for curriculum de-
sign. Descriptors sometimes used to refer to features
Communicative Language Teaching 673
practice. New York/London: Teachers College Press
Columbia University. 11–31.
Schegloff E A (1997). ‘Whose text, whose context?’
Discourse and Society 8, 165–187.
Swales J (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and
research settings. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Wodak R (ed.) (1992). Language power and ideology.
Oxford: Blackwell.
of CLT include process-oriented, task-based, and
inductive or discovery-oriented
The elaboration of what has come to be known as
CLT can be traced to concurrent developments in
linguistic theory and language learning curriculum
design, both in Europe and in North America. In
Europe, the language needs of a rapidly increasing
group of immigrants and guest workers, along with
a rich British linguistic tradition that included social
as well as linguistic context in the description
of language behavior, led to the development of a
syllabus for learners based on notional-functional
concepts of language use. This notional-functional ap-
proach to curriculum design derived from neo-Firthian
systemic or functional linguistics that views language
as meaning potential and maintains the centrality of
context of situation in understanding language sys-
tems and how they work (Firth, 1937; Halliday,
1978). With sponsorship from the Council of Europe,
a Threshold Level of language ability was proposed
for each of the languages of Europe in terms of what
learners should be able to do with the language (van
Ek, 1975). Functions were based on the assessment of
learner needs and specified the end result or goals of
an instructional program. The term ‘communicative’
was used to describe programs that followed a
notional-functional syllabus based on needs assess-
ment, and the language for specific purposes (LSP)
movement was launched.
Concurrently, development within Europe focused
on the process of classroom language learning. In
Germany, against a backdrop of social democratic
concerns for individual empowerment articulated in
the writings of philosopher Jürgen Habermas (1970),
language teaching methodologists took the lead in the
development of classroom materials that encouraged
learner choice (Candlin, 1978). A collection of exer-
cise types for communicatively oriented English lan-
guage teaching was used in teacher in-service courses
and workshops to guide curriculum change. Exercises

Rampton B (1998). ‘Speech community.’ In Verschueren J
et al. (eds.) Handbook of pragmatics. Amsterdam: John
Benjamins.
Saussure F de ([1916] 1959). In Bally C & Sechehaye A
(eds.) Course in general linguistics. Baskin W (trans.).
New York: McGraw Hill.
Schultz K & Hull G (2002). ‘Locating literacy theory in out-
of-school contexts.’ In Hull G & Schultz K (eds.) School’s
out: bridging out-of-school literacies with classroom
Communicative Language Teaching
S J Savignon, Pennsylvania State University,
University Park, PA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Communicative language teaching (CLT) is best un-
derstood within the broader historical spectrum of
methods or approaches to language teaching. Seen
from a 21st-century modernist perspective that
views teaching as rather more science than art, the
theoretical grounding for the epistemology of practice
offered by CLT can be found in (1) the second- or
foreign language acquisition research that began to
flourish in the 1970s and (2) a long-standing func-
tional view of language and language use as social
behavior. The interpretation or implementation of
practice in language teaching contexts around the
world is, of course, yet another matter. A consider-
ation of these various influences highlights the major
issues that confront CLT on the threshold of the 21st
century.
Linguistic Theory and Classroom Practice
The essence of CLT is the engagement of learners in
communication to allow them to develop their com-
municative competence. Use of the term ‘communi-
cative’ in reference to language teaching refers to
both the process and goals of learning. A central
theoretical concept in CLT is communicative compe-
tence, a term introduced in the early 1970s into dis-
cussions of language (Habermas, 1970; Hymes,
1971) and second-language learning (Jakobovits,
1970; Savignon, 1971). Competence is defined as
the expression, interpretation, and negotiation of
meaning and looks to second-language acquisition
research to account for its development (Savignon,
1972, 1983, 1997). The identification of learner com-
municative needs provides a basis for curriculum de-
sign. Descriptors sometimes used to refer to features
Communicative Language Teaching 673
practice. New York/London: Teachers College Press
Columbia University. 11–31.
Schegloff E A (1997). ‘Whose text, whose context?’
Discourse and Society 8, 165–187.
Swales J (1990). Genre analysis: English in academic and
research settings. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Wodak R (ed.) (1992). Language power and ideology.
Oxford: Blackwell.
of CLT include process-oriented, task-based, and
inductive or discovery-oriented
The elaboration of what has come to be known as
CLT can be traced to concurrent developments in
linguistic theory and language learning curriculum
design, both in Europe and in North America. In
Europe, the language needs of a rapidly increasing
group of immigrants and guest workers, along with
a rich British linguistic tradition that included social
as well as linguistic context in the description
of language behavior, led to the development of a
syllabus for learners based on notional-functional
concepts of language use. This notional-functional ap-
proach to curriculum design derived from neo-Firthian
systemic or functional linguistics that views language
as meaning potential and maintains the centrality of
context of situation in understanding language sys-
tems and how they work (Firth, 1937; Halliday,
1978). With sponsorship from the Council of Europe,
a Threshold Level of language ability was proposed
for each of the languages of Europe in terms of what
learners should be able to do with the language (van
Ek, 1975). Functions were based on the assessment of
learner needs and specified the end result or goals of
an instructional program. The term ‘communicative’
was used to describe programs that followed a
notional-functional syllabus based on needs assess-
ment, and the language for specific purposes (LSP)
movement was launched.
Concurrently, development within Europe focused
on the process of classroom language learning. In
Germany, against a backdrop of social democratic
concerns for individual empowerment articulated in
the writings of philosopher Jürgen Habermas (1970),
language teaching methodologists took the lead in the
development of classroom materials that encouraged
learner choice (Candlin, 1978). A collection of exer-
cise types for communicatively oriented English lan-
guage teaching was used in teacher in-service courses
and workshops to guide curriculum change. Exercises
674 Communicative Language Teaching
were designed to exploit the variety of social mean-
ings contained within particular grammatical struc-
tures. A system of ‘chains’ encouraged teachers and
learners to define their own learning path through a
principled selection of relevant exercises (Piepho,
1974; Piepho and Bredella, 1976). Similar explora-
tory projects were also initiated by Candlin at
his academic home, the University of Lancaster in
England, and by Holec (1979) and his colleagues at
the University of Nancy in France. Supplementary
teacher resource materials promoting classroom CLT
became increasingly popular (for example, see Maley
and Duff, 1978). There was also a renewed interest in
learner vocabulary building. The widespread promo-
tion of audiolingual methodology with a focus on
accuracy in terms of so-called native grammatical or
syntactic form had resulted in the neglect of learner
lexical resources (Coady and Huckin, 1997).
At about the same time, paradigm-challenging re-
search on adult classroom second-language acquisi-
tion at the University of Illinois (Savignon, 1971,
1972) used the term ‘communicative competence’
to characterize the ability of classroom language
learners to interact with other speakers and to make
meaning, as distinguished from their ability to recite
dialogues or to perform on discrete-point tests of
grammatical knowledge. At a time when pattern
practice and error avoidance were the rule in lan-
guage teaching, this study of adult classroom acquisi-
tion of French looked at the effect of practice in the
use of coping strategies as part of an instructional
program. By encouraging learners to ask for informa-
tion, to seek clarification, to use circumlocution and
whatever other linguistic and non-linguistic resources
they could muster to negotiate meaning, and to stick
to the communicative task at hand, teachers were
invariably leading learners to take risks, to speak in
other than memorized patterns. Consistent with the
process of language development that was being
documented in first-language and untutored or ‘natu-
ral’ second-language acquisition research, the com-
municative activities offered learners an opportunity
to focus on meaning as opposed to form. Achieve-
ment tests administered at the end of the 18-week
introductory-level instructional period showed con-
clusively that learners who had engaged in communi-
cation in lieu of repeating laboratory pattern drills
performed with no less accuracy on discrete-point
tests of grammatical structure. In fact, their commu-
nicative competence as measured in terms of fluency,
comprehensibility, effort, and amount of communica-
tion in unrehearsed communicative tasks significantly
surpassed that of learners who had had no such prac-
tice. Learner reactions to the test formats lent further
support to the view that even beginners respond
well to activities that let them focus on meaning as
opposed to formal features.
A collection of role plays, games, and other com-
municative classroom activities was developed subse-
quently for inclusion in the adaptation of the French
CREDIF materials, Voix et Visages de la France. The
accompanying guide (Savignon, 1974) described the
purpose of these activities as involving learners in
the experience of communication. Teachers were
encouraged to provide learners with the French
equivalent of such expressions as ‘What’s the word
for. . .?,’ ‘Please repeat,’ and ‘I don’t understand,’
expressions that would help them participate in the
negotiation of meaning. Not unlike the efforts of
Candlin and colleagues working in Europe, the
focus was on classroom process and learner autono-
my. The use of games, role plays, pair, and other small
group activities gained acceptance and was subse-
quently recommended for inclusion in language
teaching programs generally.
The coping strategies identified in the Savignon
(1971, 1972) study became the basis for the sub-
sequent identification by Canale and Swain (1980)
of strategic competence in their three-component
framework for communicative competence, along
with grammatical competence and sociolinguistic
competence. Grammatical competence represented
sentence-level syntax, forms that remain the focus of
Chomskyan theoretical linguistic inquiry and were a
primary goal of both grammar-translation and audio-
lingual methodologies. Consistent with a view of lan-
guage as social behavior, sociolinguistic competence
represented a concern for the relevance or appropri-
ateness of those forms in a particular social setting or
context. There is now widespread recognition of the
importance of these various dimensions of language
use and of the need for learners to be involved in the
actual experience of communication if they are to
develop communicative competence.
Inclusion of sociolinguistic competence in the
Canale and Swain framework reflected the challenge
within American linguistic theory to the prevailing
focus on syntactic features. Dell Hymes (1971) had
reacted to Noam Chomsky’s (1965) characterization
of the linguistic competence of the ‘‘ideal native
speaker’’ and had used the term ‘communicative com-
petence’ to represent the use of language in social
context and the observance of sociolinguistic norms
of appropriateness. His concern with speech commu-
nities and the integration of language, communica-
tion, and culture was not unlike that of Firth and
Halliday in the British linguistic tradition. Hymes’s
communicative competence may be seen as the
equivalent of Halliday’s meaning potential. Social
interaction rather than the abstract psycholinguistic

functioning of the human brain would become an
identifying feature of CLT. Interpreting the signifi-
cance of Hymes’s perspective for language learners,
some U.S. methodologists tended to focus on ‘native
speaker’ cultural norms and the difficulty, if not
impossibility, of representing these norms in a class-
room of ‘non-natives.’ In light of this difficulty, the
appropriateness of communicative competence as
an instructional goal for classroom learners was
questioned (Paulston, 1974).
CLT thus can be seen to derive from a multi-
disciplinary perspective that includes linguistics, an-
thropology, philosophy, sociology, psychology, and
educational research. Its focus has been the elabora-
tion and implementation of programs and methodol-
ogies that promote the development of functional
language ability through learner participation in com-
municative events. Central to CLT is the understand-
ing of language learning as both an educational and a
political issue. Language teaching is inextricably tied
to language policy. Viewed from a multicultural,
intranational, and international perspective, diverse
sociopolitical contexts mandate not only a diverse set
of language learning goals but also a diverse set of
teaching strategies. Program design and implementa-
tion depend on negotiation among policymakers, lin-
guists, researchers, and teachers. The evaluation of
program success requires a similar collaborative ef-
fort. The selection of methods and materials appro-
priate to both the goals and context of teaching
begins with an analysis of socially defined language
learner needs, as well as the styles of learning that
prevail in a given educational setting (Berns, 1990).
Emergence of English as a Global Language
Along with a better understanding of the second-
language acquisition process itself, the emergence of
English as a global or international language has had
a profound influence on language teaching, confront-
ing language teacher education with new challenges
worldwide. With specific reference to English, CLT
recognizes that the norms followed by those in the
‘inner circle’ of English language users, to adopt the
terminology proposed by Kachru (1992), may not be
an appropriate goal for learners (Pennycook, 2001;
Savignon 2001, 2002). In a post-colonial, multicul-
tural world where users of English in the outer and
expanding circles outnumber those in the inner circle
by a ratio of more than two to one, the use of such
terms as ‘native’ or ‘native-like’ in the evaluation of
communicative competence has become increasingly
inappropriate.
Learners moreover have been found to differ
markedly in their reactions to learning a language
for communication. Although some may welcome
Communicative Language Teaching 675
apprenticeship in a new language, viewing it as an
opportunity, others experience feelings of alienation
and estrangement. Such phenomena may be individ-
ual or general to a community of learners. In Spanish-
speaking Puerto Rico, for example, a long-standing
general resentment of U.S. domination exerts a pow-
erful negative influence on English language instruc-
tion. Not only learners but sometimes teachers also
may consciously or subconsciously equate communi-
cative English language learning with disloyalty to the
history and culture of the island. Studying the rules of
grammar and memorizing vocabulary lists is one
thing. Using English for communication in other
than stereotypical classroom exercises is quite an-
other. Where they exist, such feelings are a strong
deterrent to second- or foreign language use, even
after 10 or more years of instruction.
With respect to the documentation of cross-varietal
differences of English, research to date has focused
most often on sentence-level lexical and syntactic
features. Consequently, such attempts as the Educa-
tional Testing Service (ETS) Test of English for
International Communication (TOEIC) to represent
norms for a standard English for international
communication reflect a primarily lexical and syntac-
tic emphasis (Lowenberg, 1992). The hegemony of
essentially Western conventions at the levels of dis-
course and genre is represented or challenged less
easily. Differences in the way genres are constructed,
interpreted, and used of course clearly extend beyond
lexical and syntactic variation. Such differences are
currently thought of as discursive in nature and are
included in discourse competence, a fourth compo-
nent of communicative competence identified by
Canale (1983). Pressures for a ‘democratization’ of
discursive practices have in some settings resulted in
genre mixing and the creation of new genres. In pro-
fessional communities, however, conformity to the
practices of an established membership continues to
serve an important gate-keeping function. The privi-
lege of exploiting generic conventions becomes avail-
able only to those who enjoy a certain stature or
visibility (Foucault, 1981; Fairclough, 1992; Bhatia,
1997).
Sociocultural Competence for a Dialogue
of Cultures
Consistent with a view of language as social behavior,
sociolinguistic competence is as we have seen integral
to overall communicative competence. Second- or
foreign language culture and its teaching have of
course long been a concern of language teachers.
Yet, if early research addressed the possibility of in-
cluding some aspects of culture in a foreign language
curriculum (for example, see Lado, 1957), recent
676 Communicative Language Teaching
discussion has underscored the strong links between
language and culture and their relevance for teaching
and curriculum design (Valdes, 1986; Byram, 1989;
Damen, 1990; Kramsch, 1993). So mainstream now
is the view of culture and language as inseparable that
the term ‘‘sociocultural’’ has come to be substituted
for the term ‘‘sociolinguistic’’ in representing the com-
ponents of communicative competence (Byram,
1997; Savignon, 2002; Savignon and Sysoyev, 2002).
Interest in teaching culture along with language
has led to the emergence of various integrative ap-
proaches. The Russian scholar Victoria Saphonova
(1996:62) has introduced a sociocultural approach
to teaching modern languages that she has described
as ‘‘teaching for intercultural L2 communication in a
spirit of peace and a dialogue of cultures.’’ Given the
dialogic nature of culture (Bakhtin, 1981), we cannot
fully understand one culture in the absence of contact
with other cultures. Thus, dialogue can be seen to be at
the very core of culture, where culture is understood as
a dialogical self-consciousness of every civilization.
The emergence of a focus on sociocultural compe-
tence can be seen in other European nations as well.
The free flow of people and knowledge within the
European Union has increased both the need and the
opportunity for language learning and intercultural
understanding. Brammerts (1996:121) described
the creation of the International E-Mail Tandem
Network, a project funded by the European Union
that brings together universities from more than 10
countries to promote ‘‘autonomous, cooperative, and
intercultural learning.’’ The project is an extension of
the tandem learning initiated in the 1970s in an effort
to unite many states in a multicultural, multilingual
Europe. Collaboration between entire classrooms of
learners is a focus of ongoing research (Savignon and
Roithmeier, 2003; Kinginger, 2004).
Interpretations of CLT
Although the term CLT may be recognized world-
wide, theoretical understanding and interpretations
of it vary widely. Some methodologists have sug-
gested that CLT is an essentially Western concept,
inappropriate in other than Western contexts
(Richards and Rogers, 2001; Rao, 2002). In addition,
there are those who consider discussions of CLT to
be passé (Bhatia, 2003; Kumaravadivelu, 2003;
Savignon, 2003, 2004). Discouraged by the failure
of both grammar-translation and audiolingual meth-
ods to prepare learners for the interpretation, expres-
sion, and negotiation of meaning and yet encouraged
to adopt a variety of commercial materials and strat-
egies increasingly labeled ‘communicative,’ many
teachers and even teacher educators have been left
confused or disillusioned. Substantive revision of
teaching practice appropriate to a given context is
ultimately of course the responsibility of classroom
teachers. Yet, they cannot be expected to change their
practices without considerable administrative and
governmental support along with extensive guided
experiential pre-service and in-service professional
development.
Given the current widespread uncertainty as to just
what are and are not essential features of CLT, a
summary description would be incomplete without
brief mention of what CLT is not.
CLT is not concerned exclusively with face-to-face
oral communication; principles of CLT apply equally
to literacy. Whether written or oral, activities that
involve readers and writers in the interpretation, ex-
pression, and negotiation of meaning are in and of
themselves communicative. The goals of CLT depend
on learner needs in a given context. Although group
tasks have been found helpful in many contexts as a
way or providing increased opportunity and motiva-
tion for communication, classroom group or pair
work should not be considered an essential feature
of CLT and may well be inappropriate in some
settings. Finally, CLT does not exclude metalinguistic
awareness or conscious knowledge of rules of syntax,
discourse, and social appropriateness. However,
knowing a rule is no substitute for using a rule. The
creative use of interpretive and expressive skills in
both reading and writing requires practice. CLT can-
not be found in any one textbook or set of curricular
materials inasmuch as strict adherence to a given text
is not likely to be true to the process and goals of CLT.
In keeping with the notion of context of situation,
CLT is properly seen as an approach or theory of
intercultural communicative competence to be used
in developing materials and methods appropriate to a
given context of learning. No less than the means and
norms of communication they are designed to reflect,
communicative teaching methods will continue to be
explored and adapted.
Considerable resources, both human and mone-
tary, are being deployed around the world to respond
to the need for language teaching that is appropriate
for the communicative needs of learners. In the litera-
ture on CLT, teacher education has not received ade-
quate attention. What happens when teachers try to
make changes in their teaching in accordance with
various types of reform initiatives, whether top-down
ministry of education policy directives or teacher-
generated responses to social and technological
change? Several recent reports of reform efforts in
different nations provide a thought-provoking look
at language teaching today as the collaborative and
context-specific human activity that it is.

Redirection of English language education by Mom-
busho, the Japan Ministry of Education, includes the
introduction of a communicative syllabus, the Japan
Exchange and Teaching (JET) Program, and overseas
in-service training for teachers. Previous encourage-
ment to make classrooms more ‘communicative’
through the addition of ‘communicative activities’ led
to the realization by Mombusho that teachers felt
constrained by a structural syllabus that continued to
control the introduction and sequence of grammatical
features. With the introduction of a new national syl-
labus, structural controls were relaxed, and teachers
found more freedom in the introduction of syntactic
features. The theoretical rationale underlying the cur-
riculum change in Japan includes both the well-known
Canale and Swain (1980) model of communicative
competence and the hypothetical classroom model
of communicative competence, or the ‘‘inverted
pyramid,’’ proposed by Savignon (1983: 46).
Minoru Wada, senior advisor to Mombusho, de-
scribed these efforts as ‘‘a landmark in the history
of English education in Japan. For the first time it
introduced into English education at both secondary
school levels the concept of communicative com-
petence. . . . The basic goal of the revision was to
prepare students to cope with the rapidly occurring
changes toward a more global society’’ (Wada,
1994:1). Following the research model adapted by
Kleinsasser (1993) to understand language teachers
beliefs and practices, Sato (2002) reported on a year-
long study of teachers of English in a private Japanese
senior high school. Multiple data sources, including
interviews, observations, surveys, and documents, of-
fered insight into how EFL teachers learn to teach in
this particular context. Among the major findings
was the context-specific nature of teacher beliefs,
which placed an emphasis on managing students,
often to the exclusion of opportunities for English
language learning.
Cheng (2002) has documented the influence of a
new, more communicative English language test on
the classroom teaching of English in Hong Kong,
a region that boasts a strong contingent of applied
linguists and language teaching methodologists and
has experienced considerable political and social
transformation in recent years. In keeping with cur-
ricular redesign to reflect a more task-based model of
learning, alternative public examinations were devel-
oped to measure learners’ ability to make use of what
they have learned, to solve problems, and to complete
tasks. Cheng’s ambitious multiyear study found the
effect of washback of the new examination on class-
room teaching to be limited. There was a change in
classroom teaching at the content level, but not at the
more important methodological level.
Communicative Language Teaching 677
The role of washback in Costa Rica, a small nation
with a long democratic tradition of public education,
offers a contrast with the Hong Kong study. Quesada-
Inces (2001), a teacher educator with many years of
experience, reported the findings of a multicase study
that explored the relationship between teaching
practice and the Bachillerato test of English, a nation-
al standardized reading comprehension test ad-
ministered at the end of secondary school. Although
teachers expressed strong interest in developing learn-
er communicative ability in both written and spoken
English, a reading comprehension test was seen to
dominate classroom emphasis, particularly in the
final two years of secondary school. The findings
illustrate what Messick (1996) has called ‘‘negative
washback,’’ produced by construct under-representa-
tion and construct irrelevance. The Bachillerato test
of English does not reflect the content of the curricu-
lum, assessing skills less relevant than those that go
unmeasured. The English testing situation in Costa
Rica is not unlike that described by Shohamy (1998)
in Israel where two parallel systems exist – one the
official national educational policy and syllabus and
the other reflected in the national tests of learner
achievement.
English language teaching has also been a focus of
curricular reform in both Taiwan and South Korea.
Adopting a sociocultural perspective on language use
and language learning as a prerequisite to pedagogi-
cal innovation, Wang (2002) noted the efforts that
have been made to meet the demand for competent
English language users in Taiwan. They include a
change in college entrance examinations, a new cur-
riculum with a goal of communicative competence,
and the island-wide implementation of English edu-
cation in the elementary schools. However, she noted
that despite learner preference for a more communi-
cation-focused curriculum, grammar teaching
continued to prevail and much more needed to be
done to ensure quality classroom teaching and
learning: ‘‘Further improvements can be stratified
into three interrelated levels . . . teachers, school
authorities, and the government. Each is essential to
the success of the other efforts’’ (Wang, 2002: 145).
CLT in the 21st Century
In each of the studies sketched above, the research
was both initiated and conducted by local educators
in response to local issues. Although each is signifi-
cant in its own right, together they can only suggest
the dynamic and contextualized nature of language
teaching in the world today. Nonetheless, the settings
that have been documented constitute a valuable re-
source for understanding the current global status of
678 Communicative Language Teaching
CLT. Viewed in kaleidoscopic fashion, they appear as
brilliant multilayered bits of glass, tumbling about to
form different yet always intriguing configurations.
From these data-rich records of language teaching
reform on the threshold of the 21st century three
major themes emerge, suggestive of the road ahead:
1. The highly contextualized nature of CLT is under-
scored again and again. It would be inappropriate
to speak of CLT as a teaching method in any sense
of that term as it was used in the 20th century.
Rather, CLT is an approach that understands lan-
guage to be inseparable from individual identity
and social behavior. Not only does language define
a community but a community, in turn, also
defines the forms and uses of language. The
norms and goals appropriate for learners in a
given setting, and the means for attaining these
goals, are the concern of those directly involved.
2. Related both to the understanding of language as
culture in motion and to the multilingual reality in
which most of the world population finds itself is
the futility of any definition of a ‘native speaker,’ a
term that came to prominence in descriptive struc-
tural linguistics and was adopted by teaching
methodologists to define an ideal for language
learners.
3. Time and again, assessment seems to be the driving
force behind curricular innovations. Increasing
demands for accountability along with a positivis-
tic stance that one cannot teach that which cannot
be described and measured by a common yardstick
continue to influence program content and goals.
Irrespective of their own needs or interests, lear-
ners prepare for the tests they will be required to
pass. High-stakes language tests often determine
future access to education and opportunity.
See also: Habermas, Jürgen (b. 1929); Halliday, Michael A.
K. (b. 1925); Language Teaching Traditions: Second Lan-
guage; Second and Foreign Language Learning and
Teaching; Teacher Preparation: Second Language.
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680 Communicative Principle and Communication
Communicative Principle and Communication
I Kecskés, State University of New York, Albany
NY, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Inferential Nature of Communication
The main characteristic of human communicative
behavior is that its major part takes place between
the explicitly expressed words. Most of the time,
there is a significant difference between what we say
and what we mean. In spite of this, we usually have
no difficulty figuring out what the speaker tries to
communicate implicitly. Why is this so? According
to Grice, the decisive feature of pragmatic interpre-
tation is its inferential nature (Grice, 1961). He
argued that most aspects of utterance interpreta-
tion that traditionally are regarded as conventional,
or semantic, should be treated as conversational, or
pragmatic. This means that the hearer constructs and
evaluates a hypothesis about the speaker’s meaning.
In this process she/he relies on the meaning of utter-
ances, contextual and background assumptions, and
general communicative principles that speakers are
supposed to observe in normal circumstances. In the
center of the Gricean approach are the so-called
implicatures which are aspects of the speaker’s mean-
ing inferred on the basis of contextual assumptions of
communication and principles.
Out of the three main elements of inferential
intention-recognition: meaning of utterances, contex-
tual and background assumptions, and principles of
communication, the latter has generated most debate.
Pragmaticians have been engaged in searching for
communicative principles that govern communica-
tion. A principle is the formalized expression of the
behavior of a system. It is not a statistical generali-
zation but a causal, mechanical explanation, a
general law. Models of communication, especially
cognitive ones, have made serious efforts to identi-
fy the principles that govern different aspects of
use and understanding of language.
Cooperative Principle
Grice regarded cooperation as the ruling element
of verbal communicative interaction. He argued
that utterances automatically create expectations that
guide the hearer toward the speaker’s meaning. He
considered communication to be both rational and
cooperative, and claimed that the inferential inten-
tion-recognition is governed by a cooperative princi-
ple and maxims of quality, quantity, relation, and
manner (truthfulness, informativeness, relevance
and clarity), which speakers are expected to observe
(Grice, 1961, 1989: 368–372). The interpretation
that a hearer should choose is the one that best satis-
fies his/her expectations. Inferential communication
can be considered successful when the communica-
tor provides evidence of her/his intention to convey a
certain thought, and the audience infers this intention
from the evidence provided by the communicator.
Grice’s inferential approach to communication
has been so fundamental that all subsequent prag-
matic theories have been influenced by it. Researchers
have accepted and relied on the inferential nature
of communication, but some have questioned the
cooperative principle and maxims as the governing
communicative principle of communication. Several
critics of the Gricean view (e.g., Keenan, 1979;
Traunmüller, 1991) expressed their skepticism about
the universality of maxims, arguing that different
cultures have different principles or maxims. Accord-
ing to Gumperz (1978), culturally colored interac-
tional styles create culturally determined expectations
and interpretive strategies and can lead to break-
downs in intercultural and interethnic communica-
tion. Others, such as Sperber and Wilson (1995),
argued that cooperation is not essential to communi-
cation and suggested a reduction of Grice’s maxims
to a single principle of relevance. According to this
view, a rational speaker will choose an utterance that
will provide the hearer with a maximum number of
contextual implications in a minimum processing
effort. In recent years, two approaches have emerged
as most influential in the debate about the com-
municative principle: the neo-Gricean view and the
theory of relevance.
Neo-Gricean View
Neo-Gricean pragmatists such as Horn (1984) and
Levinson (2000) retained the view that cooperation is
essential to communication. Whether generalized or
particularized, they argue, conversational implicature
derives from the shared presumption that speaker and
hearer are interacting rationally and cooperatively to
reach a common goal. Although they kept the coop-
erative principle as a decisive factor of communica-
tion, they revised the maxims to account for a range
of generalized implicatures, which Grice described
as carried in all normal contexts and contrasted
with more context-dependent particularized impli-
catures. In his book, Levinson addressed the problem
of ‘‘generalized conversational implicatures (GCI)’’ as
opposed to ‘‘particularized conversational impli-
catures (PCI).’’ He claimed that only the former

are truly linguistic in that only they do not rely on
‘‘specific contextual assumptions’’ (Levinson, 2000:
16). He emphasized that ‘‘ . . . a theory of GCIs has to
be supplemented with a theory of PCIs that will have at
least as much, and possibly considerably more, impor-
tance to a general theory of communication. It is just to a
linguistic theory that GCIs have an unparalleled import’’
(Levinson, 2000: 22). Levinson listed three principles
that guide generalized conversational implicatures:
Q-Principle:
Speaker: Choose the maximally informative expression
alternative (that still is true).
Addressee: Assume that speaker has chosen the maximal-
ly informative expression alternative (that still is true).
I-Principle:
Speaker: Produce only as much linguistic information as
necessary to satisfy the communicative purpose.
Addressee: Enrich the given linguistic information,
identify the most specific information relative to the
communicative purpose.
M-Principle (Modality/Manner/Markedness)
Speaker: Communicate non-normal, non-stereotypical
situations by expressions that contrast with those that
you would choose for normal, stereotypical situations.
Addressee: If something is communicated by expressions
that contrast with those that would be used for normal,
stereotypical meanings, then assume that the speaker
wants to communicate a non-normal, non-stereotypical
meaning.
Relevance Theory
Supporters of Relevance Theory share Grice’s intui-
tion that utterances raise expectations of relevance.
However, they question several other aspects of his
approach, including the need for a cooperative prin-
ciple and maxims, the focus on pragmatic processes
that contribute to implicatures rather than to explicit,
truth-conditional content, the role of deliberate
maxim violation in utterance interpretation, and the
treatment of figurative utterances as deviations from
a maxim or convention of truthfulness (Sperber and
Wilson, 1995, 2004). Building on the central insights
of Grice’s contribution but advancing beyond him in
significant ways, Sperber and Wilson (1995) argued
that cooperation is not crucial for ostensive commu-
nication. However, it is fundamental for all speakers
to form their contributions so that the audience will
not only attend to them but will be able to infer the
intended meaning without unjustifiable processing
effort. This approach is grounded in a general view
of human cognition according to which human cog-
nitive processes are geared to achieving the greatest
possible cognitive effect for the smallest possible pro-
cessing effort. In order for individuals to achieve this,
they must focus their attention on what seems to be
Communicative Principle and Communication 681
the most relevant information available to them.
A feature of Sperber and Wilson’s theory that is sig-
nificantly different from Grice’s is the idea that the
processing of an utterance involves the construction
of a context in which the effects of the utterance are
evaluated. The context is not given, but is enriched in
such a way that the processing of the utterance is
facilitated. (See Relevance Theory).
Sperber and Wilson believe that to communicate
verbally is to claim an individual’s attention: hence,
to communicate is to imply that the information com-
municated is relevant. This fundamental idea, accord-
ing to which communicated information comes with a
guarantee of relevance, is the communicative principle
of relevance. They argued that the principle of rele-
vance is essential to explaining human communication
because human cognition tends to be geared to the
maximization of relevance (cognitive principle of rele-
vance). According to relevance theory, utterances raise
expectations of relevance not because speakers are
expected to obey a cooperative principle and maxims
or some other specifically communicative conven-
tion, but because the search for relevance is a basic
feature of human cognition which communicators
may utilize (Sperber and Wilson, 2004).
In their book, Sperber and Wilson (1995) demon-
strated how these principles are enough on their own
to account for the interaction of linguistic meaning
and contextual factors in utterance interpretation.
Their claim is that the expectations of relevance
raised by an utterance are precise enough, and pre-
dictable enough, to guide the hearer toward the
speaker’s meaning. The aim is to explain in cognitive-
ly realistic terms what these expectations of relevance
amount to and how they might contribute to an
empirically plausible account of comprehension.
Criticism of the Principle of Relevance
Levinson (2000) criticized Relevance Theory (RT),
while making the case that generalized conversational
implicatures comprise a distinct domain within prag-
matics. He relies on the Gricean distinction between
generalized and particularized conversational im-
plicature and claims that an approach such as RT
(Sperber and Wilson, 1995), which does not give
any theoretical weight to the distinction and uses the
same communicative principle and comprehension
procedure in the derivation of all conversational
implicatures, cannot really give an adequate account
of the nature of these generalized inferences. Accord-
ing to Levinson, RT does not allow for an intermedi-
ate level of generalized conversational implicatures in
between ‘literal meaning’ (semantics) and once-off
(‘nonce’) inferences.
682 Communicative Principle and Communication
Some researchers have described the relevance-
theoretic approach to communication as psychologi-
cal rather than sociological. Mey said that ‘‘relevance
theory . . . does not include, let alone focus on, the
social dimensions of language’’ (2001: 89). Talbot
(1994: 3525–3526) called relevance theory ‘‘an aso-
cial model,’’ pointing out that, within the RT frame-
work, there is no way of discussing any divergence of
assumptions according to class, gender, or ethnicity.
In her response to this criticism, Sperber and Wilson
(1997) argued that sociological aspects are not left
out of RT because the theory considers human com-
munication inferential, and it presupposes and
exploits an awareness of self and others. Inferential
communication is fundamentally social, not just be-
cause it is a form of interaction but also because it
exploits and enlarges the scope of basic forms of
social cognition.
Verbal communication usually conveys much more
than is linguistically encoded. Pragmatic theories
such as RT take an interest mainly in the enrichment
of linguistic meaning, derivation of standard implica-
tures, and principles governing the process of com-
munication. Sociolinguists are more interested in the
ostensive or non-ostensive uses of the act of commu-
nication itself to convey claims and attitudes about
the social relationship between the interlocutors.
Sperber and Wilson accepted that RT largely ignored
these issues. They emphasized, however, that this
did not mean to deny their importance. They merely
felt that, at that stage of the theory development,
they could best contribute to the study of human
communication by taking it at its most elementary
level and abstracting away from these more complex
aspects.
Another issue is that communication can hardly
be restricted to what people intend to communicate.
People usually communicate more than they intend
and, according to Mey and Talbot, Sperber and
Wilson’s model rests on the exclusion of precisely
this (Mey and Talbot, 1988: 746). In their rebuttal,
Sperber and Wilson (1997) pointed out that the issue
is not whether non-ostensive forms of information-
transmission exist but whether they should be treated
as communication. In RT, it is argued that uninten-
tionally transmitted information is subject merely to
general cognitive, rather than specifically communi-
cative, constraints. Consequently, it falls under the
first, or cognitive principle of relevance rather than
the second, or communicative principle.
Communicative Principle
Mey (1993: 2001) introduced an inclusive term
‘Communicative Principle’ that basically comprises
both the Cooperative Principle and the Principle of
Relevance. He argued as follows:
People talk with the intention to communicate some-
thing to somebody; this is the foundation of all linguistic
behavior. I call this the Communicative Principle; even
though this principle is not mentioned in the pragmatics
literature (at least not under this name – a variant, the
‘Principle of Relevance’, will be discussed later in this
chapter), it is nevertheless the hidden condition for all
human pragmatic activity, and the silently agreed-on
premise of our investigation into such activity. (Mey,
2001: 68–69).
According to the Communicative Principle inten-
tion, cooperation and relevance are all responsible
for communication action in a concrete context.
Conclusion
In recent years pragmatics has been thriving both in
the social and inferential paradigms.
However, only an integrated model that unifies
the linguistic, cognitive, and social aspects of commu-
nication has considerable hope to be able to account
for what is universal and what is culture-specific in
human verbal interaction.
See also: Context and Common Ground; Context, Commu-
nicative; Cooperative Principle; Inference: Abduction,
Induction, Deduction; Intercultural Pragmatics and
Communication; Nonstandard Language Use; Rele-
vance Theory.
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Communities of Practice
P Eckert, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The notion ‘community of practice’ was developed
by Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger (Lave and Wenger,
1991; Wenger, 2000) as the basis of a social theory of
learning. A community of practice is a collection
of people who engage on an ongoing basis in some
common endeavor: a bowling team, a book club, a
friendship group, a crack house, a nuclear family,
a church congregation. The construct was brought
into sociolinguistics (Eckert and McConnell-Ginet,
1992a, 1992b) as a way of theorizing language and
gender – most particularly, of responsibly connecting
broad categories to on-the-ground social and linguistic
practice.
The value of the notion to sociolinguistics and lin-
guistic anthropology lies in the fact that it identifies a
social grouping not in virtue of shared abstract char-
acteristics (e.g., class, gender) or simple copresence
(e.g., neighborhood, workplace), but in virtue of shared
practice. In the course of regular joint activity, a com-
munity of practice develops ways of doing things,
views, values, power relations, ways of talking. And
the participants engage with these practices in virtue of
their place in the community of practice, and of the
place of the community of practice in the larger social
order. The community of practice is thus a rich locus for
the study of situated language use, of language change,
and of the very process of conventionalization that
underlies both.
Two conditions of a community of practice are
crucial in the conventionalization of meaning: shared
experience over time and a commitment to shared
understanding. A community of practice engages peo-
ple in mutual sense making – about the enterprise they
are engaged in, about their respective forms of partici-
pation in the enterprise, about their orientation to other
communities of practice and to the world around them
more generally. Whether this mutual sense making is
Communities of Practice 683
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Oxford: Blackwell.
consensual or conflictual, it is based in a commitment
to mutual engagement, and to mutual understanding of
that engagement. Participants in a community of prac-
tice collaborate in placing themselves as a group with
respect to the world around them. This includes the
common interpretation of other communities, and of
their own practice with respect to those communities,
and ultimately the development of a style – including a
linguistic style – that embodies these interpretations.
Time, meanwhile, allows for greater consistency in this
endeavor – for more occasions for the repetition of
circumstances, situations, and events. It provides
opportunities for joint sense making, and it deepens
participants’ shared knowledge and sense of pre-
dictability. This not only allows meaning to be exer-
cised, but it provides the conditions for setting down
convention (Lewis, 1969).
The community of practice offers a different
perspective from the traditional focus on the speech
community as an explanatory context for linguistic
heterogeneity. The speech community perspective
views heterogeneity as based in a geographically
defined population, and structured by broad and
fundamental social categories, particularly class,
gender, age, race, and ethnicity. The early survey
studies in this tradition (Labov, 1966; Wolfram,
1969; Trudgill, 1974; Macaulay, 1977) provided the
backbone of variation studies, mapping broad distri-
butions across large urban communities. What these
studies could not provide is the link between broad,
abstract patterns and the meanings that speakers are
constructing in the concrete situated speech that
underlies them. The search for local explanations of
linguistic variability has spurred a range of ethno-
graphic studies over the years (Labov, 1963; Gal,
1979; Eckert, 2000), and in recent decades the ethno-
graphic trend has intensified. A major challenge in
such studies is to find local settings in which speakers
engage the most intensely in making sense of their
place in the wider social world, and in which they
articulate their linguistic behavior with this sense.

Mey J & Talbot M (1988). ‘Computation and the soul.’
Journal of Pragmatics 12, 743–789.
Sperber D & Wilson D (1995). Relevance: communication
and cognition. Oxford: Blackwell. [1986].
Sperber D & Wilson D (1997). ‘Remarks on relevance
theory and social sciences.’ Multilingua 16, 145–151.
Sperber D & Wilson D (2004). ‘Relevance theory.’ In Ward
G & Horn L (eds.) Handbook of pragmatics. Oxford:
Blackwell. 607–632.
Communities of Practice
P Eckert, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The notion ‘community of practice’ was developed
by Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger (Lave and Wenger,
1991; Wenger, 2000) as the basis of a social theory of
learning. A community of practice is a collection
of people who engage on an ongoing basis in some
common endeavor: a bowling team, a book club, a
friendship group, a crack house, a nuclear family,
a church congregation. The construct was brought
into sociolinguistics (Eckert and McConnell-Ginet,
1992a, 1992b) as a way of theorizing language and
gender – most particularly, of responsibly connecting
broad categories to on-the-ground social and linguistic
practice.
The value of the notion to sociolinguistics and lin-
guistic anthropology lies in the fact that it identifies a
social grouping not in virtue of shared abstract char-
acteristics (e.g., class, gender) or simple copresence
(e.g., neighborhood, workplace), but in virtue of shared
practice. In the course of regular joint activity, a com-
munity of practice develops ways of doing things,
views, values, power relations, ways of talking. And
the participants engage with these practices in virtue of
their place in the community of practice, and of the
place of the community of practice in the larger social
order. The community of practice is thus a rich locus for
the study of situated language use, of language change,
and of the very process of conventionalization that
underlies both.
Two conditions of a community of practice are
crucial in the conventionalization of meaning: shared
experience over time and a commitment to shared
understanding. A community of practice engages peo-
ple in mutual sense making – about the enterprise they
are engaged in, about their respective forms of partici-
pation in the enterprise, about their orientation to other
communities of practice and to the world around them
more generally. Whether this mutual sense making is
Communities of Practice 683
Talbot M (1994). ‘Relevance.’ In Asher R (ed.) The ency-
clopedia of language and linguistics 8. Oxford: Elsevier.
3524–3527.
Traunmüller H (1991). ‘Conversational maxims and prin-
ciples of language planning.’ PERILUS XII, 25–47.
Ward G & Horn L (eds.) (2004). Handbook of pragmatics.
Oxford: Blackwell.
consensual or conflictual, it is based in a commitment
to mutual engagement, and to mutual understanding of
that engagement. Participants in a community of prac-
tice collaborate in placing themselves as a group with
respect to the world around them. This includes the
common interpretation of other communities, and of
their own practice with respect to those communities,
and ultimately the development of a style – including a
linguistic style – that embodies these interpretations.
Time, meanwhile, allows for greater consistency in this
endeavor – for more occasions for the repetition of
circumstances, situations, and events. It provides
opportunities for joint sense making, and it deepens
participants’ shared knowledge and sense of pre-
dictability. This not only allows meaning to be exer-
cised, but it provides the conditions for setting down
convention (Lewis, 1969).
The community of practice offers a different
perspective from the traditional focus on the speech
community as an explanatory context for linguistic
heterogeneity. The speech community perspective
views heterogeneity as based in a geographically
defined population, and structured by broad and
fundamental social categories, particularly class,
gender, age, race, and ethnicity. The early survey
studies in this tradition (Labov, 1966; Wolfram,
1969; Trudgill, 1974; Macaulay, 1977) provided the
backbone of variation studies, mapping broad distri-
butions across large urban communities. What these
studies could not provide is the link between broad,
abstract patterns and the meanings that speakers are
constructing in the concrete situated speech that
underlies them. The search for local explanations of
linguistic variability has spurred a range of ethno-
graphic studies over the years (Labov, 1963; Gal,
1979; Eckert, 2000), and in recent decades the ethno-
graphic trend has intensified. A major challenge in
such studies is to find local settings in which speakers
engage the most intensely in making sense of their
place in the wider social world, and in which they
articulate their linguistic behavior with this sense.
684 Communities of Practice
The construct ‘community of practice’ is a way of
locating language use ethnographically so as to create
an accountable link between local practice and mem-
bership in extralocal and broad categories. What
makes a community of practice different from
just any group of speakers (e.g., a bunch of kids
found hanging out on the street, or a group of under-
graduates assembled for an experiment) is not
the selection of the speakers so much as the nature
of the accountability for this selection. While every
community of practice offers a window on the world,
the value of this approach relies on the analyst’s abili-
ty to seek out communities of practice that are partic-
ularly salient to the sociolinguistic question being
addressed. It is this selection that makes the differ-
ence between particularism and a close-up study with
far-reaching significance.
Explanation for broad patterns is to be found in
speakers’ experience, understanding, and linguistic
development as they engage in life as members of
important overarching categories. A white working-
class Italian-American woman does not develop her
ways of speaking directly from the larger categories
‘working class,’ ‘Italian-American’ and ‘female,’ but
from her day-to-day experience as a person who com-
bines those three (and other) memberships. Her experi-
ence will be articulated by her participation in activities
and communities of practice that are particular to her
place in the social order. It is in these communities of
practice that she will develop an identity and the
linguistic practices to articulate this identity. Thus
communities of practice are fundamental loci for the
experience of membership in broader social categories
– one might say that it is the grounded locus of the
habitus (Bourdieu, 1977).
Survey studies show us that working-class speakers
lead in the adoption of local phonological change.
While one can speculate about the motivations for
this early adoption on the basis of general knowledge
about class, the actual dynamics of social meaning
can only be found through direct examination of
working-class linguistic practice. Ethnographic work
in suburban Detroit high schools (Eckert, 2000)
sought to understand the salience of class in adoles-
cents’ day-to-day practice. The study uncovered an
opposition between two large communities of
practice, the jocks and the burnouts, that constitute
class cultures in the context of the high school.
The working-class culture of the burnouts and the
middle-class culture of the jocks are specifically ado-
lescent, and class consciousness and conflict takes the
form of a highlighted social opposition in school and
the maximization of resources in constructing this
opposition. Linguistic variables, a prime resource,
correlated significantly with participation in these
communities of practice, rather than with parents’
social class. The jocks’ and burnouts’ contrasting
orientation to such things as school, the urban area,
relationships, and the future provided direct explana-
tions for the burnouts’ lead in the adoption of new
local changes.
Another important aspect of the communities of
practice approach is its focus on the fluidity of social
space and the diversity of experience. The speech
community perspective’s focus on demographic cate-
gories implies a center and a periphery (Rampton,
1999). The focus on average behavior for categories
suggests a ‘typical’ speaker, erasing the important
activity of speakers at the borders of categories. This
also produces a static view of the relation between the
linguistic and the social, since change tends to come
from the borders (Pratt, 1988). Studies of commu-
nities of practice, therefore, can capture the interac-
tion between social and linguistic change. Qing
Zhang, for example (Zhang, 2001), has captured
the role of stylistic practice among the new Beijing
‘yuppies’ in the development of new dialect features,
and Andrew Wong (Wong, 2005) has traced semantic
change in the differential use of the term tongzhi
‘comrade’ between the activist and nonactivist
gay communities. Mary Bucholtz’s study (Bucholtz,
1996) of a group of girls who were fashioning
themselves as geeks – a persona normally reserved
for males – provided direct observation of girls push-
ing the envelope of gender in their daily linguistic
practice.
A community of practice that is central to many of
its participants’ identity construction is an important
locus for the setting down of joint history, allowing
for the complex construction of linguistic styles. Such
history also sets the stage for change. Emma Moore’s
study of teenage girls in northern England (Moore,
2003) traced the gradual split of a group of somewhat
rebellious ‘populars’ as some of them emerged as the
tougher ‘townies’ in their ninth year. In the process,
the vernacular speech patterns of the townies intensi-
fied in opposition to those of their more conservative
friends.
The enterprise of sociolinguistics (and linguistic
anthropology) is to relate ways of speaking to ways
of participating in the social world. This is not simply
a question of discovering how linguistic form corre-
lates with social structure or activity, but of how
social meaning comes to be embedded in language.
Meaning is made in the course of local social practice
(McConnell-Ginet, 1989) and conventionalized on
the basis of shared experience and understanding
(Lewis, 1969). The importance of the community of
practice lies in the recognition that identity is not
fixed, that convention does not pre-exist use, and

that language use is a continual process of learning.
The community of practice is a prime locus of this
process of identity and linguistic construction.
Communities of practice emerge in response to
common interest or position, and play an important
role in forming their members’ participation in, and
orientation to, the world around them. It should
be clear that the speech community and the commu-
nity of practice approaches are both necessary and
complementary, and that the value of each depends
on having the right abstract categories and finding
the communities of practice in which those categories
are most salient. In other words, the best analytic
process would involve feedback between the two
approaches.
See also: Gender; Identity and Language; Interactional
Sociolinguistics; Sociolinguistic Crossing.
Bibliography
Bourdieu P (1977). Outline of a theory of practice.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bucholtz M (1996). ‘Geek the girl: language, femininity and
female nerds.’ In Warner N, Ahlers J, Bilmes L, Oliver M,
Wertheim S & Chen M (eds.) Gender and belief systems:
proceedings of the Fourth Berkeley Women and
Language Conference. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Women
and Language Group. 119–132.
Eckert P (2000). Linguistic variation as social practice.
Oxford, Blackwell.
Eckert P & McConnell-Ginet S (1992a). ‘Communities of
practice: where language, gender and power all live.’ In
Hall K, Bucholtz M & Moonwomon B (eds.) Locating
power: Proceedings of the Second Berkeley Women and
Language Conference. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Women
and Language Group. 89–99.
Eckert P & McConnell-Ginet S (1992b). ‘Think practically
and look locally: language and gender as community-
based practice.’ Annual Review of Anthropology 21,
461–490.
Comoros: Language Situation
W Full, University of Mainz, Mainz, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Comoros consist of four main islands situated
halfway between the East African coast and the
northern tip of Madagascar. Linguistic and archaeo-
logical evidence show that the ancestors of today’s
Comorians arrived here from East Africa, probably in
Comoros: Language Situation 685
Gal S (1979). Language shift: social determinants of
linguistic change in bilingual Austria. New York:
Academic Press.
Labov W (1963). ‘The social motivation of a sound
change.’ Word 18, 1–42.
Labov W (1966). The social stratification of English in
New York City. Washington, DC: Center for Applied
Linguistics.
Lave J & Wenger E (1991). Situated learning: legiti-
mate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Lewis D (1969). Convention. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Macaulay R K S (1977). Language, social class and educa-
tion: a Glasgow study. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press.
McConnell-Ginet S (1989). ‘The sexual (re)production of
meaning: a discourse-based theory.’ In Frank F W &
Treichler P A (eds.) Language, gender and professional
writing: theoretical approaches and guidelines for
nonsexist usage. New York: MLA. 35–50.
Moore E (2003). Learning style and identity: a sociolinguistic
analysis of a Bolton high school. Ph.D. thesis, University of
Manchester.
Pratt M L (1988). ‘Linguistic utopias.’ In Fabb N, Attridge
D, Durant A & MacCabe C (eds.) The linguistics of
writing: arguments between language and literature.
New York: Methuen. 48–66.
Rampton B (1999). Speech community. London: Centre
for Applied Linguistic Research, Thames Valley
University.
Trudgill P (1974). The social differentiation of English in
Norwich. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wenger E (2000). Communities of practice. New York:
Cambridge University Press.
Wolfram W (1969). A sociolinguistic description of Detroit
negro speech. Washington, DC: Center for Applied
Linguistics.
Wong A (2005). ‘The re-appropriation of tongzhi.’
Language in Society 34(5).
Zhang Q (2001). Changing economics, changing markets: a
sociolinguistic study of Chinese yuppies. Ph.D. thesis,
Stanford University.
the 8th or 9th century (Nurse and Hinnebusch,
1993). Over the next 1000 years the Comoros were
part of a great trading network in the Indian Ocean
dominated by Arab merchants. In the 19th century
France gradually increased its influence on the islands
and finally declared them a French colony in 1912.
Political demand for independence arose later than
in most African countries, but in 1975 the three islands
of Grande Comore (Ngazija/Shingazija), Anjouan

that language use is a continual process of learning.
The community of practice is a prime locus of this
process of identity and linguistic construction.
Communities of practice emerge in response to
common interest or position, and play an important
role in forming their members’ participation in, and
orientation to, the world around them. It should
be clear that the speech community and the commu-
nity of practice approaches are both necessary and
complementary, and that the value of each depends
on having the right abstract categories and finding
the communities of practice in which those categories
are most salient. In other words, the best analytic
process would involve feedback between the two
approaches.
See also: Gender; Identity and Language; Interactional
Sociolinguistics; Sociolinguistic Crossing.
Bibliography
Bourdieu P (1977). Outline of a theory of practice.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bucholtz M (1996). ‘Geek the girl: language, femininity and
female nerds.’ In Warner N, Ahlers J, Bilmes L, Oliver M,
Wertheim S & Chen M (eds.) Gender and belief systems:
proceedings of the Fourth Berkeley Women and
Language Conference. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Women
and Language Group. 119–132.
Eckert P (2000). Linguistic variation as social practice.
Oxford, Blackwell.
Eckert P & McConnell-Ginet S (1992a). ‘Communities of
practice: where language, gender and power all live.’ In
Hall K, Bucholtz M & Moonwomon B (eds.) Locating
power: Proceedings of the Second Berkeley Women and
Language Conference. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Women
and Language Group. 89–99.
Eckert P & McConnell-Ginet S (1992b). ‘Think practically
and look locally: language and gender as community-
based practice.’ Annual Review of Anthropology 21,
461–490.
Comoros: Language Situation
W Full, University of Mainz, Mainz, Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
The Comoros consist of four main islands situated
halfway between the East African coast and the
northern tip of Madagascar. Linguistic and archaeo-
logical evidence show that the ancestors of today’s
Comorians arrived here from East Africa, probably in
Comoros: Language Situation 685
Gal S (1979). Language shift: social determinants of
linguistic change in bilingual Austria. New York:
Academic Press.
Labov W (1963). ‘The social motivation of a sound
change.’ Word 18, 1–42.
Labov W (1966). The social stratification of English in
New York City. Washington, DC: Center for Applied
Linguistics.
Lave J & Wenger E (1991). Situated learning: legiti-
mate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Lewis D (1969). Convention. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Macaulay R K S (1977). Language, social class and educa-
tion: a Glasgow study. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press.
McConnell-Ginet S (1989). ‘The sexual (re)production of
meaning: a discourse-based theory.’ In Frank F W &
Treichler P A (eds.) Language, gender and professional
writing: theoretical approaches and guidelines for
nonsexist usage. New York: MLA. 35–50.
Moore E (2003). Learning style and identity: a sociolinguistic
analysis of a Bolton high school. Ph.D. thesis, University of
Manchester.
Pratt M L (1988). ‘Linguistic utopias.’ In Fabb N, Attridge
D, Durant A & MacCabe C (eds.) The linguistics of
writing: arguments between language and literature.
New York: Methuen. 48–66.
Rampton B (1999). Speech community. London: Centre
for Applied Linguistic Research, Thames Valley
University.
Trudgill P (1974). The social differentiation of English in
Norwich. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wenger E (2000). Communities of practice. New York:
Cambridge University Press.
Wolfram W (1969). A sociolinguistic description of Detroit
negro speech. Washington, DC: Center for Applied
Linguistics.
Wong A (2005). ‘The re-appropriation of tongzhi.’
Language in Society 34(5).
Zhang Q (2001). Changing economics, changing markets: a
sociolinguistic study of Chinese yuppies. Ph.D. thesis,
Stanford University.
the 8th or 9th century (Nurse and Hinnebusch,
1993). Over the next 1000 years the Comoros were
part of a great trading network in the Indian Ocean
dominated by Arab merchants. In the 19th century
France gradually increased its influence on the islands
and finally declared them a French colony in 1912.
Political demand for independence arose later than
in most African countries, but in 1975 the three islands
of Grande Comore (Ngazija/Shingazija), Anjouan
686 Comoros: Language Situation
(Ndzwani/Shindzwani), and Moheli (Mwali) became
independent, while the majority on the fourth island,
Mayotte (Maore), voted to remain a French overseas
territory (see Mayotte: Language Situation). Despite
many declarations by the United Nations and the Or-
ganization of African Unity condemning France’s be-
havior as neocolonial, the political division of the
archipelago continues today. Since 1975 the political
situation of the independent islands was mostly unsta-
ble, with many coup d’etats, often assisted by foreign
mercenaries. In 1997 Anjouan and Moheli declared
their secession from the dominant island of Grande
Comore, and only in 2001 under the mediation of the
Organization of African Unity did all three islands
agree to a new very federal constitution that guaran-
teed autonomy in many political fields for each island.
On the three islands of the Union of Comoros, the
first language of nearly everybody is a form of
Comorian, a Bantu language that in the past was
often regarded as a mere dialect of Swahili. Today it
is generally accepted that Comorian is an indepen-
dent language, classified within the genetic subgroup
of Sabaki languages together with Swahili and four
other languages from the East African mainland
(Nurse and Hinnebusch, 1993). It is estimated that
there are more than 700 000 speakers of Comorian
on the Comoro islands (including Mayotte), apart
from large groups of Comorian emigrants in neigh-
boring countries and in France.
The language is subdivided into three dialects,
following the geographical and political separation
within the Union of Comoros: Ngazija/Shingazija
(on Grande Comore), Ndzwani/Shindzwani (on
Anjouan), and Shimwali (on Moheli). The biggest
differences occur between Shingazidja and Shindz-
Comparative Constructions
L Stassen, Radboud University, Nijmegen,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definition of the Domain
In semantic or cognitive terms, comparison can be
defined as a mental act by which two objects are
assigned a position on a predicative scale. Should
this position be the same for both objects, then we
have a case of the comparison of equality. If the
positions on the scale are different, then we speak
of the comparison of inequality. In both cases,
wani, while Shimwali stands in the middle of the
linguistic continuum.
Although Comorian is the everyday language of the
whole population, it was only in the constitution of
2001 that it gained the status of an official language
alongside French and Arabic. French can only be
attained by formal education, but most Comorians
visit school only for few years, which is not enough to
acquire a profound knowledge of the language. The
main function of French is that of an administrative
language. Arabic is only used in religious contexts
(more than 95% of the Comorians are Muslims),
but real knowledge is restricted to specialists, most
of whom have studied abroad.
See also: Bantu Languages; Mayotte: Language Situation;
Swahili.
Bibliography
Ahmed-Chamanga M (1992). Lexique Comorien (Shin-
zuani)-Français. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Ahmed-Chamanga M (1997). Dictionnaire Français-
Comorien. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Full, W. (forthcoming). Dialektologie des Komorischen.
Heepe M (1920). Die Komorendialekte Ngazidja, Nzwani
und Mwali. Hamburg: L. Friederichsen.
Lafon M (1991). Lexique Français-Comorien (Shinga-
zidja). Paris: L’Harmattan.
Nurse D & Hinnebusch T (1993). Swahili and Sabaki: a
linguistic history. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of
California Press.
Ottenheimer M & Ottenheimer H (1994). Historical dic-
tionary of the Comoro Islands. Metuchen & London:
Scarecrow.
however, the notion essentially involves three things:
a predicative scale, which, in language, is usually
encoded as a gradable predicate, and two objects.
Although these objects can, in principle, be complex,
the practice of typological linguistic research has been
to restrict them to primary objects, which are typical-
ly encoded in the form of noun phrases. Thus, a
comparative construction typically contains a predi-
cate and two noun phrases, one of which is the object
of comparison (the comparee NP), while the other
functions as the ‘yard stick’ of the comparison (the
standard NP). In short, prototypical instances of com-
parative constructions in the languages of the world
686 Comoros: Language Situation
(Ndzwani/Shindzwani), and Moheli (Mwali) became
independent, while the majority on the fourth island,
Mayotte (Maore), voted to remain a French overseas
territory (see Mayotte: Language Situation). Despite
many declarations by the United Nations and the Or-
ganization of African Unity condemning France’s be-
havior as neocolonial, the political division of the
archipelago continues today. Since 1975 the political
situation of the independent islands was mostly unsta-
ble, with many coup d’etats, often assisted by foreign
mercenaries. In 1997 Anjouan and Moheli declared
their secession from the dominant island of Grande
Comore, and only in 2001 under the mediation of the
Organization of African Unity did all three islands
agree to a new very federal constitution that guaran-
teed autonomy in many political fields for each island.
On the three islands of the Union of Comoros, the
first language of nearly everybody is a form of
Comorian, a Bantu language that in the past was
often regarded as a mere dialect of Swahili. Today it
is generally accepted that Comorian is an indepen-
dent language, classified within the genetic subgroup
of Sabaki languages together with Swahili and four
other languages from the East African mainland
(Nurse and Hinnebusch, 1993). It is estimated that
there are more than 700 000 speakers of Comorian
on the Comoro islands (including Mayotte), apart
from large groups of Comorian emigrants in neigh-
boring countries and in France.
The language is subdivided into three dialects,
following the geographical and political separation
within the Union of Comoros: Ngazija/Shingazija
(on Grande Comore), Ndzwani/Shindzwani (on
Anjouan), and Shimwali (on Moheli). The biggest
differences occur between Shingazidja and Shindz-
Comparative Constructions
L Stassen, Radboud University, Nijmegen,
The Netherlands
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definition of the Domain
In semantic or cognitive terms, comparison can be
defined as a mental act by which two objects are
assigned a position on a predicative scale. Should
this position be the same for both objects, then we
have a case of the comparison of equality. If the
positions on the scale are different, then we speak
of the comparison of inequality. In both cases,
wani, while Shimwali stands in the middle of the
linguistic continuum.
Although Comorian is the everyday language of the
whole population, it was only in the constitution of
2001 that it gained the status of an official language
alongside French and Arabic. French can only be
attained by formal education, but most Comorians
visit school only for few years, which is not enough to
acquire a profound knowledge of the language. The
main function of French is that of an administrative
language. Arabic is only used in religious contexts
(more than 95% of the Comorians are Muslims),
but real knowledge is restricted to specialists, most
of whom have studied abroad.
See also: Bantu Languages; Mayotte: Language Situation;
Swahili.
Bibliography
Ahmed-Chamanga M (1992). Lexique Comorien (Shin-
zuani)-Français. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Ahmed-Chamanga M (1997). Dictionnaire Français-
Comorien. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Full, W. (forthcoming). Dialektologie des Komorischen.
Heepe M (1920). Die Komorendialekte Ngazidja, Nzwani
und Mwali. Hamburg: L. Friederichsen.
Lafon M (1991). Lexique Français-Comorien (Shinga-
zidja). Paris: L’Harmattan.
Nurse D & Hinnebusch T (1993). Swahili and Sabaki: a
linguistic history. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of
California Press.
Ottenheimer M & Ottenheimer H (1994). Historical dic-
tionary of the Comoro Islands. Metuchen & London:
Scarecrow.
however, the notion essentially involves three things:
a predicative scale, which, in language, is usually
encoded as a gradable predicate, and two objects.
Although these objects can, in principle, be complex,
the practice of typological linguistic research has been
to restrict them to primary objects, which are typical-
ly encoded in the form of noun phrases. Thus, a
comparative construction typically contains a predi-
cate and two noun phrases, one of which is the object
of comparison (the comparee NP), while the other
functions as the ‘yard stick’ of the comparison (the
standard NP). In short, prototypical instances of com-
parative constructions in the languages of the world

are sentences that are equivalent to the English sen-
tences in (1), in which the noun phrase following the
items as and than is the standard NP:
(1) English (Indo-European, Germanic)
(1a) John is as tall as Lucy
(1b) John is taller than Lucy
The Comparison of Inequality:
Parameters
Modern literature on the typology of the comparison
of inequality has concentrated largely on the compari-
son of inequality. Relevant publications include
Ultan (1972), Andersen (1983), and Stassen (1984,
1985). The last of these authors presents a typology of
comparative constructions that is based on a sample
of 110 languages and that boils down to four major
types. A basic parameter in this typology is the encod-
ing of the standard NP. First, one can make a distinc-
tion between instances of fixed-case comparatives
and derived-case comparatives. In the former type,
the standard NP is always in the same case, regardless
of the case of the comparee NP. In the latter type, the
standard NP derives its case assignment from the case
of the comparee NP. Classical Latin is an example of
a language in which both types were allowed. The
sentences in (2) illustrate a construction type in which
the standard NP is dependent on the comparee NP for
its case marking. In contrast, sentence (3) shows a
construction type in which the standard NP is invari-
ably in the ablative case. As a result, sentence (3) is
ambiguous between the readings of (2a) and (2b).
(2) Latin (Indo-European, Italic)
(2a) Brutum ego non minus
B.-ACC 1SG.-NOM not less
amo quam Caesar
love.1SG.PRES than C.-NOM
‘I love Brutus no less than Caesar (loves
Brutus)’ (Kühner and Stegmann, 1955: 466)
(2b) Brutum ego non minus
B.-ACC 1SG.NOM not less
amo quam Caesarem
love.1SG.PRES than C.-ACC
‘I love Brutus no less than (I love) Caesar’
(Kühner and Stegmann, 1955: 466)
(3) Latin (Indo-European, Italic)
Brutum ego non minus
B.-ACC 1SG.NOM not less
amo Caesare
love.1SG.PRES C.-ABL
(Kühner and Stegmann, 1955: 466)
Both types of comparative constructions can be
subcategorized further, on the basis of additional
parameters. Within the fixed-case comparatives, a
Comparative Constructions 687
first distinction is that between direct-object com-
paratives and locational comparatives. Direct-object
comparatives (or, as Stassen [1985] calls them,
Exceed-Comparatives) have as their characteristic
that the standard NP is constructed as the direct
object of a transitive verb with the meaning ‘to ex-
ceed’ or ‘to surpass.’ Thus, the construction typical-
ly includes two predicates, one of which is the
comparative predicate, and another which is the ‘ex-
ceed’ verb. The comparee NP is the subject of the
‘exceed’ verb. Concentrations of the Exceed compara-
tive are found in Sub-Saharan Africa, in China and
Southeast Asia, and in Eastern Austronesia. Duala, a
Bantu language from Cameroon, presents an instance
of the Exceed comparative, as does Thai.
(4) Duala (Niger-Kordofanian,
Northwest Bantu)
nin ndabo e kolo buka nine
this house it big exceed that
‘This house is bigger than that’ (Ittmann,
1939: 187)
(5) Thai (Austro-Asiatic, Kam-Tai)
kǎw sǔuN kwaà kon túk kon
he tall exceed man each man
‘He is taller than anyone’
(Warotamasikkhadit, 1972: 71)
Locational comparatives, on the other hand, are char-
acterized by the fact that the standard NP is invari-
ably constructed in a case form that has a locational/
adverbial function. Depending on the exact nature
of this function, adverbial comparatives can be
divided into three further subtypes. Separative com-
paratives mark the standard NP as the source of a
movement, with a marker meaning ‘from,’ or ‘out
of.’ Allative comparatives construct the standard
NP as the goal of a movement (‘to, toward,’ ‘over,
beyond’) or as a benefactive (‘for’). Finally, locative
comparatives encode the standard NP as a location,
in which an object is at rest (‘in,’ ‘on,’ ‘at,’ ‘upon’).
Concentrations of (the various subtypes of) the Lo-
cational Comparative are found in Africa above
the Sahara, in Eurasia (including the Middle East
and India, but with the exception of the modern
languages of Continental Europe), Eskimo, some
Western North American languages, Mayan,
Quechuan, Carib, Polynesian, and some (but not
many) Australian and Papuan languages. Illustrations
of the various subtypes of locational comparatives
are:
(6) Mundari (Austro-Asiatic, Munda)
sadom-ete hati mananga-i
horse-from elephant big-3SG.PRES
‘The elephant is bigger than the horse’
(Hoffmann, 1903: 110)
688 Comparative Constructions

(7) Estonian (Uralic, Balto-Finnic) comparative predicate is expressed only once. In geo-
kevad on sügis-est ilusam graphical terms, the conjoined comparative seems to
spring is fall-from more.beautiful be concentrated in the Southern Pacific, including Aus-
‘The spring is more beautiful than the fall’ tralian, Papuan, and Eastern Austronesian languages,
(Oinas, 1966: 140) but it is also common in large parts of the Americas,
(8) Maasai (Nilo-Saharan, Nilotic) and there are also some cases in Eastern Africa.
sapuk olkondi to lkibulekeny
big hartebeest to waterbuck (11) Amele (Papuan, Madang)
‘The hartebeest is bigger than the jo i ben , jo eu nag
waterbuck’ (Tucker and Mpaayi, house this big , house that small
1955: 93) ‘This house is bigger than that house’
(Roberts, 1987: 135)
(9) Tamachek’ (Afro-Asiatic, Berber)
kemmou tehousid foull oult ma m (12) Menomini (Algonquian)
you pretty.2SG.FEM upon sister of you Tata’hkes-ew , nenah teh kan
‘You are prettier than your sister’ (Hanoteau, strong-3SG , I and not
1896: 52) ‘He is stronger than me’ (Bloomfield,
1962: 506)
(10) Tubu (Nilo-Saharan, Saharan)
sa-umma gere du mado (13) Malay (Austronesian, West Indonesian)
eye-his blood on red kayu, batu, běrat batu
‘His eye is redder than blood’ wood, stone, heavy stone
(Lukas, 1953: 45) ‘Stone is heavier than wood’ (Lewis, 1968: 157)

Turning now to the derived-case comparatives, in A second subtype of derived-case comparison is

which the case marking of the standard NP is derived defined negatively, in that the standard NP has
from – or ‘parasitic on’ – the case marking of the derived case, but the construction does not have
comparee NP, we note that, again, two subtypes the form of a coordination of clauses. Instead, the
can be distinguished. First, there is the conjoined construction features a specific comparative particle
comparative. Here, the comparative construction that accompanies the standard NP. With a few,
consists of two structurally independent clauses, one mostly West-Indonesian exceptions, this particle
of which contains the comparee NP, while the other comparative appears to be restricted to Europe. The
contains the standard NP. Furthermore, the two English than comparative is a case in point. Other
clauses show a structural parallelism, in that the examples are the comparative construction in French,
grammatical function of the comparee NP in one of with its comparative particle que, and the compara-
the clauses is duplicated by the grammatical function tive construction in Hungarian, which features the
of the standard NP in the other clause. If, for exam- particle mint ‘than, like.’
ple, the comparee functions as the grammatical sub-
ject in its clause, the standard NP will also have (14) French (Indo-European, Romance)
subject status in its clause. tu es plus jolie que ta soeur
Since the construction has two clauses, it follows you are more pretty than your sister
that the construction will also have two independent ‘You are prettier than your sister’ (B. Bichakjian,
personal commuication)
predicates. In other words, the comparative predicate
is expressed twice. There are two ways in which this (15) Hungarian (Uralic, Ugric)
double expression may be effectuated. The language Istvan magasa-bb mint Peter
may employ antonymous predicates in the two I.NOM tall-more than P.NOM
clauses (‘good-bad,’ ‘strong-weak’). Alternatively, ‘Istvan is taller than Peter’ (E. Moravcsik,
personal communication)
the two predicates may show a positive-negative po-
larity (‘good-not good’, ‘strong-not strong’). An ex- In summary, the typology of comparison of inequality
ample of the first variant is found in Amele; the developed in Stassen (1984, 1985) can be presented as
second variant has been attested for Menomini. Sen- follows:
tence (13) illustrates one of the comparative con-
structions in Malay. Here the standard NP and the (16) FIXED CASE direct object EXCEED
locational SEPARATIVE
comparee NP are conjoined as sentence topics,
ALLATIVE
and the following clause predicates the property of LOCATIVE
the comparee NP only; that is, in this (rather infre- DERIVED CASE conjoined CONJOINED
quent) variant of the Conjoined Comparative, the nonconjoined PARTICLE
 Comparative Constructions 689

Predicate Marking in Comparative c. If a language has a conjoined comparative, then

Constructions that language does not allow deranking of clauses
in temporal sequences at all.
Apart from, or in addition to, case assignment of
the standard NP, a further possible parameter in the The parallelism between these various options in tem-
typology of comparative constructions might be con- poral sequence encoding and corresponding compara-
sidered to be the presence or absence of comparative tive types is illustrated by examples from Naga,
marking on the predicate. In the vast majority of Dagbane, and Kayapo:
languages, such overt marking is absent; predicative (17) Naga (Sino-Tibetan, Tibeto-Burman)
adjectives in comparatives retain their unmarked, (17a) A de kepu ki themma
‘positive’ form. Some languages, however, mark a I words speak on man
predicative adjective in a comparative construction lu a vu-we
by means of a special affix, e.g., -er in English, that me strike-INDIC
German, and Dutch, -ior in Latin, -bb in Hungarian, ‘As I spoke these words, that man struck me’
-ago in Basque) or a special adverb (more in English, (Grierson (ed.), 1903: 417)
plus in French). Especially in the case of comparative (17b) Themma hau lu ki vi-we
affixes, the etymological origin is largely unknown. man this that on good-INDIC
As for the areal distribution of this predicate mark- ‘This man is better than that man’
ing in comparatives, it can be observed that it is an (Grierson (ed.), 1903: 415)
almost exclusively European phenomenon, and that (18) Dagbane (Niger-Kordofanian, Gur)
it is particularly frequent in languages that have a (18a) Nana san-la o-suli n-dum nira
particle comparative construction. For a tentative scorpion take-HAB his-tail PREF-sting people
explanation of this latter correlation, see Stassen ‘The scorpion stings people with its tail’ (Fisch,
(1985, Chap. 15). 1912: 32)
(18b) O-make dpeoo n-gare-ma
Explanation of the Typology of he-has strength PREF-exceed-me
Comparative Constructions ‘He is stronger than me’ (Fisch, 1912: 20)

Stassen (1985) advances the claim that the typology
of comparative constructions is derived from (and
hence predicted by) the typology of temporal se-
quencing. That is, the type(s) of comparative con-
struction that a language may employ is argued to
be limited by the options that the language has in the
encoding of (simultaneous or consecutive) sequences
of events. A first indication in favor of this hypothesis
is that at least one of the attested comparative types,
viz., the conjoined comparative, has the overt form of
a temporal sequence (in this case, a simultaneous
coordination). Moreover, for most of the other com-
parative types a correlation with a possible encoding
of some temporal sequence can be established as
well. Stassen (1985) produces detailed evidence for
the correctness of the following set of universals of
comparative type choice:
a. If a language has an adverbial comparative, then
that language allows deranking (i.e., nonfinite
subordination) of one of the clauses in a temporal
sequence, even when the two clauses in that se-
quence have different subjects.
b. If a language has an Exceed-Comparative, then
that language allows deranking of one of the
clauses in a temporal sequence only if the two
clauses have identical subjects.
(19) Kayapó (Ge)
(19a) Ga-ja nium-no
2SG-stand 3SG-lie down
‘You are standing, and/
while he is lying down’
(Maria, 1914: 238)
(19b) Gan ga-prik ba i-pri
2SG 2SG-big1SG 1SG ISG-small
‘You are bigger than me’ (Maria, 1914: 237)
Given that the universals listed above meet with very
few and ‘incidental’ counterexamples, Stassen (1985)
concludes that the typology of comparative con-
structions is modeled on the typology of temporal
sequencing, so that, in effect, comparative construc-
tions appear to be a special case of the encoding of
temporal sequences.
A residual problem for this modeling analysis of
comparative types is presented by the particle com-
paratives. Like conjoined comparatives, particle
comparatives form a case of derived-case compari-
son, but unlike conjoined comparatives their surface
structure form is not that of a coordination. Nonethe-
less, there are indications that even particle compara-
tives are coordinate in origin. In a number of cases,
the particle used in particle comparatives has a clear
source in a coordinating conjunction or adverb (e.g.,
karo ‘than/but’ in Javanese, dan ‘than/then’ in Dutch,
690 Comparative Constructions

baino ‘than/but’ in Basque, asa ‘than/then’ in Toba Bibliography

Batak, noria ‘than/after that’ in Goajiro, ngem ‘than/
Andersen P K (1983). Word order typology and compara-
but’ in Ilocano, na ‘than/nor’ in Scottish Gaelic, nor
tive constructions. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
‘than/nor’ in Scottish English, è ‘than/or’ in Classical
Bloomfield L (1962). The Menomini language. New Haven:
Greek). Furthermore, particle comparatives in at Yale University Press.
least some languages share a number of syntactic Fisch R (1912). Grammatik der Dagomba-Sprache. Berlin:
properties with coordinations. For example, the Reimer.
Dutch comparative allows Gapping, a rule which is Grierson G A (1903). Linguistic survey of India, vol. III:
commonly thought to be restricted to coordinate Tibeto-Burman family, part II: Specimens of the Bodo,
structures. Naga and Kachin groups. Calcutta: Government Printing
Office.
(20) Dutch (Indo-European, Germanic) Hanoteau A (1896). Essai de grammaire de la langue
(20a) Ik verzamel boeken en mijn tamachek’. Algiers: Jourdan.
I collect books and my Hoffmann J (1903). Mundari grammar. Calcutta: Bengal
broer verzamelt platen Secretariat Press.
brother collects records Ittman J (1939). Grammatik des Duala. Berlin: Reimer.
‘I collect books and my brother collects Kühner R & Stegmann C (1955). Ausführliche Grammatik der
records’ (own data) lateinischen Sprache: Satzlehre. Leverkusen: Gottschalk.
(20b) Ik verzamel boeken en mijn broer Ø platen Lewis M B (1968). Malay. London: St. Paul’s House.
(own data) Lukas J (1953). Die Sprache der Tubu in der zentralen
Sahara. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.
(21) Dutch (Indo-European, Germanic)
Maria P A (1914). ‘Essai de grammaire Kaiapó, langue des
(21a) Ik koop meer boeken dan
Indiens Kaiapó, Brésil.’ Anthropos 9, 233–240.
I buy more books than
Oinas F J (1966). Basic course in Estonian. Bloomington:
mijn broer platen koopt
Indiana University.
my brother records buys
Roberts John R (1987). Amele. London: Croom Helm.
‘I buy more books than my brother buys
Stassen L (1984). ‘The comparative compared.’ Journal of
records’ (own data)
Semantics 3, 143–182.
(21b) Ik koop meer boeken dan mijn broer
Stassen L (1985). Comparison and universal grammar. Ox-
platen Ø (own data)
ford: Blackwell.
Tucker A N & Tompo ole Mpaayi J (1955). A Maasai
One might argue, then, that particle comparatives must
grammar with vocabulary. London: Longmans, Green.
be seen as grammaticalizations from an underlying Ultan R (1972). ‘Some features of basic comparative con-
sequential construction. In this way, the particle com- structions.’ Working Papers On Language Universals
parative does not have to present a counterexample to (Stanford) 9, 117–162.
the modeling analysis of comparative constructions, Warotamasikkhadhit U (1972). Thai syntax. The Hague:
although it certainly forms a recalcitrant case. Mouton.

See also: Antonymy and Incompatibility; Comparatives:

Semantics.

Comparatives, Semantics
C Kennedy, Northwestern University, Evanston,
IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The ability to establish orderings among objects and
make comparisons between them according to the
amount or degree to which they possess some property
is a basic component of human cognition. Natural
languages reflect this fact: all languages have syntactic
categories that express gradable concepts, and all
languages have designated comparative constructions,
which are used to express explicit orderings between
two objects with respect to the degree or amount to
which they possess some property (Sapir, 1944).
In many languages, comparatives are based on
specialized morphology and syntax. English exem-
plifies this type of system. It uses the morphemes
more/-er, less, and as specifically for the purpose of
establishing orderings of superiority, inferiority, and
equality, respectively, and the morphemes than and as
to mark the standard against which an object is
compared:
690 Comparative Constructions

baino ‘than/but’ in Basque, asa ‘than/then’ in Toba Bibliography

Batak, noria ‘than/after that’ in Goajiro, ngem ‘than/
Andersen P K (1983). Word order typology and compara-
but’ in Ilocano, na ‘than/nor’ in Scottish Gaelic, nor
tive constructions. Amsterdam: Benjamins.
‘than/nor’ in Scottish English, è ‘than/or’ in Classical
Bloomfield L (1962). The Menomini language. New Haven:
Greek). Furthermore, particle comparatives in at Yale University Press.
least some languages share a number of syntactic Fisch R (1912). Grammatik der Dagomba-Sprache. Berlin:
properties with coordinations. For example, the Reimer.
Dutch comparative allows Gapping, a rule which is Grierson G A (1903). Linguistic survey of India, vol. III:
commonly thought to be restricted to coordinate Tibeto-Burman family, part II: Specimens of the Bodo,
structures. Naga and Kachin groups. Calcutta: Government Printing
Office.
(20) Dutch (Indo-European, Germanic) Hanoteau A (1896). Essai de grammaire de la langue
(20a) Ik verzamel boeken en mijn tamachek’. Algiers: Jourdan.
I collect books and my Hoffmann J (1903). Mundari grammar. Calcutta: Bengal
broer verzamelt platen Secretariat Press.
brother collects records Ittman J (1939). Grammatik des Duala. Berlin: Reimer.
‘I collect books and my brother collects Kühner R & Stegmann C (1955). Ausführliche Grammatik der
records’ (own data) lateinischen Sprache: Satzlehre. Leverkusen: Gottschalk.
(20b) Ik verzamel boeken en mijn broer Ø platen Lewis M B (1968). Malay. London: St. Paul’s House.
(own data) Lukas J (1953). Die Sprache der Tubu in der zentralen
Sahara. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.
(21) Dutch (Indo-European, Germanic)
Maria P A (1914). ‘Essai de grammaire Kaiapó, langue des
(21a) Ik koop meer boeken dan
Indiens Kaiapó, Brésil.’ Anthropos 9, 233–240.
I buy more books than
Oinas F J (1966). Basic course in Estonian. Bloomington:
mijn broer platen koopt
Indiana University.
my brother records buys
Roberts John R (1987). Amele. London: Croom Helm.
‘I buy more books than my brother buys
Stassen L (1984). ‘The comparative compared.’ Journal of
records’ (own data)
Semantics 3, 143–182.
(21b) Ik koop meer boeken dan mijn broer
Stassen L (1985). Comparison and universal grammar. Ox-
platen Ø (own data)
ford: Blackwell.
Tucker A N & Tompo ole Mpaayi J (1955). A Maasai
One might argue, then, that particle comparatives must
grammar with vocabulary. London: Longmans, Green.
be seen as grammaticalizations from an underlying Ultan R (1972). ‘Some features of basic comparative con-
sequential construction. In this way, the particle com- structions.’ Working Papers On Language Universals
parative does not have to present a counterexample to (Stanford) 9, 117–162.
the modeling analysis of comparative constructions, Warotamasikkhadhit U (1972). Thai syntax. The Hague:
although it certainly forms a recalcitrant case. Mouton.

See also: Antonymy and Incompatibility; Comparatives:

Semantics.

Comparatives, Semantics
C Kennedy, Northwestern University, Evanston,
IL, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Introduction
The ability to establish orderings among objects and
make comparisons between them according to the
amount or degree to which they possess some property
is a basic component of human cognition. Natural
languages reflect this fact: all languages have syntactic
categories that express gradable concepts, and all
languages have designated comparative constructions,
which are used to express explicit orderings between
two objects with respect to the degree or amount to
which they possess some property (Sapir, 1944).
In many languages, comparatives are based on
specialized morphology and syntax. English exem-
plifies this type of system. It uses the morphemes
more/-er, less, and as specifically for the purpose of
establishing orderings of superiority, inferiority, and
equality, respectively, and the morphemes than and as
to mark the standard against which an object is
compared:

(1a) Mercury is closer to the sun than Venus.
(1b) The Mars Pathfinder mission was less expensive
than previous missions to Mars.
(1c) Uranus doesn’t have as many rings as Saturn.
In the case of properties for which specific measure
units are defined, it is also possible to express differ-
ences between objects with respect to the degree to
which they possess some property, even when the
predicate from which the comparative is formed
does not permit explicit measurement:
(2a) Mercury is 0.26 AU closer to the sun than Venus.
(2b) ??Mercury is 0.46 AU close to the sun.
Languages such as English also allow for the possibil-
ity of expressing more complex comparisons by per-
mitting a range of phrase types after than and as. For
example, (3a) expresses a comparison between the
degrees to which the same object possesses different
properties, (3b) compares the degrees to which differ-
ent objects possess different properties, and (3c)
relates the actual degree that an object possesses a
property to an expected degree.
(3a) More meteorites vaporize in the atmosphere
than fall to the ground.
(3b) The crater was deeper than a 50-story building
is tall.
(3c) The flight to Jupiter did not take as long as we
expected.
Finally, many languages also have related degree con-
structions that do not directly compare two objects
but instead provide information about the degree to
which an object possesses a gradable property by
relating this degree to a standard based on some
other property or relation. The English examples in
(4) using the morphemes too, enough and so exem-
plify this sort of construction.
(4a) The equipment is too old to be of much use to us.
(4b) Current spacecraft are not fast enough to reach
the speed of light.
(4c) The black hole at the center of the galaxy is so
dense that nothing can escape the pull of its
gravity, not even light.
Example (4b), for example, denies that the speed of
current spacecraft is as great as the speed required to
equal the speed of light.
Gradability
A discussion of the semantics of comparison must
begin with the semantics of gradable predicates
more generally. Not all properties can be used in
comparatives, as shown by the contrast between the
examples in (1) and (5).
Comparatives, Semantics 691
(5a) ??Giordano Bruno is deader than Galileo.
(5b) ??The new spacecraft is more octagonal than
the old one.
(5c) ??Carter is as former a president as Ford.
The crucial difference between predicates such as
expensive and close, on the one hand, and dead,
octagonal, and former, on the other, is that the first,
but not the second, are gradable – they express prop-
erties that support (nontrivial) orderings. Compara-
tives thus provide a test for determining whether a
predicate is inherently gradable or not.
The most common analysis of gradable predicates
assigns them a unique semantic type that directly
represents their order-inducing feature; they are ana-
lyzed as expressions that map their arguments onto
abstract representations of measurement, or scales.
Scales have three crucial parameters, the values of
which must be specified in the lexical entry of
particular gradable predicates: a set of degrees,
which represent measurement values; a dimension,
which indicates the property being measured (cost,
temperature, speed, volume, height, etc.); and an or-
dering relation on the set of degrees, which distin-
guishes between predicates that describe increasing
properties (e.g., tall) and those that describe decreas-
ing properties (e.g., short) (see Sapir, 1944; Bartsch
and Vennemann, 1973; Cresswell, 1977; Seuren,
1978; von Stechow, 1984a; Bierwisch, 1989; Klein,
1991; Kennedy, 1999; Schwarzschild and Wilkinson,
2002).
The standard implementation of this general view
claims that gradable predicates have (at least) two
arguments: an individual and a degree. Gradable
predicates further contain as part of their meanings
a measure function and a partial ordering relation
such that the value of the measure function applied
to the individual argument returns a degree on the
relevant scale that is at least as great as the value of
the degree argument. The adjective expensive, for
example, expresses a relation between an object x
and a degree of cost d such that the cost of x is at
least as great as d.
In order to derive a property of individuals, it is
necessary to first saturate the degree argument. In the
case of the positive (unmarked) form, the value of the
degree argument is contextually fixed to an implicit
norm or standard of comparison, whose value may
vary depending on a number of different contextual
factors (such as properties of the subject, the type of
predicate, and so forth; see Vagueness). For example,
the truth conditions of a sentence such as (6a) can be
represented as in (6b), where size is a function from
objects to degrees of size and ds is the contextually
determined standard – the cutoff point for what
counts as large in the context of utterance.
692 Comparatives, Semantics
(6a) Titan is large.
(6b) size(t) ! ds
In the context here, the various objects in the solar
system, the value of ds is typically such that (6a) is
false. If we are talking about Saturn’s moons, how-
ever, then ds is such that (6a) is true. This sort of
variability is a defining feature of gradable adjectives
as members of the larger class of vague predicates.
Comparison
In contrast to the positive form, comparatives (and
degree constructions in general) explicitly fix the
value of the degree argument of the predicate. There
are a number of implementations of this basic idea
(see von Stechow, 1984a, for a comprehensive sur-
vey), but most share the core assumption that the
comparative morphemes fix the value of the degree
argument of the comparative-marked predicate by
requiring it to stand in a particular relation – > for
more, < for less, and ! for as – to a second degree,
the comparative standard, which is provided by the
comparative clause (the complement of than or as).
One common strategy is to assign the comparative
morpheme essentially the same semantic type as a quan-
tificational determiner – it denotes a relation between
two sets of degrees. One of these sets is derived by
abstracting over the degree argument of the
comparative predicate; the second is derived by abstract-
ing over the degree argument of a corresponding predi-
cate in the comparative clause. This analysis
presupposes that the comparative clause contains such
a predicate. In some cases, it is present in the surface form
(see (3b)), but typically, in particular whenever it is iden-
tical to the comparative predicate, it is eliminated from
the surface form by an obligatory deletion operation.
For example, in the analysis developed in Heim
(2000), more (than) denotes a relation between two
sets of degrees such that the maximal element of the
first (provided by the main clause) is ordered above
the maximal element of the second (provided by the
comparative clause). At the relevant level of semantic
representation, a sentence such as (7) has the con-
stituency indicated in (8a) (where material elided
from the surface form is struck through) and the
truth conditions in (8b).
(7) Titan is larger than Hyperion.
(8a) [Titan is d large] more than [Hyperion]
- ) ! d0 }
(8b) max{d | large(t) ! d}> max{d0 | large(h
Note that because the truth conditions of the com-
parative form do not involve reference to a contextual
norm, the comparative does not entail the corres-
ponding positive. Thus (8a), for example, can be
true even in a context in which (6a) is false.
Differential comparatives such as (2a) can be
accounted for by modifying the basic semantics
to include a measure of the difference between the
respective (maximal) degrees contributed by the
two arguments of the comparative morpheme (von
Stechow, 1984a; Schwarzschild and Wilkinson,
2002). Such differences always correspond to closed
intervals on a scale and so are measurable even if the
degrees introduced by the base-gradable predicate
themselves are not (Seuren, 1978; von Stechow,
1984b; Kennedy, 2001).
Because the standard of comparison is derived by
abstracting over a degree variable in the comparative
clause, this approach allows for the expression of
arbitrarily complex comparisons such as those in
(3). There are some limits, however. First, the com-
parative clause is a wh-construction, so the syntactic
operation that builds the abstraction structure is con-
strained by the principles governing long-distance
dependencies (see Kennedy, 2002, for an overview).
Second, it is also constrained by its semantics; because
the comparative clause is the argument of a maxima-
lization operator, it must introduce a set of degrees
that has a maximal element. Among other things, this
correctly predicts that negation (and other decreasing
operators) are excluded from the comparative clause
(von Stechow, 1984a; Rullmann, 1995):
(9a) ??Venus is brighter than Mars isn’t.
(9b) max{d | bright(v) ! d} > max{d0 | :bright(m) !
d0 }
The set of degrees d0 such that Mars is not as bright as
d0 includes all the degrees of brightness greater than
the one that represents Mars’s brightness. Because
this set has no maximal element, the maximality
operator in (9b) fails to return a value.
The hypothesis that the comparative clause is sub-
ject to a maximalization operation has an additional
logical consequence (von Stechow, 1984a; Klein,
1991; Rullmann, 1995); for any (ordered) set of
degrees D and D0 , if D"D0 , then max(D0 ) ! max(D).
The comparative clause is thus a downward-entailing
context and so is correctly predicted to license nega-
tive-polarity items and conjunctive interpretations of
negation (Seuren, 1973; Hoeksema, 1984; but cf.
Schwarzschild and Wilkinson, 2002):
(10a) The ozone layer is thinner today than it has
ever been before.
(10b) We observed more sunspot activity in the last
10 days than anyone has observed in years.
(11a) Jupiter is larger than Saturn or Uranus.)
(11b) Jupiter is larger than Saturn, and Jupiter is
larger than Uranus.
Finally, the assumption that the comparative is
a type of quantificational expression leads to the

expectation that it should participate in scopal inter-
actions with other logical operators. The ambiguity
of (12), which has the (sensible) de re interpretation in
(13a) and an (unlikely) de dicto interpretation in
(13b), bears out this prediction.
(12) Kim thinks Earth is larger than it is.
(13a) max{d | think(large(e) ! d) (k)}> max{d0 |
large(e) > d0 }
(13b) think(max{d | large(e) ! } > max{d0 | large(e) >
d0 }) (k)
The extent to which comparatives interact with other
operators and the implications of such interactions
for the compositional semantics of comparatives and
gradable predicates is a focus of current investigation
(see Larson, 1988; Kennedy, 1999; Heim, 2000; Bhatt
and Pancheva, 2004).
Comparison Cross-Linguistically
As previously noted, there are in fact several distinct
semantic analyses of comparatives that differ in their
details but share the core assumption that gradable
adjectives map objects to ordered sets of degrees.
For example, one alternative analyzes the truth
conditions of a sentence such (7) as in (14); roughly,
there is a degree d such that Titan is at least as large as
d but Hyperion is not as large as d (Seuren, 1973;
Klein, 1980; Larson, 1988).
(14) 9d[[large(t) ! d] ^ :[large(h) ! d]]
Analysis (14) does not express an explicit ordering
between two degrees but instead takes advantage of
the implicit ordering on the scale of the predicate to
derive truth conditions equivalent to (8b) – given the
inherent ordering, (14) holds whenever the maximal
degree of Titan’s largeness exceeds that of Hyperion
(and vice versa).
The fact that the underlying semantics of gradable
predicates supports multiple equivalent logical ana-
lyses of comparatives appears at first to be a
frustrating obstacle to the discovery of the ‘right’
semantics of the comparative. In fact, however, this
may be a positive result when we take into account
the extremely varied syntactic modes of expressing
comparison in the world’s languages (see Stassen,
1985), which include forms that superficially resem-
ble the logical representation in (14), such as the
example from Hixkaryána in (15).
(15) Kaw-ohra naha Waraka, kaw naha Kaywerye
tall-NOT he-is Waraka tall he-is Kaywerye
‘Kaywerye is taller than Waraka’
Although it may turn out to be difficult to find clear
empirical evidence to choose between competing, equiv-
alent logical representations of comparatives within a
Comparatives, Semantics 693
particular language such English, it may also turn out
that a study of the various expressions of comparison in
different languages will show that all the possible
options provided by the underlying semantics of grad-
ability are in fact attested. Comparatives, therefore, pro-
vide a potentially fruitful and important empirical
domain for investigating broader typological questions
about the mapping between (universal) semantic
categories and (language-specific) syntactic ones.
See also: Antonymy and Incompatibility; Comparative Con-
structions; Monotonicity and Generalized Quantifiers; Ne-
gation: Semantic Aspects; Quantifiers: Semantics;
Vagueness.
Bibliography
Bartsch R & Vennemann T (1973). Semantic structures:
A study in the relation between syntax and semantics.
Frankfurt: Athäenum Verlag.
Bhatt R & Pancheva R (2004). ‘Late merger of degree
clauses.’ Linguistic Inquiry 35, 1–46.
Bierwisch M (1989). ‘The semantics of gradation.’ In
Bierwisch M & Lang E (eds.) Dimensional adjectives.
Berlin: Springer-Verlag. 71–261.
Cresswell M J (1977). ‘The semantics of degree.’ In Partee B
(ed.) Montague grammar. New York: Academic Press.
261–292.
Heim I (2000). ‘Degree operators and scope.’ In Jackson B
& Matthews T (eds.) Proceedings of semantics and lin-
guistic theory, 10. Ithaca, NY: CLC Publications. 40–64.
Hoeksema J (1984). ‘Negative polarity and the compara-
tive.’ Natural Language & Linguistic Theory 1, 403–434.
Kennedy C (1999). Projecting the adjective: The syntax and
semantics of gradability and comparison. New York:
Garland Press.
Kennedy C (2001). ‘Polar opposition and the ontology of
‘‘degrees.’’’ Linguistics and Philosophy 24, 33–70.
Kennedy C (2002). ‘Comparative deletion and optimality in
syntax.’ Natural Language & Linguistic Theory 20.3,
553–621.
Klein E (1980). ‘A semantics for positive and comparative
adjectives.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 4, 1–45.
Klein E (1991). ‘Comparatives.’ In von Stechow A &
Wunderlich D (eds.) Semantik: Ein internationales Hand-
buch der zeitgenössischen Forschung. Berlin: Walter de
Gruyter. 673–691.
Larson R K (1988). ‘Scope and comparatives.’ Linguistics
and Philosophy 11, 1–26.
Rullmann H (1995). Maximality in the semantics of wh-
constructions. Ph.D. diss., University of Massachusetts:
Amherst.
Sapir E (1944). ‘Grading: A study in semantics. Philosophy
of Science 11, 93–116.
Schwarzschild R & Wilkinson K (2002). ‘Quantifiers in
comparatives: A semantics of degree based on intervals.’
Natural Language Semantics 10, 1–41.
694 Comparatives, Semantics
Seuren P A (1973). ‘The comparative.’ In Kiefer F & Ruwet
N (eds.) Generative grammar in Europe. Dordrecht:
Riedel. 528–564.
Seuren P A (1978). ‘The structure and selection of positive
and negative gradable adjectives.’ In Farkas D, Jacobsen
W J & Todrys K (eds.) Papers from the parasession on the
lexicon. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. 336–346.
Complement Clauses
M Noonan, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee,
Milwaukee, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In approaches to linguistics within, or influenced by,
the generative tradition, the term ‘complementation’
has come to refer to the syntactic situation that arises
when a notional sentence or predication is an argu-
ment of a predicate. For practical purposes, a predi-
cation can be viewed as an argument of a predicate if
it functions as the subject or object of that predicate.
(1) That Zeke eats leeks is surprising.
(2) Zelda knows that Zeke eats leeks.
In (1), the clause that Zeke eats leeks functions as
a subject and is referred to as a subject complement;
in (2), that Zeke eats leeks functions as an object and
is referred to as an object complement. Complements
are subordinate (or co-subordinate) clauses, but not
all subordinate clauses are complements: relative
clauses, converbals, and clauses of time, manner, pur-
pose, and place are not considered complements
because they are not arguments.
Within a given language, various grammatical con-
structions can serve as complements. Such construc-
tions are referred to as complement types.
(3) a. That Zeke eats leeks is surprising.
b. Zeke’s eating leeks is surprising.
c. For Zeke to eat leeks would be surprising.
(4) a. Zelda remembered that Zeke eats leeks.
b. Zelda remembered Zeke’s eating leeks.
c. Zelda remembered to eat leeks.
Predicates such as be surprised, know, and remember,
which take complement arguments, are referred to as
complement-taking predicates [or ctps].
Every language has a complement type that is iden-
tical grammatically to an independent clause; such
complements are used to express direct quotes of say,
(5) Zelda said ‘‘Zeke eats leeks.’’
and may be found in other contexts as well. Such
complements are referred to as a sentencelike
Stassen L (1985). Comparison and universal grammar.
Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
von Stechow A (1984a). ‘Comparing semantic theories of
comparison.’ Journal of Semantics 3, 1–77.
von Stechow A (1984b). ‘My reply to Cresswell’s, Hellan’s,
Hoeksema’s and Seuren’s comments.’ Journal of Seman-
tics 3, 183–199.
complements. The complements illustrated in (1),
(2), (3a), and (4a) are also sentencelike. Sentencelike
complements exhibit the same possibilities for the
expression of tense, aspect, and mood; case marking
of subjects and objects; and argument-verb agreement
phenomena as independent clauses for any given
language.
In addition, languages also have one or more com-
plement types which are reduced or desententialized:
such clauses lack some features associated with main
clauses. The gerunds [nominalizations] in (3b) and
(4b) and the infinitives in (3c) and (4c) lack some
features associated with sentence-like complements
and main clauses. For example, neither can be
inflected for primary tense [past or non-past], though
secondary, or relative, tenses [e.g., the perfect] are
possible with both.
Complement Types
Complement types are identified by the following
criteria:
. Whether they are sentence-like or reduced;
. The part of speech of the predicate [or the gram-
matical head of the predicate complex], i.e., wheth-
er it is a verb, a noun, or an adjective;
. The sorts of grammatical relations the predicate
has with its arguments, e.g., whether the agent
has a subject relation to the predicate, as in the
sentencelike complements above, or whether it
has a genitive relation, as in (3b) and (4b);
. The external grammatical relations of the comple-
ment construction as a whole, e.g., whether the
complement has a subordinate or coordinate rela-
tion to the main (or matrix) clause.
. Grammatical constructions that function as com-
plements may have other grammatical functions as
well. For example, infinitives may be complements
(as in [3c] and [4c]), but they may also be adverbials
of purposes (Zeke came to eat leeks), relatives (The
leeks to eat are Zeke’s), etc. For a construction to be
considered a complement, it must meet the seman-
tic test of functioning as an argument of a predicate.
694 Comparatives, Semantics
Seuren P A (1973). ‘The comparative.’ In Kiefer F & Ruwet
N (eds.) Generative grammar in Europe. Dordrecht:
Riedel. 528–564.
Seuren P A (1978). ‘The structure and selection of positive
and negative gradable adjectives.’ In Farkas D, Jacobsen
W J & Todrys K (eds.) Papers from the parasession on the
lexicon. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. 336–346.
Complement Clauses
M Noonan, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee,
Milwaukee, WI, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
In approaches to linguistics within, or influenced by,
the generative tradition, the term ‘complementation’
has come to refer to the syntactic situation that arises
when a notional sentence or predication is an argu-
ment of a predicate. For practical purposes, a predi-
cation can be viewed as an argument of a predicate if
it functions as the subject or object of that predicate.
(1) That Zeke eats leeks is surprising.
(2) Zelda knows that Zeke eats leeks.
In (1), the clause that Zeke eats leeks functions as
a subject and is referred to as a subject complement;
in (2), that Zeke eats leeks functions as an object and
is referred to as an object complement. Complements
are subordinate (or co-subordinate) clauses, but not
all subordinate clauses are complements: relative
clauses, converbals, and clauses of time, manner, pur-
pose, and place are not considered complements
because they are not arguments.
Within a given language, various grammatical con-
structions can serve as complements. Such construc-
tions are referred to as complement types.
(3) a. That Zeke eats leeks is surprising.
b. Zeke’s eating leeks is surprising.
c. For Zeke to eat leeks would be surprising.
(4) a. Zelda remembered that Zeke eats leeks.
b. Zelda remembered Zeke’s eating leeks.
c. Zelda remembered to eat leeks.
Predicates such as be surprised, know, and remember,
which take complement arguments, are referred to as
complement-taking predicates [or ctps].
Every language has a complement type that is iden-
tical grammatically to an independent clause; such
complements are used to express direct quotes of say,
(5) Zelda said ‘‘Zeke eats leeks.’’
and may be found in other contexts as well. Such
complements are referred to as a sentencelike
Stassen L (1985). Comparison and universal grammar.
Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
von Stechow A (1984a). ‘Comparing semantic theories of
comparison.’ Journal of Semantics 3, 1–77.
von Stechow A (1984b). ‘My reply to Cresswell’s, Hellan’s,
Hoeksema’s and Seuren’s comments.’ Journal of Seman-
tics 3, 183–199.
complements. The complements illustrated in (1),
(2), (3a), and (4a) are also sentencelike. Sentencelike
complements exhibit the same possibilities for the
expression of tense, aspect, and mood; case marking
of subjects and objects; and argument-verb agreement
phenomena as independent clauses for any given
language.
In addition, languages also have one or more com-
plement types which are reduced or desententialized:
such clauses lack some features associated with main
clauses. The gerunds [nominalizations] in (3b) and
(4b) and the infinitives in (3c) and (4c) lack some
features associated with sentence-like complements
and main clauses. For example, neither can be
inflected for primary tense [past or non-past], though
secondary, or relative, tenses [e.g., the perfect] are
possible with both.
Complement Types
Complement types are identified by the following
criteria:
. Whether they are sentence-like or reduced;
. The part of speech of the predicate [or the gram-
matical head of the predicate complex], i.e., wheth-
er it is a verb, a noun, or an adjective;
. The sorts of grammatical relations the predicate
has with its arguments, e.g., whether the agent
has a subject relation to the predicate, as in the
sentencelike complements above, or whether it
has a genitive relation, as in (3b) and (4b);
. The external grammatical relations of the comple-
ment construction as a whole, e.g., whether the
complement has a subordinate or coordinate rela-
tion to the main (or matrix) clause.
. Grammatical constructions that function as com-
plements may have other grammatical functions as
well. For example, infinitives may be complements
(as in [3c] and [4c]), but they may also be adverbials
of purposes (Zeke came to eat leeks), relatives (The
leeks to eat are Zeke’s), etc. For a construction to be
considered a complement, it must meet the seman-
tic test of functioning as an argument of a predicate.

Some complement types are regularly accompanied
by a complementizer, a word or clitic that marks
the construction as subordinate and a complement.
The sentencelike complements illustrated above are
all accompanied by the complementizer that; the infi-
nitives are accompanied by the complementizer to.
The gerunds ([3b] and [4b]) lack a complementi-
zer: neither the derivational morpheme -ing nor the
genitive -’s are properly complementizers.
The reduction undergone by some complement
types may be associated with changes or limitations
on the grammatical relations that the complement
predicate can have with its logical arguments. This
most commonly affects the relation of the predicate
to its subject or, in languages lacking subject rela-
tions, its agent. For example, with English infinitives
the notional subject is either raised (6), equi-deleted
(7), or made into an object of an adposition (8):
(6) Zelda wanted Zeke to eat leeks.
(7) Zelda wanted Ø to eat leeks.
(8) For Zeke to eat leeks would amaze Zelda.
Raising refers to a situation whereby an argument
of a complement predicate assumes a grammatical
relation in the matrix clauses. In (6), Zeke is generally
analyzed as the direct object of wanted: note that if
Zeke is replaced by a pronoun, it is the objective case
him, not the subjective case he, that is used. In (7), the
notional subject of eat is Zelda, coreferential with the
subject of the matrix verb wanted: the second men-
tion of Zelda is said to be equi-deleted under identity
with the matrix subject.
Classification of Complement Types
Some of the more typical features of commonly en-
countered complement types are described below.
These characterizations are ideal types, and it is
quite possible to find examples having characteristics
that are intermediate between certain of the types
listed below. In the discussion below, ‘predicate’
refers to the head of the verb complex.
. Categories in the verb complex may be reduced.
The term ‘subjunctive’ has traditionally been used
for a sentence-like complement type that is
specialized for subordinate clauses, though it may
have main clause use with hortative or imperative
sense.
. Paratactic: The predicate is a verb. The subject is an
argument shared by the paratactic complement
and the clause which contains the complement-
taking predicate. The range of inflectional cate-
gories is the same as for independent clauses,
Complement Clauses 695
though will always be identical to that of the
clause containing the complement-taking predi-
cate. Syntactically, the paratactic complement and
its accompanying clause are like two coordinate
clauses asyndetically juxtaposed, though forming
an intonational unit like that of main-subordinate
clause pairs. As a result, the paratactic complement
is never accompanied by a complementizer.
. Infinitive: The predicate is a verb, but cannot form
a constituent with its notional subject, nor can it
agree with it if the language permits subject-verb
agreement. The range of inflectional categories is
reduced.
. Nominalization: The predicate is a noun. Gramma-
tical relations between the predicate and its argu-
ments are expressed in ways characteristic of
noun-modifier relations in the language with the
predicate as the head (e.g., the notional subject may
be expressed as a genitive), but if there is deviation
from this pattern, the subject is more likely to
retain the noun-modifier mode than is the object.
Since it is a noun, the predicate may be marked for
nominal categories like case and number. There is
often a gradation between nominalizations and
infinitives; diachronically, nominalizations often
evolve into infinitives.
. Participial: The predicate is an adjective. The no-
tional subject is the head, while the rest of the
predication takes the form of a modifier, a particip-
ial phrase (or, rarely, a clause identical to ordinary
relative clauses) modifying the notional subject NP.
Inflectional categories are reduced, and the con-
struction may take adjectival inflections, e.g., con-
cord class morphology, agreeing with the notional
subject.
. Languages vary in the number of complement types
they employ, the number ranging from two (a re-
duced vs. a non-reduced complement type) to five
or six.
Reduction or Desententialization of
Complements
As noted, non-indicative complements are in various
ways reduced or desententialized. This is a conse-
quence of two distinct factors. The first is the pragmatic
backgrounding of the complement predication: when
the information contained within the complement is
not the focus of the assertion for the entire sentence,
the complement may be reduced.
(9) Dale regretted that Roy fell off his horse.
(10) Dale regretted Roy’s falling off his horse.
(11) Dale regretted it.
696 Complement Clauses
In (9) the information coded by the object complement
is given full expression by an indicative complement.
But it is also possible to express the complement as a
nominalization as in (10), in which case some informa-
tion (e.g., tense) is eliminated. In (11), the reduction is
such that the direct object is no longer considered a
complement.
The second and, for our purposes, more interesting
reason for reduction is that the meaning of the com-
plement-taking predicate may limit the semantic pos-
sibilities of the complement predication. So, for
example, the things we want to occur necessarily
occur after our wanting them, so that (12) is possible,
but not (13):
(12) I want Zuma to leave tomorrow.
(13) I want Zuma to leave yesterday.
The greater the degree to which the semantics of
the complement is bound to elements of the meaning
of the complement-taking predicate, the greater the
degree of reduction will be possible.
With the exception of agreement of the notional
subject with the predicate, which varies with individ-
ual complement types, the retention of inflectional
categories associated with predicates in independent
clauses can be arranged as follows:
(14) Full range past vs. aspect voice,
of non-past
tenses (morphologically
may correspond
to the perfect/
non-perfect
distinction
in the indicative)
1 2 3 4
Generally speaking, the further to the left an item is
on this scale, the less likely it is to be coded on a non-
indicative complement. The categories in set 4 are
almost always coded on infinitive and subjunctive
complements if they are coded on indicatives.
Associated with reduction or desententialization is
a phenomenon we can refer to as clause merger. Rais-
ing and equi-deletion, referred to earlier, are modes of
clause-merger: the erasure of the grammatical ‘bound-
aries’ between the complement clause and the matrix
clause. Degrees of clause merger are arrayed on a
continuum ranging from no merger all the way to
clause union. Raising is a mode of clause merger,
since it removes arguments from the predications
with which they are logically associated and assigns
them grammatical roles in the matrix clause:
(15) It’s tough for Melvin to please Melba.
(16) Melba is tough for Melvin to please.
Notionally, Melba is an argument of please, but in
(16) Melba is expressed as the subject of be tough.
With clause union, the matrix and complement pre-
dictes share the arguments of both matrix and com-
plement predications. We can see an example of this
from French:
(17) Roger laissera Marie manger les pommes.
Roger let–3sg-fut Marie eat-inf the apples
‘Roger will let Marie eat the apples.’
(18) Roger laissera manger les pommes à Marie.
Roger let–3sg-fut eat-inf the apples to Marie
‘Roger will let Marie eat the apples.’
In (17), laissera has as its direct object Marie, and
manger has as its direct object les pommes. In (18),
however, the merged predicate laissera manger has a
direct object les pommes and an indirect object à
Marie: the clauses have merged and the arguments
are shared by the merged predicate.
Choice of Complement Type
Not only the possibility of reduction, but also the
choice of a particular complement type is determined
by the meaning of the complement-taking predicate.
For example, in English, nominalizations [gerunds]
are used to express complement predicates taken as
transitivity, facts, whereas infinitives are used to express comple-
causative ment predications treated as potential, projected
desiderative,
events. The complement-taking predicate remember
object
agreement is compatible with both, since one can remember
both a fact and a projected event:
(15) Gus remembered paying the bill.
[nominalization/gerund]
(16) Gus remembered to pay the bill. [infinitive]
Want, however, is compatible only with project
events; therefore, want is compatible with the infini-
tive but not with the nominalization:
(17) *Gus wants paying the bill. [nominalization/
gerund]
(18) Gus wants to pay the bill. [infinitive]
The meanings and uses of a given complement type
will vary with each language.
Few grammatical principles, if any, are specific to
complementation, and though complementation can
be given a workable definition, the definition is
semantic, not grammatical. For example, all the
grammatical constructions described as complement
types have uses outside the realm of complementa-
tion proper, so their properties cannot be charact-
erized solely by reference to complementation.
 Complex Predicates 697

Complementation can be viewed as one mode of
clause-combining.
See also: Constituent Structure; X-Bar Theory.
Bibliography
Horie K (2001). ‘Complement clauses.’ In Haspelmath M
et al. (eds.) Language typology and language universals.
Berlin & New York: Walter de Gruyter.
Noonan M (2005). ‘Complementation.’ In Shopen T (ed.)
Language typology and syntactic description. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.

Dixon R M W (1995). ‘Complement clauses and comple-

ment strategies.’ In Palmer F R (ed.) Meaning and
grammar. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Complex Predicates
St Müller, Universität Bremen, Bremen, Germany element are treated as complex predicates. The evi-
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. dence for assuming a closer connection between two
heads is discussed in the following subsections. Ger-
man examples are used for the illustration, but some
Complex predicates usually are defined as predi- pointers to literature regarding similar cases in other
cates that are multiheaded; they are composed of languages are given.
more than one grammatical element (either mor-
Topological Properties
phemes or words), each of which contributes part of
the information ordinarily associated with a head. German is a subject-object-verb language, and par-
In the following discussions, several phenomena ticle verbs, complex-forming verbs, and resultative
that are explained by complex predicate analyses are constructions form a topological unit at the right
presented. Several analyses of these phenomena are periphery of the clause. In the descriptive literature,
then suggested in various frameworks. the part in which the respective elements are located
is called the ‘right sentence bracket’ (see Bech (1955)
Phenomena for a brilliant description and analysis of verbal con-
structions in German) (abbreviations in the follow-
In dealing with language from a cross-linguistic per- ing examples: NOM, nominative; ACC, accusative; PART,
spective, it becomes apparent that languages differ particle).
in the ways that they express properties such as
(2a) weil jemand ihn
tense, aspect, and agreement. These differences can
because somebody.NOM him.ACC
be expressed either synthetically or analytically. As
anlacht
an example, consider the French and the German PART (to).laughs
sentences in Examples (1a) and (1b). French expresses ‘because somebody smiles at him’
the future tense synthetically, whereas German uses a (2b) weil jemand ihn
combination of the infinitive of a main verb and an because somebody.NOM him.ACC
inflected form of the auxiliary werden: zu reparieren versucht
to repair tries
(1a) Je le varrai.
‘because somebody tries to repair it’
I him will.see
(2c) weil jemand ihn
‘I will see him.’
because somebody.NOM him.ACC
(1b) weil ich ihn sehen werde
klug findet
because I him see will
smart finds
‘because I will see him’
‘because somebody finds him smart’
Such periphrastic constructions are often analyzed as (2d) weil jemand den Teich
complex predicates, i.e., it is assumed that the aux- because somebody.NOM the pond.ACC
iliary forms a complex with the embedded verb that leer fischt
empty fishes
has a status similar to a verb combined with the future
‘because somebody fishes the pond empty’
morpheme in other languages.
In addition to periphrastic constructions, certain The accusatives in Examples (2a)–(2d) are depen-
verbal complexes, particle verbs, and combinations dents of the particle an (‘toward’), the infinitive zu
of a resultative secondary predicate and a verbal reparieren (‘to repair’), and the resultative predicate
 Complex Predicates 697

Complementation can be viewed as one mode of
clause-combining.
See also: Constituent Structure; X-Bar Theory.
Bibliography
Horie K (2001). ‘Complement clauses.’ In Haspelmath M
et al. (eds.) Language typology and language universals.
Berlin & New York: Walter de Gruyter.
Noonan M (2005). ‘Complementation.’ In Shopen T (ed.)
Language typology and syntactic description. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.

Dixon R M W (1995). ‘Complement clauses and comple-

ment strategies.’ In Palmer F R (ed.) Meaning and
grammar. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Complex Predicates
St Müller, Universität Bremen, Bremen, Germany element are treated as complex predicates. The evi-
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. dence for assuming a closer connection between two
heads is discussed in the following subsections. Ger-
man examples are used for the illustration, but some
Complex predicates usually are defined as predi- pointers to literature regarding similar cases in other
cates that are multiheaded; they are composed of languages are given.
more than one grammatical element (either mor-
Topological Properties
phemes or words), each of which contributes part of
the information ordinarily associated with a head. German is a subject-object-verb language, and par-
In the following discussions, several phenomena ticle verbs, complex-forming verbs, and resultative
that are explained by complex predicate analyses are constructions form a topological unit at the right
presented. Several analyses of these phenomena are periphery of the clause. In the descriptive literature,
then suggested in various frameworks. the part in which the respective elements are located
is called the ‘right sentence bracket’ (see Bech (1955)
Phenomena for a brilliant description and analysis of verbal con-
structions in German) (abbreviations in the follow-
In dealing with language from a cross-linguistic per- ing examples: NOM, nominative; ACC, accusative; PART,
spective, it becomes apparent that languages differ particle).
in the ways that they express properties such as
(2a) weil jemand ihn
tense, aspect, and agreement. These differences can
because somebody.NOM him.ACC
be expressed either synthetically or analytically. As
anlacht
an example, consider the French and the German PART (to).laughs
sentences in Examples (1a) and (1b). French expresses ‘because somebody smiles at him’
the future tense synthetically, whereas German uses a (2b) weil jemand ihn
combination of the infinitive of a main verb and an because somebody.NOM him.ACC
inflected form of the auxiliary werden: zu reparieren versucht
to repair tries
(1a) Je le varrai.
‘because somebody tries to repair it’
I him will.see
(2c) weil jemand ihn
‘I will see him.’
because somebody.NOM him.ACC
(1b) weil ich ihn sehen werde
klug findet
because I him see will
smart finds
‘because I will see him’
‘because somebody finds him smart’
Such periphrastic constructions are often analyzed as (2d) weil jemand den Teich
complex predicates, i.e., it is assumed that the aux- because somebody.NOM the pond.ACC
iliary forms a complex with the embedded verb that leer fischt
empty fishes
has a status similar to a verb combined with the future
‘because somebody fishes the pond empty’
morpheme in other languages.
In addition to periphrastic constructions, certain The accusatives in Examples (2a)–(2d) are depen-
verbal complexes, particle verbs, and combinations dents of the particle an (‘toward’), the infinitive zu
of a resultative secondary predicate and a verbal reparieren (‘to repair’), and the resultative predicate
698 Complex Predicates

leer (‘empty’), respectively; lachen (‘laugh’) is an in-
transitive verb, as evidenced by Examples (3a) and
(3b):
(3a) Er lacht.
he laughs
(3b) *Er lacht sie
he laughs her
The additional argument in Example (2a) is licensed
by the particle (Stiebels and Wunderlich, 1994;
Stiebels, 1996).
The finite verb þ particle/infinitive/resultative pre-
dicate forms a topological unit in Examples (2a)–(2d),
but this is not necessarily the case, since the finite verb
can be serialized in clause-initial position in languages
such as German and Dutch. Similarily, it is possible to
front the embedded infinitive and the resultive predi-
cate in verb-second (V2) sentences. Particle fronting is
possible under certain circumstances (Müller, 2002b),
thus the constructions in Examples (2a)–(2d) should
be analyzed in syntax.
That predicates form a topological unit in some
variant of a clause that could be assumed to be basic
is not a necessary condiation for predicate complex
formation. Butt (1997) discussed constructions in
Urdu that she analyzed as complex predicates and
which nevertheless were discontinuous.
Constituent Order
German is a language with relatively free constituent
order. Arguments of a single head can be reordered
with respect to each other in the so-called Mittelfeld
(the area between the complementizer and the finite
verb in verb-last sentences, but the area between
the finite verb and other verbs or verb particles in
verb-initial sentences).
The sentences in Examples (4a)–(4d) show that the
arguments that are introduced by different heads in
Examples (2a)–(2d) may be reordered:
(4a) weil ihn jemand
because him.ACC somebody.NOM
anlacht
PART (to).laughs
‘because somebody smiles at him’
(4b) weil ihn jemand
because him.ACC somebody.NOM
zu reparieren versucht
to repair tries
‘because somebody tries to repair it’
(4c) weil ihn jemand
because him.ACC somebody.NOM
klug findet
smart finds
‘because somebody finds him smart’
(4d) weil den Teich jemand
because the pond.ACC somebody.NOM
leer fischt
empty fishes
‘because somebody fishes the pond empty’
The important thing to notice about these examples is
that the heads and the accusative elements, which are
arguments of the respective heads, appear discontin-
uously. If it is assumed that anlacht (‘smiles at’), zu
reparieren versucht (‘tries to repair’), and leer fischt
(‘fishes empty’) form a complex head that requires all
arguments of the matrix and the embedded element,
the data in Examples (4a)–(4d) are explained auto-
matically: since arguments of simplex heads can be
reordered in German, it would follow automatically
that the nominative and the accusative arguments
of the complex heads could be reordered in similar
sentences.
Remote Passive
Examples (5a)–(5d) show that the argument of the
embedded predicate can be realized as the subject in
passive constructions (see Höhle (1978: 175–176) on
the remote passive in verbal complexes; corpus exam-
ples are provided in Müller (2002a: chap. 3.1.4.1):
(5a) weil er angelacht wurde
because he.NOM PART (to).laughed was
‘because he was smiled at’
(5b) weil er zu reparieren versucht wurde
because he.NOM to repair tried was
‘because somebody tried to repair it’
(5c) weil er klug gefunden wurde
because he smart found was
‘because he was found smart’
(5d) weil der Teich leer gefischt wurde
because the pond.NOM empty fished was
‘because the pond was fished empty’
Again, such data can be explained by assuming that
the particle verb combination, the combination of
infinitive and embedding verb, and the combination
of verb and resultative predicate act like a simplex
head. The subject of the respective complexes is sup-
pressed and the accusative object is realized as sub-
ject. (See also Rizzi (1982) and Monachesi (1998) for
long passives in Italian, Manning (1992) for passives
of verbal complexes in Romance languages, and
Grimshaw and Mester (1985) for passives in Inuit
Eskimo.)
Other Phenomena
Due to space limitations, not all phenomena related
to complex predicate formation can be discussed

here. Briefly, however, Example (6) shows a verbal
complex construction that has two readings:
(6) daß Karl den Roman nicht zu
that Karl.NOM the novel.ACC not to
lieben scheint
love seems
‘that Karl does not seem to love the novel’
‘that Karl seems not to love the novel’
The negation can scope over the zu infinitive or over
the matrix verb, although it is placed between parts of
what would normally be analyzed as an infinitival
verb phrase, i.e., between den Roman and zu lieben.
If zu lieben and scheint form a complex, nicht may
attach to it before combination of arguments, and the
wide scope reading can be explained. Furthermore,
binding-theoretic effects may be observed: reflexives
that are arguments of the embedded predicate can be
bound by the subject (or by another argument) of the
matrix verb.
Apart from the phenomena that were demon-
strated using German examples, there is a phenome-
non called ‘clitic climbing’ in Romance languages.
Usually a clitic is attached to a verb that it depends
on, but with certain auxiliary verbs and causative
verbs it is possible that a clitic that corresponds to
an embedded verb attaches to the matrix verb. Again,
such clitic constructions can be analyzed as involving
complex predicate formation. The matrix verb selects
both its own arguments and the arguments of the
embedded verb. Since the arguments of the embedded
verb are treated as arguments of the matrix predicate,
it can be explained why they can be realized as a clitic
to the matrix predicate (Monachesi, 1998; Abeillé
et al., 1997).
Analyses
There have been various analytical approaches to the
phenomena of complex predicates. The analyses can
be ordered into two groups. One approach assumes
that two predicates form a syntactic (or morphologic)
constituent and the other approach assumes that two
heads project as they would do normally as simplex
heads. In the latter approach, the complex predicate
effects are explained by restructuring or by move-
ments of heads that result in monoclausal structures.
The latter approach is discussed first here.
Verb Phrase Embedding and Small Clauses and
Incorporation
One way to analyze the phenomena of complex
predicates is to assume that verbal heads uniformly
embed maximal projections of a certain type. In
the case of complex-forming control verbs and/or
Complex Predicates 699
raising verbs, it is assumed that the embedded con-
stituent is a complementizer phrase (CP), inflection
phrase (IP), or verb phrase (VP) (for particle verbs and
for resultative constructions, small clause analyses
have been applied; see, for instance, Hoekstra
(1988) and den Dikken (1995), and references there-
in). Structures with monoclausal properties are
explained by restructuring, reanalysis, or incorpora-
tion. An initial structure that contains the full CP, IP,
VP, or small clause is mapped to another structure
with different properties, accounting for the fact that
a subject of an embedded predicate behaves like an
object, or that arguments of embedded heads may
scramble with respect to arguments of higher heads
(Evers, 1975; Grewendorf, 1994; Grewendorf and
Sabel, 1994; Wurmbrand, 2001). For instance, verbal
particles are said to incorporate into their matrix
verb (see Baker (1988) for a detailed discussion of
incorporation). Such accounts are attractive since
they can assume that there is just one underlying
structure for a certain thematic relation. All other
configurations are derived from this configuration
by movement. Baker (1988) formulated this as the
‘uniformity of theta-assignment hypothesis’ (UTAH):
‘‘Identical thematic relationships between items are
represented by identical structural relationships
between those items at the level of D-structure.’’ (See
also den Dikken (1995) for other formulations of the
UTAH and further discussion.)
Usually, so-called small clauses, i.e., verbless predi-
cation structures, are assumed for particle verbs (den
Dikken, 1995), for consider predication, and for resul-
tative constructions (Hoekstra, 1988). For instance,
Example (2c) would be analyzed in the following way:
(7) weil jemand [sc ihn klug]
because somebody.NOM him.ACC smart
findet
finds
‘because somebody finds him smart’
The matrix verb finden selects a small clause (SC) that
contains the adjective klug and the subject over which
klug predicates.
Small clause analyses have been widely criticized
(Bresnan, 1982: sect. 9.6; Williams, 1983; Booij,
1990: 56; Hoeksema, 1991; Neeleman and Weermann,
1993; Neeleman, 1995; Pollard and Sag, 1994: chap.
3.2; Stiebels, 1996: chap. 10.2.3; Winkler, 1997:
chap. 2.1). One problematic aspect was discussed by
Demske-Neumann (1994: 63) (see also Fanselow
(1991: 70) for discussion of German, and Hoekstra
(1987: 232) for a discussion of Dutch). Noun phrases,
adjectives, and prepositional phrases (PPs) can be used
predicatively in copula constructions (Examples (8a)–
(8c)), but not all of these predicative constructions can
700 Complex Predicates

be used in all small clause environments. (Examples predicate is not formed in the constituent structure
(9a)–(9c) and (10a)–(10c)). Therefore, the category of but rather in the functional structure. See also Rosen
the predicative element has to be available for selection (1997) for a multistratal analysis in the framework of
by the governing verb, i.e., machen (‘to make’) or nen- relational grammar.
nen (‘to call’), respectively.
Complex Predicates
(8a) Herr K. ist kein Verbrecher.
Mr. K. is not.a criminal. The alternative to an analysis that assumes that maxi-
(8b) Herr K. ist unschuldig. mal projections are embedded and that these structures
Mr. K. is innocent. are reanalyzed, have co-analyses, or similar things, is
(8c) Herr K. ist in Berlin. to assume that the two predicates form a close unit at
Mr. K. is in Berlin. some level of representation, right from the start. Such
(9a) *Der Richter macht Herrn K. einen Verbrecher. analyses have been suggested across frameworks in
the judge makes Mr. K. a criminal. transformational grammar, government and binding,
(9b) Das Gericht macht Herrn K. müde. categorial grammar, lexical-functional grammar, and
the court makes Mr. K. tired. head-driven phrase structure grammar. The question
(9c) Der Richter macht Herrn K. zum Verbrecher. is how the selectional properties of the heads that take
the judge makes Mr. K. to.the criminal. part in complex formation are described. One option
(10a) Herr K. nennt den Richter einen Idioten. is to assume that fischen (‘to fish’) is an intransitive
Mr. K. calls the judge an idiot. verb in Example (2d) and that the subject of leer
(10b) Herr K. nennt den Richter voreingenommen. (‘empty’) becomes the object of the complete predicate
Mr. K. calls the judge biased.
complex leer fischen. Such approaches were suggested,
(10c) *Herr K. nennt den Richter alz/zum Idioten.
for instance, by Chomsky (1985: 100–101), for English
Mr. K. calls the judge as/to.the idiot.
particle verbs and consider þ predicate construc-
Demske concluded that the elements that are predi- tions; by Dowty (1979: chap. 4.7), for English resulta-
cated over have to be treated as specifiers of noun, tives; and by Neeleman and Weermann (1993) and
adjective, and preposition projections in a small Neeleman (1995), for English and Dutch resultative
clause analysis. However, this is incompatible with constructions. Alternatively, the fact that there will be
X-theoretic assumptions. In particular, the relation additional arguments could be encoded in the lexical
between den Richter and einen Idioten is unclear entry of fischen. Such approaches have been suggested
(see Hoekstra (1987: 296–297) on this point). The for resultative constructions and for all of the other
specifier of Idioten is einen, so there is no slot for phenomena discussed here. Argument attraction
another specifier (see also Pollard and Sag (1994: approaches for verbal complexes were suggested by
chap. 3.2) for English examples that are parallel to Geach (1970) in the framework of categorical gram-
Examples (9a)–(9c) and (10a)–(10c) ). One way out mar; by Karttunen (1986), for Finnish, in the frame-
of this is to introduce an additional projection on top work of categorial unification grammar; by Haider
of the NP, but then the category features of the predi- (1986) and Bierwisch (1990), for German in the gov-
cative phrase inside the small clause have to be made ernment and binding (GB) framework; and in the
available for selection by heads governing the small framework of head-driven phrase structure grammar
clause (den Dikken, 1995: 26). (HPSG), by Hinrichs and Nakazawa (1989, 1994),
There have been many proposals for dealing with Kiss (1995), Ackerman and Webelhuth (1998), Müller
the mapping from bisentential to monosentential (1999, 2002a), and Meurers (2000) for German, and
structures. These include Baker’s incorporation by van Noord and Bouma (1994, 1997) and Rentier
(1988), which may take place overtly or nonovertly, (1994) for Dutch.
or the approach by Haegman and Riemsdijk (1986) Przepiórkowski and Kupść (1997) suggested a com-
that assumed simultaneous representations – i.e., not plex predicate analysis for Polish, Monachesi (1998)
just one underlying structure is mapped to another used argument attraction to account for restructuring
one, but it is assumed that several analyses together verbs in Italian, Abeillé et al. (1997) dealt with com-
(so-called co-analyses) constitute the analysis of a plex predicate formation in French, and Manning
sentence. Frameworks that use multiple strata to rep- et al. (1999) suggested a complex predicate analysis
resent grammatical information can account for the of Japanese causatives. Verspoor (1997), Wechsler
monoclausal status on one or several levels. For in- (1997), Wechsler and Noh (2001), and Müller,
stance, Butt (1997), who worked in the framework (2002a) suggested HPSG analyses for resultative con-
of lexical functional grammar, suggested a complex structions in English, Korean, and German. Winkler
predicate analysis for Urdu, in which the complex (1997: chap. 6.2.2) proposed a corresponding analysis

for resultative constructions in the government and
binding (GB) framework.
In what follows, how so-called argument attrac-
tion approaches work is demonstrated. The analy-
sis of the phenomena discussed previously will be
sketched; in frameworks such as categorial grammar
or head-driven phrase structure grammar, functors
are specified together with descriptions of the syntac-
tic properties of their dependents. These descriptions
are cancelled during syntactic combination. In the
case of HPSG, the arguments are specified in a list.
(This is a simplification; contemporary approaches
assume two lists, one for the subject and one for
the remaining arguments. For languages such as
German, it is assumed that the subject of finite verbs
is treated like the other arguments, because it can be
permuted with them.) Identity of elements is indi-
cated by identical numbers in boxes (see Examples
(12a)–(12b) ).
Hinrichs and Nakazawa (1994) developed an argu-
ment attraction approach for auxiliary verbs and
modals.
(11) weil er ihn reparieren will
because he him repair want
‘because he wants to repair it’
In this analysis, reparieren (‘to repair’) and will (‘to
want’) form a close unit that functions as the head of
the whole clause. The syntactic information contained
in the valence specifications of the respective verbs is
given in Example (12):
(12a) reparieren: SUBCAT h NP [str], NP [str] i
(12b) will: SUBCAT ! h V [SUBCAT ] i
(12c) reparieren will: SUBCAT h NP[str], NP[str] i
NP[str] represents a noun phrase with structural case.
Case is assigned according to the following principle:
The first argument in a SUBCAT list with structural case
is realized as nominative unless it is raised to a higher
head (Meurers, 1999b). All other NPs with structural
case are realized as accusative. The specification for
will shows how argument attraction works: will
selects a verb and attracts all elements of the SUBCAT
list of the embedded verb. The identity of the
attracted elements and the arguments of the embed-
ded verb is indicated by the . Since the arguments of
reparieren will are not raised by a higher predicate,
the first one is assigned nominative case and the sec-
ond one is assigned accusative case.
This kind of analysis was extended to infinitival
constructions involving zu infinitives, such as the
one in Example (2b), by Kiss (1995). As Kathol
(1998) noted, remote passive cases as shown in Ex-
ample (5b) fall out automatically: If versuchen
is analyzed as an argument attraction verb, the
Complex Predicates 701
accusative object of reparieren is simultaneously an
object of the embedded verb zu reparieren and of the
complex head zu reparieren versucht:
(13a) reparieren: SUBCAT h NP[str]i, NP[str]j i
(13b) versucht: SUBCAT h NP[str]k i ! !
h V[SUBCAT h NP[str]k i ! ] i
(13c) zu reparieren versucht (finite):
SUBCAT h NP[str]k, NP [str]j i
(13d) zu reparieren versucht wurde (passive):
SUBCAT h NP [str]j i
Here versuchen is a subject control verb, therefore the
referential index of the subject (k) is identified with
the referential index of the subject of the embedded
predicate in Example (13b). The nonsubject argu-
ments of the embedded verb ( ) are attracted by the
matrix verb. Therefore, the object of the embedded
verb is simultaneously the object of the matrix verb.
Because both the downstairs object and the upstairs
subject are dependents of the same (complex) head,
the possibility of reordering is expected, since
this phenomenon also occurs with simplex heads in
German. If the matrix verb is passivized as in Exam-
ple (13d), the subject (NP[str]k) is suppressed and the
second argument becomes the first one in the SUBCAT
list. Since it is the first argument in this list, it is
realized as nominative, and the remote passive exam-
ple in Example (5b) is explained. Examples (2c), (4c),
and (5c) and similar constructs can be explained
similarily: verbs such as finden embed an adjective
and attract the subject of this adjective.
As Manning (1992) pointed out, the passive exam-
ples seem to be problematic for theories that assume
that verbal complex formation is a syntactic process,
since passive is treated as a lexical process in many
frameworks (for instance, lexicalfunctional gram-
mar and HPSG). If argument composition happens
at the point where the actual combination takes
place, lexical processes cannot access arguments
that are selected by other predicates. The argument
composition approach that was sketched previously
does not have the problems mentioned by Manning.
The reason is that the argument composition is
done in the lexicon, albeit in an underspecified way.
The attracting head does not specify the exact form
of the elements that are attracted. If lexical processes
are applied to the higher verb, these lexical pro-
cesses can impose requirements on the raised argu-
ments and make the list more specific (see, for
instance, Müller (2003) for adjectival derivation
with -bar ‘-able’).
Bobaljik and Wurmbrand (2004) (and Susanne
Wurmbrand, in an unpublished manuscript) argued
that modification data and fronting data show that a
complex predicate analysis for verbal complexes is
702 Complex Predicates
not adequate. Wurmbrand discussed the sentence in
Example (14):
(14) Sie haben den Fisch eine Woche lang
they have the fish one week long
in zwei Minuten zu fangen versucht.
in two minutes to catch tried
‘They tried for a week to catch the fish in two
minutes.’
This example shows that both verbs must be available
for modification, i.e., a fusion of the two events is not
tenable. This sentence is not problematic for complex
predicate approaches if it is assumed that adverbials
can attach to the verb directly. The adjunct does not
change the projection level and therefore in zwei
Minuten zu fangen has the same status as zu fangen.
There are also examples in which the adjunct is not
adjacent to the verb. To analyze these examples, dis-
continuous head-adjunct structures could be assumed
(Müller, 1999: chap. 17.6), as could an analysis that
introduces adjuncts lexically. This was suggested by
van Noord and Bouma (1994) for Dutch: a lexical
rule introduces an adjunct into the valence list of a
head. Argument composition works as previously
outlined. If adjuncts are combined with the complex
head, they scope over the verb as a dependent of
which they were introduced (see also Manning et al.,
(1999) for an analysis of Japanese causatives that
assumes a lexical introduction of adjuncts). The
third possibility is to assume that the events variables
of the verbs involved in complex formation are avail-
able at the predicate complex and that adverbials
attach to verbal complexes and pick one of the avail-
able event variables, as was suggested by Crysmann
(2004).
Wurmbrand also argued against the complex pred-
icate analysis on the basis of fronting as in Examples
(15a) and (15b):
(15a) Reparieren wird er den Wagen müssen.
repair will he the car must
(15b) Den Wagen wird er reparieren müssen.
the car will he repair must
Wurmbrand pointed out that reparieren and müssen
are not adjacent and that the verb can be fronted
without its object. That the verbs are not adjacent is
not a problem if there is some device that mediates
between the fronted constituent and the place where
argument composition is assumed to take place. In
the GB framework, movement is usually assumed for
such dislocations; in HPSG, this phenomenon is
handled by percolation of feature bundles. Example
(15a) has the structure indicated in Example (16):
(16) Repariereni wird er den Wagen [_i müssen].
The _i is a trace that corresponds to the fronted
reparieren, i.e., it has the same syntactic and semantic
properties. The argument composition of the argu-
ments of _i and müssen works exactly parallel to the
composition of arguments of reparieren and müssen
(see also Haider (1990) for a parallel treatment in the
GB framework). Wurmbrand argued that Example
(15a) is evidence for the XP status of reparieren,
since reparieren is fronted and only maximal projec-
tions can be fronted, but this is a theory-internal
assumption that is not universally shared. Since X
theory does not restrict the set of possible grammars
if empty elements are allowed (Koronai and Pullum,
1990), there is no reason to stick to X-theoretic
assumptions. Analyses of partial verb phrase fronting
that allow projections of different projection levels to
be fronted were developed by Haider (1990) in the
GB framework and by Müller (1999, 2002a) and
Meurers (1999a) (see also Bierwisch (1990) for
remarks on the necessity to admit phrasal and lexical
material in front of the finite verb).
The same argument attraction technique that is
used for verbal complexes can be used to account for
particle verbs: for the particle an (‘toward’), the va-
lence list contains one argument with structural case:
(17) an: SUBCAT h NP[str] i
The verb lachen has one argument, which also has
structural case:
(18) lach-: SUBCAT h NP [str] i
Müller (2002a: 344) suggested a lexical rule licensing
an additional lexical item for lach- that is subcategor-
ized for a particle in addition to the normal argu-
ments of lach-. The result of the rule application is a
lexical item with the following subcategorization list:
(19) lach-: h NP [str] i ! ! h PART[SUBCAT ]i
When lacht and an are combined, the resulting com-
plex head selects both the subject of the intransitive
base verb lachen and the argument of the particle:
(20) anlacht: h NP[str], NP[str] i
Since both noun phrases depend on the same head,
scrambling of these noun phrases, as in Example (4a),
is expected. If lach-is passivized, the subject of lach-is
suppressed and whatever is contributed by the parti-
cle ( ) will occupy the first position in the SUBCAT list.
If the passivized form of lach- is combined with the
particle an, the first element of the SUBCAT list of
angelacht will be the NP[str] contributed by an. This
element is realized as nominative. The sentence in
Example (5a) is accounted for.
Verspoor (1997), Wechsler (1997), Wechsler and
Noh (2001), and Müller (2002a) suggested a lexical

rule for resultative constructions in English, Korean,
and German. The lexical rule licenses additional lexi-
cal items that select for a resultative predicate. The
subject of the resultative predicate is attracted from
the embedded predicate. The matrix verb and the
resultative predicate form a complex head, and there-
fore the subject of the resultative predicate can be
permuted with the subject of the matrix verb and
the subject of the embedded predicate can be realized
as the subject of the matrix predicate if the matrix
predicate is passivized.
See also: Argument Structure; Binding Theory; Control
and Raising; Head-Driven Phrase Structure Grammar;
Lexical Functional Grammar; Long-Distance Dependen-
cies; Periphrasis; Predication; Principles and Parameters
Framework of Generative Grammar; Word Order and
Linearization; X-Bar Theory.
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Complex Segments
W Kehrein, Philipps University Marburg, Marburg,
Germany
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
A complex segment is a single speech unit with a
nonhomogeneous phonetic structure. The term will
be used here in a broad sense covering two major
subclasses:
A. ‘contour segments,’ i.e., sounds produced with
intrinsic sequential properties, such as affricates
[ , ], pre- and postnasalized stops [nd, dn], and
short diphthongs [ , ];
B. ‘multiply articulated consonants,’ i.e., sounds
with (more or less) simultaneous articulations at
different places, such as ‘doubly articulated’ labio-
velars [ , ] and clicks [8, !], and ‘secondary-
articulated’ consonants [pj, kw, ] (palatalized
consonants, labialized consonants, and velarized
consonants).
Besides its meaning as a cover term, phonologists
also use ‘complex segment’ to denote either (A) or
(B). The former usage is based on Hoard’s (1971)
original definition; the latter follows Sagey’s (1986)
terminology.
Complex Segments as Single Speech
Units
Many phonologists have observed that affricates, pre-
nasalized stops, doubly articulated consonants, and
secondary-articulated consonants behave like single
units and unlike clusters for PHONOTACTIC reasons
(see Trubetzkoy, 1939, Martinet, 1939 on affricates;
Herbert, 1986 for a critical review on prenasalized
stops). Dagbani, Boazi, and Chipewyan, for instance,
tolerate single consonants and complex segments,
though no clusters, in syllable onsets: Dagbani has
syllable-initial affricates [ , ] and labiovelars [ , ,
] (Ladefoged, 1964), Boazi has prenasalized stops
[mb, nd, Ng, NG] (Foley, 1986), and Chipewyan has
quite a number of affricates and labialized velars, e.g.,
[ , , , , kw, xw] (Maddieson, 1984).
Languages with more complex syllable types show
a parallel pattern. Verb stems in Éwé, for instance,
allow for initial Cþliquid clusters, where C can be a
simple consonant, a labiovelar [ , ], an affricate
[ , ], or a palatalized nasal [nj] (Ladefoged, 1964;
see (1d) below). Similarly, word initial Cþsonorant
clusters in Standard German can start with a single
obstruent, e.g., [pl]anke ‘plank,’ [fl]anke ‘flank,’
Complex Segments 705
[ku]al ‘pain,’ or an affricate, as in [ l]anze
‘plant,’ [ u]ei ‘two.’
The parallel phonotactic behavior of simple and
complex segments is supported by a number of
further observations. First, complex segments are
TAUTOSYLLABIC in intervocalic position, i.e., [a a,
a.nda, a. a, a.pja] etc., whereas clusters are typically
heterosyllabic, [as.ta, ar.ma, at.fa, am.sa]. Verbal
nouns in Dera (a.k.a. Kanakuru), for instance, have a
high-low tone pattern if their initial syllable is closed,
but two high tones if the initial syllable is open,
cf. [jáh.JeA k] ‘sift’ and [mó.neB k] ‘forget.’ A word such
as KíndeB k ‘squeeze’ illustrates that prenasalized stops
pattern as onsets, i.e., [KíndeB k] (Clements, 2000).
Similarly, vowel lengthening in open syllables identi-
fies affricates in Faroese as onsets; cf. [e:.ta] ‘to
eat’ and [ve:. a] ‘wake up,’ but [hEs.tor] ‘horse’
(Lockwood, 1977).
Second, complex segments have PHONETIC DURATIONS
comparable to single segments but significantly shorter
than clusters. This has been shown for labiovelars in
Eggon, Éwé, Idoma, Yoruba, and Igbo, for affricates in
English, Polish, and Kabardian, for prenasalized stops
in languages such as Ganda and Sinhala, and for pala-
talized consonants in Russian (see e.g., Sagey, 1986;
Ladefoged and Maddieson, 1996).
Third, complex segments differ from clusters by
having a FIXED ORDER no matter what their position
in the syllable is, e.g., German [ ao] ‘peacock’ and
[tO ] ‘pot,’ but [kla:!] ‘clear’ vs. [kalk] ‘lime.’ Analyz-
ing complex segments as single speech units explains
why they are not affected by the ‘sonorancy sequenc-
ing generalization,’ the principle which determines
the order of consonants in syllable onsets and codas.
Fourth, complex segments are INSEPARABLE UNITS
with regard to processes such as vowel epenthesis,
infixation, or reduplication. In Éwé, for instance, re-
duplication copies the first consonant and vowel of a
stem, as shown in (1a) vs. (1b). Complex segments are
copied as units (1c); and clusters of complex segment
and liquid are split up after the complex segment, but
not after its first component (1d, e) (Sagey, 1986: 86).
(1a) fo ‘to beat’ fo-fo ‘beating’
(1b) fle ‘to buy’ fe-flee ‘bought’
(1c) i ‘to grow’ i- ii ‘grown up’ *t ii
(1d) lo ‘to lead’ o- lo ‘leading’ *ko lo
(1e) njra ‘to rave’ nja-njrala ‘a raver’ *nanjrala
Finally, complex segments must be distinguished
from their corresponding (though phonetically lon-
ger) clusters because in some languages at least both
are in CONTRAST with each other. Some examples are
given in Table 1.
706 Complex Segments

Different Types of Complex Segments segments and doubly articulated consonants: the for-
mer display internal changes in continuancy ([ ]),
Following the criteria from the previous section, pho-
nasality ([mb, bm]), and laterality ([ ]), but never in,
nologists have identified quite a number of complex
e.g., voicing (*[ , ]), glottal width (*[ , ]),
segments. Some of them are listed in Table 2 below
or sonorancy (*[ , , ]). The latter are always
along with their frequency in Maddieson’s (1984)
composed of two, independently movable articula-
sample of 317 languages. Several conclusions can be
tors, i.e., labial and dorsal ([ , , , 8]), coronal
drawn from crosslinguistic investigations such as
and dorsal ([|, !, ] and possibly [ ]), or coronal and
Maddieson’s: first and most obviously, some complex
labial ([ , ]) (in Yeletnye [Yele]; Ladefoged and
segments are widespread among the languages of the Maddieson, 1996), but never bilabial and labiodental
world, while others are exceedingly rare. The palato-
(*[ ]), alveolar and retroflex (*[ ]), palatal and
alveolar affricate [ ] is by far the most common,
velar (*[ ]), or velar and uvular (*[ ]) (see Halle,
occurring in 141 (7¼ 44.5%) of the languages in the
1983).
database (80 languages have [ ], 43 languages have
The same restrictions apply to more heterogeneous
[ h], and 35 have [ ’]).
types: [ j], [n ], and [ ] are possible (and attested)
Second, the frequency of a particular complex seg-
doubly complex segments because their individual
ment is not entirely determined by its ‘type.’ Thus,
components are (cf. [ ], [tj], [nd], [ ]); but *[ ],
the affricates [ ] and [ ] are extremely frequent *[ ], *[ ], and *[ ] are impermissible for the
compared to [ ], which occurs only in Luo and
general absence of voicing contours (*[ ]), glottal
Chipewyan; [kw] is common, but only Nambakaengo
width contours (*[ ]), multiple coronals (*[ ]),
(Santa Cruz) has [pw]; labiovelars [ ] (and [ ], in 18
and multiple dorsals (*[ ]), respectively.
languages) are relatively frequent, but coronovelars,
There is no general agreement on how ‘complex’ a
such as the alveolar click [!] in Nama and !Xũ (Kung-
complex segment can get; but some phonologists
Ekoka), or the rather obscure dentopalatal [ ] of
have argued that the Chadic language Margi (Marghi
Maung, are not; and while prenasalized stops [mb,
Central) carries things to extremes. According to
n
d, Ng] occur in 18 languages of the sample, their Sagey’s (1986) analysis at least, Margi has affricates,
postnasalized counterparts [bm, dn, gN] are restricted
prenasalized consonants, labialized consonants, and
to a single language (Aranda) Western Arrarnta.
labiocoronals ([ , ]), as well as many of their com-
Third, complex segments tend to be homogeneous
binations, yielding prenasalized, labialized stops
except for a single phonological dimension. This is
([mbw, Ngw]), ‘heterorganic affricates’ ([ , , ]),
evident from comparing the frequencies of [ ], [mb],
stop–affricate combinations [ , ], and even some
[ ], or [tj] with doubly complex segments such
‘ternary-complex segments,’ such as [n w] and
as [ j], [n ], and [ ].
[ ].
Fourth, many potential complex segments do not
occur at all in Maddieson’s database, nor in any other
known language. Restrictions apply to both contour
Phonological Representations for
Complex Segments
Table 1 Contrasts of complex segments and clusters
Complex segments have played quite a role in
Language Complex segment Cluster
various developments in theoretical phonology.
Eggon: u ‘die’ kpu ‘kneel’ Doubly articulated consonants have served as major
Russian: pjotr ‘Peter’ pjot ‘drink.3SG.’ evidence for a fundamental shift from place-of-
Polish: $i ‘whether’ tsi$ ‘three’ articulation features to the so-called articulator-
Kabardian: a:s ‘it has been dza:s ‘we have filtered based theory (Halle, 1983; Clements and Hume,
thrown’ it’
Sinhala: landa ‘blind’ landa ‘thicket’
1995). In this model, simple and multiply articu-
lated consonants can be represented with different
Source: Sagey (1986). numbers and types of active articulators: simple

Table 2 Frequency of some complex segments

kw m
b tj n j
! pw bm

S 141 95 38 19 18 12 8 5 3 2 2 1 1 1 1
% 44.5 30.0 12.0 6.0 5.7 3.8 2.5 1.6 0.9 0.6 0.6 0.3 0.3 0.3 0.3

Source: Maddieson (1984).

 Complex Segments 707

consonants receive a single consonantal articulator, as
shown in (2a); doubly articulated consonants have
two consonantal articulators (2b); and secondary-
articulated consonants are specified for consonantal
and vocalic articulators (2c).
(2a)
stops display a change from [!nasal] to [þnasal]
(Anderson, 1976). Most phonologists, including
Hoard, Anderson, and Sagey, analyze such ‘feature
contours’ as parts of single segments, as shown in (4).
(4a)

(4b)

(2b) (4c)

An alternative to segment-internal feature contours

is Clements and Keyser’s (1983) bisegmental analysis.
They treat contour segments as combinations of two
(closely related) simple segments sharing a single po-
(2c)
sition in the syllable. This is sketched in (5).
(5a)

The feature geometrical structures in (2) are inter-

preted as phonologically unordered. This explains (5b)
why no language contrasts, e.g., [ ] and [ ], or
[kw] and [wk]. And it also accounts for the observa-
tion that multiply articulated consonants can spread
both place specifications to a preceding consonant, as
shown below for the labiovelar in Kpelle (Sagey,
(5c)
1986: 37).

(3) N-polu [ḿ.bo.lu] ‘my back’

N-kO: [ .gO:] ‘my foot’
N- iN [ . iN] *[ iN], *[ḿ. iN] ‘myself’

Contour segments, on the other hand, seem to act In Clements and Keyser’s view, contour segments
as one type of sound to their left, but as another type represent one of the three fundamental ways in
to their right, a phenomenon known as the ‘edge which segments can be linked to the syllable
effect.’ Prenasalized stops, for instance, often nasalize template (the so-called skeletal tier): short segments
preceding vowels, e.g., /and/ ! [ãnd] (in Guaranı́, are linked to single skeletal units (6a); long
Kaingáng, and other languages), but never following segments are linked to two positions (6b); and
vowels (/nda/ ! *[ndã]; Anderson, 1976). Likewise, contour segments are represented as two segments
epenthesis in English plural forms such as buses linked to a single slot on the skeleton (6c).
([-SIZ]), bushes ([-sIZ]), Churches (-[ IZ]) and edges (6a)
([- IZ]) seems to treat affricates as continuant sounds
at their right edge (though see ‘Affricates as Strident
Stops’ below).
On the strength of these findings, contour seg-
ments are usually represented with phonologically
(6b)
ordered properties: affricates contain a sequence
of [!continuant] and [þcontinuant] specifications
(Hoard, 1971; Sagey, 1986), prenasalized stops are
[þnasal] then [!nasal] sounds, and postnasalized
708 Complex Segments
(6c)
The unitary function of contour segments, in this
model, follows from their monopositional status at
the skeletal tier. This is shown in (7). (7a) illustrates
the parallel phonotactic behavior of simple conso-
nants and affricates in German; (7b) represents an
intervocalic prenasalized stop in Dera; and (7c)
shows how affricates can be distinguished from
clusters in a language such as Polish.
(7a)
(7b)
(7c)
Affricates as Strident Stops
In an early feature analysis, Jakobson, et al. (1952)
proposed to treat affricates as ‘strident stops,’ i.e.,
[þstrident, "continuant] sounds. Proponents of the
contour analysis of affricates have advanced three
major problems with this view: (a) the existence of
nonstrident affricates, such as [ ] in Chipewyan and
Luo; (b) the natural class of affricates and fricatives;
and (c) the observation of edge effects, suggesting
that affricates act as stops only to their left, but as
fricatives to their right.
More recent work, however, has raised serious
objections to all these points, thereby putting the
strident stop approach back on the map. First, con-
trary to what the internal ordering of features would
predict, affricates may well act as ["continuant]
sounds to their right (the so-called antiedge effects;
see Lombardi, 1990). Second, on closer examination,
the alleged natural class of affricates and fricatives as
[þcontinuant] sounds turns out to be a natural class
of [þstrident] sounds, because it includes stridents, [s,
s, §, , , ] etc., but excludes nonstrident conti-
nuants (see LaCharité, 1993, Kim, 1997, Kehrein,
2002). The English plural, mentioned in the previous
section, is a typical example in this regard: only
[þstrident] explains why epenthesis shows up in
bushes and churches though not in, e.g., cliffs ([-fs])
and moths ([-ys]) (see also Rubach, 1994, on the
active role of stridency in the phonology of Polish).
Finally, Clements (1999) and Kehrein (2002)
rejected the idea of nonstrident affricates as inde-
pendent phonological entities because these sounds
never contrast with stops. Rather, they occur either
(a) as phonetic variants of simple stops, as in Diyari
(Dieri) [t9] # [ ], for instance, or (b) as the phonetic
realization of a particular laryngeal series of stops,
e.g., Tahltan [q, q’] but [qwh], or (c) in cases of minor
place distinctions, such as Chipewyan and Luo,
which have laminodental [ ] and apicoalveolar [t],
though neither [t9] nor [ ] (see Clements, 1999; and
Kehrein, 2002 for more examples and references).
The findings suggest that affricates are, though
phonetically complex, rather simple sounds at the
phonological level: strident affricates such as [ , ,
] are specified for ["continuant, þstrident], lateral
affricates [ , ] are specified for ["continuant,
þlateral] (see Kehrein, 2002), and nonstrident affri-
cates ([ , , ] etc.) are ordinary simple stops
phonologically, i.e., ["continuant] sounds. Their
affricated phonetic forms, in this view, follow exclu-
sively from requirements of perceptibility. Laterality
and stridency are necessarily sequenced with respect
to oral closure; and affrication of simple stops might
be explained as a strategy to increase the percepti-
bility of other phonological distinctions, laryngeal
series and minor place contrasts in particular.
See also: Autosegmental Phonology; Diphthongs; Distinc-
tive Features; Feature Organization; Phoneme; Phonolog-
ical Typology.
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Componential Analysis
D Geeraerts, University of Leuven, Leuven, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Componential Analysis
Componential analysis is an approach that describes
word meanings as a combination of elementary
meaning components called semantic features or se-
mantic components. The set of basic features is sup-
posed to be finite. These basic features are primitive
in the sense that they are the undefined building
blocks of lexical-semantic definitions. Hence, the
term ‘semantic primitives’ (or sometimes ‘atomic
predicates’) is used to refer to the basic features.
The advantage of having definitional elements that
themselves remain undefined resides in the possibility
of avoiding circularity: if the definitional language
and the defined language are identical, words are
ultimately defined in terms of themselves – in which
case the explanatory value of definitions seems to
wholly disappear. More particularly, definitional cir-
cularity would seem to imply that it is impossible to
step outside the realm of language and to explain how
language is related to the world.
This motivation for having undefined primitive ele-
ments imposes an important restriction on the set of
primitive features. In fact, if achieving noncircularity
is the point, the set of primitives should be smaller
than the set of words to be defined: there is no
Componential Analysis 709
Ladefoged P (1964). A phonetic study of West African
languages. West African Languages and Monographs 1.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Ladefoged P & Maddieson I (1996). The sounds of the
world’s languages. Oxford: Blackwell.
Lockwood W B (1977). An introduction to modern
Faroese. Tórshavn: Føroya Skúlabókagrunnur.
Lombardi L (1990). ‘The nonlinear organisation of the
affricate.’ Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 8,
375–425.
Maddieson I (1984). Patterns of sounds. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press.
Martinet A (1939). ‘Un ou deux phonèmes?’ Acta
Linguistica 1, 94–103.
Rubach J (1994). ‘Affricates as strident stops in Polish.’
Linguistic Inquiry 25, 119–143.
Sagey E (1986). ‘The representation of features and rela-
tions in nonlinear phonology.’ Ph.D. Dissertation, MIT.
Trubetzkoy N S (1939). Grundzüge der phonologie.
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht.
reductive or explanatory value in a set of undefined
defining elements that is as large as the set of concepts
to be defined. Furthermore, the idea was put forward
that the restricted set of primitive features might be
universal, just like in phonology. This universality is
not, however, a necessary consequence of the primi-
tive nature of features: the definitional set of features
could well be language specific.
The European Tradition of Componential
Analysis
Componential analysis was developed in the second
half of the 1950s and the beginning of the 1960s by
European and American linguists, at least to some
extent independently of each other. Although the
first step in the direction of componential analysis
can be found in the work of Louis Hjelmslev
(Hjelmslev, 1953), its full development does not
emerge in Europe before the early 1960s, in the
work of Bernard Pottier (Pottier, 1964; Pottier,
1965), Eugenio Coseriu (Coseriu, 1964; Coseriu,
1967) and Algirdas Greimas (Greimas, 1966). The
fundamental idea behind these studies is that the
items in a lexical field are mutually distinguished by
functional oppositions. In this sense, componential
analysis grew out of a desire to provide a system-
atic analysis of the semantic relations within a lexical
field.

Foley W A (1986). The Papuan languages of New Guinea.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Halle M (1983). ‘On distinctive features and their articula-
tory implementation.’ Natural Language and Linguistic
Theory 1, 91–105.
Herbert R K (1986). Language universals, markedness
theory, and natural phonetic processes. Berlin: Mouton
de Gruyter.
Hoard J E (1971). ‘The new phonological paradigm.’ Glossa
5, 222–268.
Jakobson R, Fant G & Halle M (1952). Prelininaries
to speech analysis: the distinctive features and their
correlates. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Kehrein W (2002). Phonological representation and pho-
netic phasing: affricates and laryngeals. Linguistische
Arbeiten 466. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Kim H (1997). ‘The phonological representation of affri-
cates: evidence from Korean and other languages.’ Un-
published Ph.D. dissertation. Cornell University.
LaCharité D (1993). ‘The internal structure of affricates.’
Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. University of Ottawa.
Componential Analysis
D Geeraerts, University of Leuven, Leuven, Belgium
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Componential Analysis
Componential analysis is an approach that describes
word meanings as a combination of elementary
meaning components called semantic features or se-
mantic components. The set of basic features is sup-
posed to be finite. These basic features are primitive
in the sense that they are the undefined building
blocks of lexical-semantic definitions. Hence, the
term ‘semantic primitives’ (or sometimes ‘atomic
predicates’) is used to refer to the basic features.
The advantage of having definitional elements that
themselves remain undefined resides in the possibility
of avoiding circularity: if the definitional language
and the defined language are identical, words are
ultimately defined in terms of themselves – in which
case the explanatory value of definitions seems to
wholly disappear. More particularly, definitional cir-
cularity would seem to imply that it is impossible to
step outside the realm of language and to explain how
language is related to the world.
This motivation for having undefined primitive ele-
ments imposes an important restriction on the set of
primitive features. In fact, if achieving noncircularity
is the point, the set of primitives should be smaller
than the set of words to be defined: there is no
Componential Analysis 709
Ladefoged P (1964). A phonetic study of West African
languages. West African Languages and Monographs 1.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Ladefoged P & Maddieson I (1996). The sounds of the
world’s languages. Oxford: Blackwell.
Lockwood W B (1977). An introduction to modern
Faroese. Tórshavn: Føroya Skúlabókagrunnur.
Lombardi L (1990). ‘The nonlinear organisation of the
affricate.’ Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 8,
375–425.
Maddieson I (1984). Patterns of sounds. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press.
Martinet A (1939). ‘Un ou deux phonèmes?’ Acta
Linguistica 1, 94–103.
Rubach J (1994). ‘Affricates as strident stops in Polish.’
Linguistic Inquiry 25, 119–143.
Sagey E (1986). ‘The representation of features and rela-
tions in nonlinear phonology.’ Ph.D. Dissertation, MIT.
Trubetzkoy N S (1939). Grundzüge der phonologie.
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht.
reductive or explanatory value in a set of undefined
defining elements that is as large as the set of concepts
to be defined. Furthermore, the idea was put forward
that the restricted set of primitive features might be
universal, just like in phonology. This universality is
not, however, a necessary consequence of the primi-
tive nature of features: the definitional set of features
could well be language specific.
The European Tradition of Componential
Analysis
Componential analysis was developed in the second
half of the 1950s and the beginning of the 1960s by
European and American linguists, at least to some
extent independently of each other. Although the
first step in the direction of componential analysis
can be found in the work of Louis Hjelmslev
(Hjelmslev, 1953), its full development does not
emerge in Europe before the early 1960s, in the
work of Bernard Pottier (Pottier, 1964; Pottier,
1965), Eugenio Coseriu (Coseriu, 1964; Coseriu,
1967) and Algirdas Greimas (Greimas, 1966). The
fundamental idea behind these studies is that the
items in a lexical field are mutually distinguished by
functional oppositions. In this sense, componential
analysis grew out of a desire to provide a system-
atic analysis of the semantic relations within a lexical
field.
710 Componential Analysis
Methodologically speaking, componential analysis
has a double background. First, it links up with the
traditional lexicographical practice of defining con-
cepts in an analytical way, by splitting them up into
more basic concepts; thus, a definition of ram as
‘male sheep’ uses the differentiating feature ‘male’ to
distinguish the term ram from other items in the field
of words referring to sheep. In the Aristotelian and
Thomistic tradition, this manner of defining is known
as a definition per genus proximum et differentias
specificas, i.e., (roughly) ‘by stating the superordinate
class to which something belongs, together with the
specific characteristics that differentiate it from the
other members of the class.’ Second, the background
of the componential idea can be traced to structural
phonology, where the sound inventory of natural lan-
guages had been successfully described by means of a
restricted number of oppositions.
On the basis of this phonological model, the struc-
turalist semanticians set out to look for functional
oppositions within a lexical field, oppositions that
are represented, as in phonology, by means of a bina-
ry plus/minus notation. Pottier (1964) provides an
example in his analysis of a field consisting (among
others) of the terms pouf, tabouret, chaise, fauteuil,
and canapé; the term that delimits the field as a
superordinate term is siège, ‘sitting equipment with
legs.’ These five words can be contrasted mutually by
means of distinctive oppositions. Consider the fol-
lowing set:
s1 ‘for sitting’
s2 ‘with legs’
s3 ‘with back’
s4 ‘for a single person’
s5 ‘with arms’
s6 ‘made from hard material.’
We can then define the items in the field:
S1 chaise þs1, þs2, þs3, þs4, "s5, þs6
S2 fauteuil þs1, þs2, þs3, þs4, þs5, þs6
S3 tabouret þs1, þs2, "s3, þs4, "s5, þs6
S4 canapé þs1, þs2, þs3, "s4, þs5, þs6
S5 pouf þs1, þs2, "s3, þs4, "s5, "s6
The work of the structuralist semanticians of the
European school tends to be rich in terminological
distinctions, and this is also the case in Pottier’s work.
The values of the oppositional dimensions (s1, s2, etc.)
are called sèmes, and the meaning of a lexème (lexical
item) is a sémème (S1, S2, etc). Siège, then, is the
archilexème, and the meaning of this archilexème
(in this case, features s1 and s2) is the archisémème.
The archisémème is present in the semèmes of any
of the separate lexèmes in the field. This is not yet
the whole story, since fonctèmes (relevant for the
description of grammatical meaning aspects, such as
word class) and classèmes (sèmes that recur through-
out the entire vocabulary) should also be taken into
account.
This terminological abundance has, however, hard-
ly found its way to the customary semantic vocabu-
lary (although the English counterparts of the French
terms, such as ‘sememe’ and ‘seme,’ may occasionally
be met with). This illustrates the fact that, as men-
tioned before, the European branch of componential
analysis has remained more or less isolated. Specifi-
cally, it has not played an important role in
the developments that grew out of the American
branch, such as the incorporation of componential
analysis into generative grammar. Beside the ones
mentioned above, other names that are of impor-
tance within the European tradition are those of
Horst Geckeler (Geckeler, 1971), who specifically
continues the lines set out by Coseriu, Klaus Heger
(Heger, 1964), Kurt Baldinger (Baldinger, 1980), and
Leonhard Lipka (Lipka, 2002). Through the work of
Greimas, European structuralist semantics has had a
considerable impact outside linguistics, especially in
literary studies.
The American Tradition of Componential
Analysis
In America, the componential method emerged from
anthropological linguistic studies. In a rudimentary
way, this is the case with Conklin (1955), whereas a
thorough empirical, formal, and theoretical elabora-
tion is provided by Goodenough (1956) and especial-
ly Lounsbury (1956). The major breakthrough of
componential analysis did not, however, occur until
the appearance of Jerrold J. Katz and Jerry A. Fodor’s
seminal article ‘‘The structure of a semantic theory’’
(Katz and Fodor, 1963). It was Katz in particular
who extended and defended the theory afterward;
see especially Katz (1972).
Rather than analyzing a lexical field, Katz and
Fodor gave an example of the way in which the
meanings of a single word, when analyzed compo-
nentially, can be represented as part of a formalized
dictionary. Such a formalized dictionary (to distin-
guish it from ordinary dictionaries, it is sometimes
referred to by the term ‘lexicon’) would then be part
of a formal grammar. What the entry for the English
word bachelor would look like is demonstrated in
Figure 1. Next to word form and word class, two
kinds of semantic components can be found in the
diagram: markers and distinguishers (indicated
with parentheses and square brackets respectively).
Markers constitute what is called the systematic part

Figure 1 Componential analysis of bachelor (after Katz and
Fodor, 1963).
of the meaning of an item. Like Pottier’s classèmes,
they recur throughout the lexicon. Specifically, they
are supposed to represent those features in terms of
which selection restrictions (semantic restrictions on
the combinatory possibilities of words) are formu-
lated. Distinguishers represent what is idiosyncratic
rather than systematic about the meaning of an item;
they only appear on the lowest level of the formalized
representation.
The Katzian approach has had to endure heavy
attacks (among others from Bolinger, 1965, Weinreich
1966, and Bierwisch 1969), and Katz’s views gradual-
ly moved to the background of the ongoing discus-
sions. The Katzian distinction between markers and
distinguishers, for instance, was generally found not
to be well established, and was consequently aban-
doned. Conversely, various other distinctions between
types of features were proposed, two kinds of which
may be mentioned separately. To begin with, binary
features of the plus/minus type were supplemented
with nonbinary features, which represent cases
where the distinctive dimension can have more than
two values. Leech (1974), for instance, suggested a
distinctive dimension ‘metal’ with multiple values, in
order to distinguish between gold, copper, iron, mer-
cury, and so on. Further, a distinction between elemen-
tary and complex features was drawn to stress the fact
that a concept with distinctive value in one lexical
field might itself have to be subjected to further de-
composition, until the ultimate level of basic features
was reached.
Other developments triggered by the Katzian ap-
proach included attempts to combine componential
analysis with other forms of semantic analysis, e.g.,
with lexical field theory (Lehrer, 1974; Lutzeier
1981). One should bear in mind that suggestions
such as those enumerated here, although leading
away from the original Katzian model, were by and
large situated within the very framework that was
Componential Analysis 711
designed by Katz and Fodor, i.e., that of a formalized
componential meaning representation as part of a
formal grammar.
The Contemporary Situation
Basically, the contemporary attitude of linguists to-
wards componential analysis takes one of three
forms: componential analysis may be used as a de-
scriptive formalism, as an epistemological necessity,
or as a heuristic instrument.
To begin with, there are various approaches in
formal grammar that use some form of semantic
decomposition as a descriptive device: see for in-
stance Dowty (1979) and Pustejovsky (1995), which
incorporated ideas from componential analysis in
the framework of logical semantics. With the ex-
ception of researchers such as Ray Jackendoff
(Jackendoff, 2002), who dialogues actively with
cognitive psychology, the approaches mentioned
here tend to pay minimal attention to the method-
ological question of how to establish the basic,
primitive nature of semantic features. If the original
Katzian approach combines the idea of primitive-
ness with the idea of formalization, most of the
approaches in this first contemporary group stress
the formalization aspect more than the systematic
quest for primitives.
The converse is the case in Anna Wierzbicka’s nat-
ural semantic metalanguage approach (see Natural
Semantic Metalanguage), which is not much interest-
ed in formalization of lexical and grammatical ana-
lyses, but which systematically tries to establish the
basic set of primitive concepts.
Third, at the other extreme, cognitive semantics
and related approaches within contemporary seman-
tics question the componential approach itself: what
is the justification for assuming that lexical meanings
are to be represented in a fragmented way, as a collec-
tion of more basic semantic elements? The antidecom-
positional reasoning takes many forms (see Fillmore,
1975 for one of the most influential statements), but
one of the basic arguments is the following.
The appeal of noncircular definitions seemed to be
that they could explain how the gap between linguis-
tic meaning and extralinguistic reality is bridged: if
determining whether a concept A applies to thing
B entails checking whether the features that make
up the definition of A apply to B as an extralinguistic
entity, then words are related to the world through
the intermediary of primitive features. But obviously,
this does not explain how the basic features them-
selves bridge the gap. More generally, the ‘referential
connection’ problem for words remains unsolved
as long as it is not solved for the primitives. And
712 Componential Analysis
conversely, if the ‘referential connection’ problem
could be solved for primitive features, the same solu-
tion might very well be applicable to words as a
whole. So, if noncircularity does not solve the refer-
ential problem as such, decomposition is not a priori
to be preferred over nondecompositional approaches,
and psychological evidence for one or the other can
be taken into account (see Aitchison, 2003 for an
overview of the psychological issues).
However, even within those approaches that do not
consider semantic decomposition to be epistemologi-
cally indispensable, componential analysis may be
used as a heuristic device. For instance, in Geeraerts
et al. (1994), a work that is firmly situated within the
tradition of cognitive semantics, the internal proto-
typical structure of lexical categories is analyzed on
the basis of a componential analysis of the referents of
the words in question.
It would seem, in other words, that there is wide-
spread agreement in linguistics about the usefulness
of componential analysis as a descriptive and heuris-
tic tool, but the associated epistemological view that
there is a primitive set of basic features is generally
treated with much more caution.
See also: Cognitive Semantics; Lexical Fields; Natural
Semantic Metalanguage; Semantic Primitives.
Bibliography
Aitchison J (2003). Words in the mind: an introduction to
the mental lexicon (3rd edn.). Oxford: Blackwell.
Baldinger K (1980). Semantic theory. Oxford: Blackwell.
Bierwisch M (1969). ‘On certain problems of semantic
representations.’ Foundations of Language 5, 153–184.
Bolinger D (1965). ‘The atomization of meaning.’
Language 41, 555–573.
Conklin H (1955). ‘Hanunóo color categories.’ Southwest-
ern Journal of Anthropology 11, 339–344.
Coseriu E (1964). ‘Pour une sémantique diachronique
structurale.’ Travaux de Linguistique et de Littérature
2, 139–186.
Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects
F J Pelletier, Simon Fraser University,
Burnaby, BC, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
There are three different but loosely related concep-
tions that are associated with the term ‘composition-
ality’ in the literature of philosophical and linguistic
semantics.
Coseriu E (1967). ‘Lexikalische Solidaritäten.’ Poetica 1,
293–303.
Dowty D (1979). Word meaning and Montague grammar.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Fillmore C (1975). ‘An alternative to checklist theories of
meaning.’ In Cogen C, Thompson H & Wright J (eds.)
Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting of the Berkeley
Linguistics Society. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Linguistics
Society. 123–131.
Geckeler H (1971). Zur Wortfelddiskussion. Munich:
Fink.
Geeraerts D, Grondelaers S & Bakema P (1994). The
structure of lexical variation. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Goodenough W (1956). ‘Componential analysis and the
study of meaning.’ Language 32, 195–216.
Greimas A (1966). Sémantique structurale. Paris: Larousse.
Heger K (1964). Monem, Wort, Satz und Text. Tübingen:
Niemeyer.
Hjelmslev L (1953). Prolegomena to a theory of language.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Jackendoff R (2002). Foundations of language. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Katz J J (1972). Semantic theory. New York: Harper and
Row.
Katz J J & Fodor J A (1963). ‘The structure of a semantic
theory.’ Language 39, 170–210.
Leech G (1974). Semantics. Harmondsworth, England:
Penguin.
Lehrer A (1974). Lexical fields and semantic structure.
Amsterdam: North Holland.
Lipka L (2002). English lexicology. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Lounsbury F (1956). ‘A semantic analysis of Pawnee kin-
ship usage.’ Language 32, 158–194.
Lutzeier P (1981). Wort und Feld. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Pottier B (1964). ‘Vers une sémantique moderne.’ Travaux
de Linguistique et de Littérature 2, 107–137.
Pottier B (1965). ‘La définition sémantique dans les dic-
tionnaires.’ Travaux de Linguistique et de Littérature 3,
33–39.
Pustejovsky J (1995). The generative lexicon. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Weinreich U (1966). ‘Explorations in semantic theory.’ In
Sebeok T A (ed.) Current Trends in Linguistics 3. The
Hague: Mouton. 395–477.
One conception, taking its lead from the more
literal sense of this technical term, concerns the man-
ner of composition of objects in the world. In this
sense, an object or type of object is compositional if it
is identical with its parts when they are assembled in
some specified way. A slogan for this notion of com-
positionality is: ‘‘An object is the sum of its parts.’’
However, this is a slightly misleading slogan, because
712 Componential Analysis
conversely, if the ‘referential connection’ problem
could be solved for primitive features, the same solu-
tion might very well be applicable to words as a
whole. So, if noncircularity does not solve the refer-
ential problem as such, decomposition is not a priori
to be preferred over nondecompositional approaches,
and psychological evidence for one or the other can
be taken into account (see Aitchison, 2003 for an
overview of the psychological issues).
However, even within those approaches that do not
consider semantic decomposition to be epistemologi-
cally indispensable, componential analysis may be
used as a heuristic device. For instance, in Geeraerts
et al. (1994), a work that is firmly situated within the
tradition of cognitive semantics, the internal proto-
typical structure of lexical categories is analyzed on
the basis of a componential analysis of the referents of
the words in question.
It would seem, in other words, that there is wide-
spread agreement in linguistics about the usefulness
of componential analysis as a descriptive and heuris-
tic tool, but the associated epistemological view that
there is a primitive set of basic features is generally
treated with much more caution.
See also: Cognitive Semantics; Lexical Fields; Natural
Semantic Metalanguage; Semantic Primitives.
Bibliography
Aitchison J (2003). Words in the mind: an introduction to
the mental lexicon (3rd edn.). Oxford: Blackwell.
Baldinger K (1980). Semantic theory. Oxford: Blackwell.
Bierwisch M (1969). ‘On certain problems of semantic
representations.’ Foundations of Language 5, 153–184.
Bolinger D (1965). ‘The atomization of meaning.’
Language 41, 555–573.
Conklin H (1955). ‘Hanunóo color categories.’ Southwest-
ern Journal of Anthropology 11, 339–344.
Coseriu E (1964). ‘Pour une sémantique diachronique
structurale.’ Travaux de Linguistique et de Littérature
2, 139–186.
Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects
F J Pelletier, Simon Fraser University,
Burnaby, BC, Canada
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
There are three different but loosely related concep-
tions that are associated with the term ‘composition-
ality’ in the literature of philosophical and linguistic
semantics.
Coseriu E (1967). ‘Lexikalische Solidaritäten.’ Poetica 1,
293–303.
Dowty D (1979). Word meaning and Montague grammar.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Fillmore C (1975). ‘An alternative to checklist theories of
meaning.’ In Cogen C, Thompson H & Wright J (eds.)
Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting of the Berkeley
Linguistics Society. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Linguistics
Society. 123–131.
Geckeler H (1971). Zur Wortfelddiskussion. Munich:
Fink.
Geeraerts D, Grondelaers S & Bakema P (1994). The
structure of lexical variation. Berlin: Mouton de
Gruyter.
Goodenough W (1956). ‘Componential analysis and the
study of meaning.’ Language 32, 195–216.
Greimas A (1966). Sémantique structurale. Paris: Larousse.
Heger K (1964). Monem, Wort, Satz und Text. Tübingen:
Niemeyer.
Hjelmslev L (1953). Prolegomena to a theory of language.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Jackendoff R (2002). Foundations of language. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Katz J J (1972). Semantic theory. New York: Harper and
Row.
Katz J J & Fodor J A (1963). ‘The structure of a semantic
theory.’ Language 39, 170–210.
Leech G (1974). Semantics. Harmondsworth, England:
Penguin.
Lehrer A (1974). Lexical fields and semantic structure.
Amsterdam: North Holland.
Lipka L (2002). English lexicology. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Lounsbury F (1956). ‘A semantic analysis of Pawnee kin-
ship usage.’ Language 32, 158–194.
Lutzeier P (1981). Wort und Feld. Tübingen: Niemeyer.
Pottier B (1964). ‘Vers une sémantique moderne.’ Travaux
de Linguistique et de Littérature 2, 107–137.
Pottier B (1965). ‘La définition sémantique dans les dic-
tionnaires.’ Travaux de Linguistique et de Littérature 3,
33–39.
Pustejovsky J (1995). The generative lexicon. Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press.
Weinreich U (1966). ‘Explorations in semantic theory.’ In
Sebeok T A (ed.) Current Trends in Linguistics 3. The
Hague: Mouton. 395–477.
One conception, taking its lead from the more
literal sense of this technical term, concerns the man-
ner of composition of objects in the world. In this
sense, an object or type of object is compositional if it
is identical with its parts when they are assembled in
some specified way. A slogan for this notion of com-
positionality is: ‘‘An object is the sum of its parts.’’
However, this is a slightly misleading slogan, because

it does not distinguish between two different types
of objects made of the same parts but put together
differently. This notion of compositionality is meta-
physical in nature: it provides a characterization of
the ontology of objects in the world, saying that they
can all be described in terms of some basic atomic
elements and their combinations. Along with this
ontological feature often goes an epistemological fea-
ture: that one can know objects in the world by
understanding what the atomic items are and the
ways they can be assembled. Both the ontological
and the epistemological aspects here are further asso-
ciated with reductionism: the view that objects are
‘‘nothing more than’’ their parts. In this meaning of
compositionality, the compositionalists are often
called ‘atomists,’ and anti-compositionalists are
called ‘holists’ or sometimes ‘wholists.’ These latter
theorists deny that all objects can be described and
known in terms of their parts and the arrangement of
the parts – for instance, they might deny that a corpo-
ration, a nation, or a group is ‘‘nothing more than’’
the class of individuals making them up together with
their relationships – and hence they are antireductio-
nistic. They might also hold that there are emergent
properties and gestalt properties that cannot be de-
scribed and known in the way required by atomism.
A slogan for these theories is: ‘‘The whole is more
than the sum of its parts.’’
In the field of semantics, whether semantics of
natural language or of mental items, there is a some-
what different conception of compositionality in play.
In this realm, it is meaning that is claimed to be
compositional; but since meaning is always meaning
of something, it is this other something that defines
the parts and the whole, unlike the case of the first
sort of compositionality. The slogan for this second
conception of compositionality is: ‘‘The meaning of
a whole is determined by the meaning of its parts and
the way these parts are combined.’’ What we see
here is that a feature of a whole (its meaning) is
claimed to be determined by the similar feature in
the parts of the whole, plus the mode of combination
of these parts – unlike the case of the first type of
compositionality, in which it was the whole itself
that was alleged to be ‘‘nothing more than’’ its parts.
In the second type of compositionality, the notions of
‘part’ and ‘whole’, as well as their mode of combina-
tion, are presupposed to be already defined in terms
of an independent syntax (in the case of language)
or an independent mental economy (in the case of
concepts). So the realm of syntax or mental economy
is presupposed to be compositional in the first sense,
and the issue is whether the property of meaning that
is associated with the parts and wholes will likewise
compose. Since the second conception assumes that
Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects 713
the first conception applies to the background syntax,
this second conception presupposes basic or primitive
meanings for the atomic (syntactic or mental) parts
out of which all other (syntactic or mental) items are
composed. (Once this second notion of composition-
ality is acknowledged, where there is a presupposed
part-whole structure and it is then asked whether a
feature of the whole is somehow determined by the
similar features in the parts, one can see questions of
compositionality arising in many fields, not just in
semantics. For example, one might wonder whether
the intrinsic value of an action is determined by the
values of the parts of the action and the way the parts
are ordered. One might wonder whether the beauty of
a whole is determined by the beauty of its parts and
the way the parts are combined. One might wonder
whether the duties and obligations of a corporation
or a society are determined by those of its members
and the way these members fit together to form the
corporation or society.)
Obviously, whether semantic compositionality is
true or false depends upon the presupposed syntax or
mental economy, the conception of meaning under
consideration, and what is meant by the phrase ‘‘is
determined by.’’ Indeed, many theorists have thought
that this indeterminism inherent in semantic compo-
sitionality shows that its truth or falsity is merely
‘‘a methodological matter.’’ For a small alteration in
the underlying syntax or mental economy might make
a given semantics become non-compositional; a slight
change in the assumed notion of ‘determination’ might
make it become compositional again; an inclusion or
exclusion of some property as ‘‘being semantic mean-
ing’’ (as opposed, say, to ‘‘being pragmatics’’) makes
it become non-compositional again; and there might
be no reason to make these changes other than to
keep or deny compositionality.
The most popular explanation of ‘‘is determined
by’’ in the semantic compositionalist’s slogan is that
it means ‘is a (mathematical) function of’; so the
slogan becomes: ‘‘The meaning of a complex syntac-
tic unit is a (mathematical) function of the meanings
of its syntactic parts and the way in which they are
syntactically combined.’’ But according to some, this
notion allows too much: it is claimed that if no con-
straints are put upon the function, nearly any mean-
ings of parts and syntactic combination can be
compositionally related to the meaning of a whole.
Some theorists would want to make the function be
natural or systematic (and so on), without saying
much about what, exactly and in the abstract,
would make a function be natural or systematic.
More usual is to be given examples of what sort of
mathematical function should be ruled out. Consider
the idea that an adjective like red means something
714 Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects
different depending on what noun it modifies. For
example, according to this view, red wine vs. red
rose vs. red hair vs. red skin vs. red grapefruit all
employ a different meaning of red. And then compo-
sitionality is false, because these phrases are all con-
structed by the same syntactic rule and yet the
meaning of red changes as a result of some syntactic
item (viz., the noun being modified) that is not a part
of the lexical item red. But a defender of composi-
tionality could respond that the meaning of red is
constant throughout, by being disjunctive (‘‘when
modifying wine it means r1; when modifying hair it
means r2; etc.’’). This is a perfectly good mathemati-
cal function and would obviously yield the right
meanings of wholes if there were enough disjuncts.
Those who object to the mathematical notion of func-
tion in the definition of compositionality might claim
here that disjunctive functions are ‘‘not natural.’’
The notion opposed to semantic compositionality
is ‘semantic holism’. However, this notion means dif-
ferent things to different theorists, and it is not always
just taken to mean merely that there is no mathemati-
cal function that will generate the required meanings.
For example, some people call semantic holism the
view that ‘‘words have meaning only in the context of
a sentence’’ or that no word or other syntactic unit
(including sentences, paragraphs, and discourses) has
meaning in itself, but only in the setting of an entire
theory or worldview or form of life. Others take
semantic holism to be that the meaning of a syntacti-
cally defined item is determined not only by the
meanings of its syntactic parts and their syntactic
combination but also by the nonlinguistic context in
which the utterance is made. (For example, it might
be thought that the meaning of There is no money
depends on who is speaking, whether the audience
knows which business deal is being discussed, and so
forth.) And still other holists, not necessarily wanting
to bring these nonlinguistic items into meaning, none-
theless might hold that there are cases where the
meaning of a syntactically complex item depends on
meanings of linguistic items that are not syntactic
parts of the complex. (For example, in The first man
landed on the moon in 1969, we cannot take the
meaning of the first man and combine it with landed
on the moon in 1969 to get the right meaning, for
there is no sense in which the sentence really is talking
about the first man. Rather, the relevant meaning of
the subject term is that of the first man who landed on
the moon. But to obtain that meaning, we need to get
information from the verb phrase. Hence, to get the
meaning of the subject term we need information of
items that are not syntactic parts of the subject term.)
A third conception for (semantic) compositionality
is less definite than the preceding, and comes through
considerations that might be called ‘the magic of
language’. A set of closely related considerations
have been pointed at in various times in the history
of philosophy, both Western and Indian:
. We can understand an infinite number of novel
sentences, so long as they employ words we already
understand. We understand sentences and combi-
nations that we have never encountered.
. We can create new sentences that we have never
heard or used before, and we know that they are
appropriate to the situation in which we use them.
. We are finite creatures who are exposed to a finite
amount of information concerning our language.
Nonetheless, we learn a system that is capable of
infinite expression.
These considerations all point to the same features:
(1) that language is something special (infinite, novel,
creative, or whatever) and (2) that people manage
to use/learn/understand language despite their finite
nature. It is natural to see compositionality as an
explanation of this ability – people have a finite
stock of atomic items whose meanings are learned
primitively, and there is a finite number of rules of
combination whose effect on meaning are learned.
But given that the rules are recursive in nature, this
allows for an infinite number of sentences whose
meanings are finitely knowable. (The opening para-
graph of Frege [1923] is often taken to be an endorse-
ment of this argument for compositionality, but it
is a matter of scholarly dispute as to whether or not
Frege actually believed in semantic compositionality.
See Pelletier, 2001 and Janssen, 2001 for discussion
and further references.)
This third conception of (semantic) composi-
tionality is a ‘functional’ one and thus less definite
than the preceding two. It amounts to saying that
compositionality is whatever accounts for the magic
of language. It might be the second conception of
compositionality, with its mathematical functions,
that will do the trick, or it might be some other,
more exotic type of function. Or it may be some
function that operates on items that are not necessar-
ily syntactic subparts of the expression to be evalu-
ated, and somehow thereby brings in information
from context (of both linguistic and nonlinguistic
varieties).
The magic of language considerations are the only
arguments in favor of compositionality that do not
seem merely to turn on such methodological con-
siderations as the aesthetics of the syntax-semantics
interface. However, it should be noted that they are
not conclusive in relation to compositionality-
as-mathematical-function. The second notion of com-
positionality does not guarantee the magic, nor does

non-compositionality in this second notion necessari-
ly deny the magic. For it might be that the meaning of
every syntactic whole is a function of the meanings of
its parts and its syntactic mode of combination, but if
these functions are not computable functions, then
the language cannot be learned/used/understood in
the way required by the magic. On the other hand,
even if there is no function defined solely by the
meanings of the parts and their modes of combination
that will yield the meanings of the wholes, it could
nonetheless be true that these meanings are com-
putable in some other way . . . and then the magic
would still be there. (An example of this possibility
is Pelletier’s 1994/2004 ‘semantic groundedness’.)
Considerations Against Semantic
Compositionality
The linguistic semantics literature is rife with demon-
strations of how some linguistic phenomenon can or
cannot be given a compositional description. It often
seems that these works would more accurately be
described as demonstrating how a phenomenon can
or cannot be given a compositional description
employing some particular syntactic-semantic device
or within some specific syntactic-semantic theory.
There are, however, three more general arguments
that have been presented against semantic composi-
tionality. The first is an argument from (nonlinguistic)
context, of the sort mentioned above, where it is
claimed that the meaning of a sentence in a context
just cannot be derived from the meanings of the
words and their combinations. In evaluating this ar-
gument, scholars need to distinguish between (what
might be called) ‘literal meaning’ and ‘occasion
meaning’. The former is thought of as the meaning-
in-language, while the latter is thought of as the
meaning-in-a-context. If there is such a distinction,
then there will be two principles of semantic compo-
sitionality – one for each type of meaning. And it is
not so clear that either of them is overturned by
considerations of context. The only casualty would
be a mixed principle that no one believes, i.e., that the
occasion meaning of a complex expression is a math-
ematical function of the literal meanings of its parts
and their manner of combination.
The second general argument against composition-
ality comes from the existence of synonymy and
Mates-like (Mates, 1950) considerations. Given that
there is synonymy, so that x1 and x2 mean the same,
then there are two sentences, S1 and S2, that differ
only in that one contains x1 while the other contains
x2. Given compositionality, it follows that S1 and S2
are synonymous too; and by compositionality again,
it follows that Mary believes S1 and Mary believes S2
Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects 715
are synonymous. But for any such S1 and S2, it can be
the case that the former is true, while the latter is
false. However, it cannot be the case that, of two
synonymous sentences, one is true and the other false.
Hence, either there is no synonymy or else compo-
sitionality is wrong. And the existence of synonymy
is more secure than that of compositionality.
The third general argument comes from the exis-
tence of ambiguity. If compositionality implies that
the meaning of a whole is a mathematical function of
the meanings of its parts (and combination), then
there cannot be any ambiguity of the sort where one
and the same item has two or more meanings, for that
would deny that it was a function that computed
meaning. As with synonymy, one could of course
deny the existence of ambiguity; but most theorists
find that this is too lavish a position to take. So it is
usually admitted by compositionalists that individual
words can be ambiguous; therefore, sentences using
these ambiguous words may also be ambiguous (but
the ambiguities are always traceable to the ambiguity
of the words). Also, it is pointed out that strings
of words such as Visiting professors can be fun are
ambiguous (is it the professors or the activity of
visiting the professors that can be fun?), but this
ambiguity is traceable to the fact that the words are
put together in different ways – that is, there are
different structural descriptions that can be asso-
ciated with this string of words. Hence, this ambigui-
ty is not a challenge to compositionality. However,
Pelletier (1994/2004) points to a number of examples
that seem neither to have ambiguous words nor to
have different structural descriptions but which are
nonetheless ambiguous. For example: When Alice
rode a bicycle, she went to school. This seems to
have but one syntactic analysis within any particular
theory, but its meaning is ambiguous: On those occa-
sions where Alice rode a bicycle, she took it to school
vs. Back in the days when Alice was a bicyclist, she
was a student.
Formal Considerations
There have been a number of works concerned with
the question of whether compositionality is a nonem-
pirical issue on the grounds of certain formal features
that are required by compositionality. A review arti-
cle that surveys this work is Westerståhl (1998). More
recent work on formal features of compositional se-
mantics is in the important work of Hodges (2001)
and material based on this.
History
Although the general principle of compositionality
seems to have been around for some time, as
716 Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects
mentioned earlier, it is not clear when the term ‘com-
positionality’ came into the linguistic semantics liter-
ature (unlike ‘holism,’ which was introduced by
Smuts, 1926). ‘Compositionality’ is used by Katz
(1973) and Thomason (1974).
See also: Context Principle; Holism, Semantic and Episte-
mic; Human Language Processing: Connectionist Models;
Reductionism; Representation in Language and Mind;
Systematicity.
Bibliography
Davidson D (1965). ‘Theories of meaning and learnable
languages.’ In Bar-Hillel Y (ed.) Logic, methodology
and philosophy of science. Amsterdam: North Holland.
383–394.
Dever J (in press). ‘Compositionality.’ In Lepore E &
Smith B (eds.) Oxford handbook of the philosophy of
language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Fodor J & Lepore E (1992). Holism: a shopper’s guide.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Fodor J & Lepore E (2002). The compositionality papers.
New York: Oxford University Press.
Frege G (1923/1963). ‘Compound thoughts.’ Stoothoff R
(trans.). Mind 72, 1–17.
Hodges W (2001). ‘Formal features of compositionality.’
Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10, 7–28.
Janssen T (1997). ‘Compositionality.’ In van Benthem J &
ter Meulen A (eds.) Handbook of logic and language.
Amsterdam: Elsevier. 417–473.
Janssen T (2001). ‘Frege, contextuality and composition-
ality.’ Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10,
115–136.
Compositionality: Semantic Aspects
G Sandu and P Salo, University of Helsinki,
Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
According to the principle of compositionality, the
meaning of a complex expression depends only on
the meanings of its constituents and on the way these
constituents have been put together. The kind of de-
pendence involved here is usually a functional one.
Principle of Compositionality (PC): The meaning of
complex expression is a function of the meanings of
its constituents and of the rule by which they were
combined.
PC is rather vague unless one specifies the meanings
of ‘is a function of’ and ‘meaning(s)’, something that
Kamp H & Partee B (1995). ‘Prototype theory and compo-
sitionality.’ Cognition 57, 129–191.
Katz J (1973). ‘Compositionality, idiomaticity, and lexical
substitution.’ In Anderson S & Kiparsky P (eds.)
A festschrift for Morris Halle. New York: Holt, Rinehart,
and Winston. 357–376.
Mates B (1950). ‘Synonymity.’ California University Pub-
lications in Philosophy 25. Reprinted in Linsky L (1952).
Semantics and the philosophy of language. Urbana:
University of Illinois Press. 111–136.
Pagin P (1997). ‘Is compositionality compatible with
holism?’ Mind and Language 12, 11–23.
Partee B (1984). ‘Compositionality.’ In Landman F &
Veltman F (eds.) Varieties of formal semantics.
Dordrecht: Foris. 281–311.
Partee B (2003). Compositionality in formal semantics:
selected papers by Barbara H. Partee. Oxford: Blackwell.
Pelletier F J (1994/2004). ‘The principle of semantic com-
positionality.’ Topoi 13, 11–24. [Reprinted with new
appendices in Davis S & Gillon B (eds.) Semantics: a
reader. New York: Oxford University Press. 133–158.]
Pelletier F J (2001). ‘Did Frege believe Frege’s principle?’
Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10, 87–114.
Smuts J (1926). Holism and evolution. London: Macmillan.
Szabo Z (2000). Problems of compositionality. New York:
Garland.
Thomason R (1974). ‘Introduction.’ In Thomason R (ed.)
Formal philosophy: selected papers of Richard Monta-
gue. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1–69.
Westerståhl D (1998). ‘On mathematical proofs of the va-
cuity of compositionality.’ Linguistics and Philosophy
21, 635–643.
Westerståhl D (2002). ‘Idioms and compositionality.’ In
Barker-Plummer D, Beaver D, van Benthem J & Scotto
di Luzio P (eds.) Words, proofs, and diagrams. Stanford:
CSLI Publications. 241–271.
is easier said than done. A more rigorous formulation
of these notions is possible for formal languages and
is due to Richard Montague.
Montague (1974) defined compositionality as the
requirement of the existence of a homomorphism
between syntax and semantics, both to be understood
as ‘structures’ in the mathematical sense. To keep
technicalities down to a minimum, Montague’s
requirement of a compositional interpretation was
that for each syntactic operation ‘O’ that applies to
n expressions e1, . . ., en in order to form the complex
expression ‘O(e1, . . ., en)’, the interpretation of the
complex expression ‘Oi(e1, . . ., en)’ is the result of
the application of the semantic operation ‘Ci’, which
is the interpretation of ‘Oi’ to the interpretations
m1, . . ., mn of ‘e1’, . . .,‘en’, respectively. In other
716 Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects
mentioned earlier, it is not clear when the term ‘com-
positionality’ came into the linguistic semantics liter-
ature (unlike ‘holism,’ which was introduced by
Smuts, 1926). ‘Compositionality’ is used by Katz
(1973) and Thomason (1974).
See also: Context Principle; Holism, Semantic and Episte-
mic; Human Language Processing: Connectionist Models;
Reductionism; Representation in Language and Mind;
Systematicity.
Bibliography
Davidson D (1965). ‘Theories of meaning and learnable
languages.’ In Bar-Hillel Y (ed.) Logic, methodology
and philosophy of science. Amsterdam: North Holland.
383–394.
Dever J (in press). ‘Compositionality.’ In Lepore E &
Smith B (eds.) Oxford handbook of the philosophy of
language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Fodor J & Lepore E (1992). Holism: a shopper’s guide.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Fodor J & Lepore E (2002). The compositionality papers.
New York: Oxford University Press.
Frege G (1923/1963). ‘Compound thoughts.’ Stoothoff R
(trans.). Mind 72, 1–17.
Hodges W (2001). ‘Formal features of compositionality.’
Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10, 7–28.
Janssen T (1997). ‘Compositionality.’ In van Benthem J &
ter Meulen A (eds.) Handbook of logic and language.
Amsterdam: Elsevier. 417–473.
Janssen T (2001). ‘Frege, contextuality and composition-
ality.’ Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10,
115–136.
Compositionality: Semantic Aspects
G Sandu and P Salo, University of Helsinki,
Helsinki, Finland
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
According to the principle of compositionality, the
meaning of a complex expression depends only on
the meanings of its constituents and on the way these
constituents have been put together. The kind of de-
pendence involved here is usually a functional one.
Principle of Compositionality (PC): The meaning of
complex expression is a function of the meanings of
its constituents and of the rule by which they were
combined.
PC is rather vague unless one specifies the meanings
of ‘is a function of’ and ‘meaning(s)’, something that
Kamp H & Partee B (1995). ‘Prototype theory and compo-
sitionality.’ Cognition 57, 129–191.
Katz J (1973). ‘Compositionality, idiomaticity, and lexical
substitution.’ In Anderson S & Kiparsky P (eds.)
A festschrift for Morris Halle. New York: Holt, Rinehart,
and Winston. 357–376.
Mates B (1950). ‘Synonymity.’ California University Pub-
lications in Philosophy 25. Reprinted in Linsky L (1952).
Semantics and the philosophy of language. Urbana:
University of Illinois Press. 111–136.
Pagin P (1997). ‘Is compositionality compatible with
holism?’ Mind and Language 12, 11–23.
Partee B (1984). ‘Compositionality.’ In Landman F &
Veltman F (eds.) Varieties of formal semantics.
Dordrecht: Foris. 281–311.
Partee B (2003). Compositionality in formal semantics:
selected papers by Barbara H. Partee. Oxford: Blackwell.
Pelletier F J (1994/2004). ‘The principle of semantic com-
positionality.’ Topoi 13, 11–24. [Reprinted with new
appendices in Davis S & Gillon B (eds.) Semantics: a
reader. New York: Oxford University Press. 133–158.]
Pelletier F J (2001). ‘Did Frege believe Frege’s principle?’
Journal of Logic, Language and Information 10, 87–114.
Smuts J (1926). Holism and evolution. London: Macmillan.
Szabo Z (2000). Problems of compositionality. New York:
Garland.
Thomason R (1974). ‘Introduction.’ In Thomason R (ed.)
Formal philosophy: selected papers of Richard Monta-
gue. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1–69.
Westerståhl D (1998). ‘On mathematical proofs of the va-
cuity of compositionality.’ Linguistics and Philosophy
21, 635–643.
Westerståhl D (2002). ‘Idioms and compositionality.’ In
Barker-Plummer D, Beaver D, van Benthem J & Scotto
di Luzio P (eds.) Words, proofs, and diagrams. Stanford:
CSLI Publications. 241–271.
is easier said than done. A more rigorous formulation
of these notions is possible for formal languages and
is due to Richard Montague.
Montague (1974) defined compositionality as the
requirement of the existence of a homomorphism
between syntax and semantics, both to be understood
as ‘structures’ in the mathematical sense. To keep
technicalities down to a minimum, Montague’s
requirement of a compositional interpretation was
that for each syntactic operation ‘O’ that applies to
n expressions e1, . . ., en in order to form the complex
expression ‘O(e1, . . ., en)’, the interpretation of the
complex expression ‘Oi(e1, . . ., en)’ is the result of
the application of the semantic operation ‘Ci’, which
is the interpretation of ‘Oi’ to the interpretations
m1, . . ., mn of ‘e1’, . . .,‘en’, respectively. In other

words, the interpretation of ‘Oi (e1, . . ., en)’ is Ci
(m1, . . ., mn).
An immediate consequence of PC is the ‘Substitu-
tivity Condition’: Substituting a constituent with its
synonym in a given expression does not change the
meaning of the resulting expression. Thus, PC is vio-
lated if a complex expression has meaning but some
of its component expressions do not (the Domain
Condition) or if the Substitutivity Condition fails.
As one can see, PC is by itself rather weak, and so it
comes as no surprise that in the case of formal lan-
guages, one can always devise a trivial compositional
interpretation by assigning some arbitrary entities to
the primitive expressions of the language and then
associating arbitrarily the syntactic operations of
the language with corresponding operations on the
domain of those entities. This way of implementing
the principle can hardly be of any interest, although it
has led some philosophers and logicians to claim that
PC is methodologically empty.
A slightly more interesting case is the one in which
one has an intended semantic interpretation in mind,
that is, an interpretation with an intended domain of
entities for the primitive expressions of the language to
be mapped into, and a class of intended operations
to serve as the appropriate interpretations of the syn-
tactic operations of the language. A case in point is
Horwich’s (1998) interpretation. His formal language
was intended to serve as a regimentation for a fragment
of English that contains proper names (‘John,’ ‘Peter,’
etc.), common nouns (‘dogs,’ ‘cows,’ etc.), and verb
phrases (‘talks,’ ‘walks,’ ‘bark,’ etc.) as primitive
expressions together with grammatical operations on
them. For simplicity, let us assume predication is such a
grammatical operation marked in this case by an empty
space. Thus the syntax contains clauses of the form:
If ‘n’ is a proper name and ‘v’ is a verb phrase, then ‘n v’
is a complex expression.
The intended semantic interpretation consists of
a domain of entities that serve as the intended mean-
ings of the proper names and verbs phrases (whatever
they are; they are marked by capitals), together with
an operation – say, P – that interprets the grammatical
operation of predication (whatever that is). The only
thing one needs to worry about in this case is to see to
it that the operation of predication is defined for the
entities mentioned above. The relevant semantic
clauses now have this form:
The interpretation of ‘n v’ is the result of the application
of P to the entities assigned to ‘n’ and ‘v’, respectively.
Thus, the interpretation of the sentence ‘John talks’
is the result of the application of P to TALKS to
Compositionality: Semantic Aspects 717
JOHN. This interpretation is trivially compositional
in that the interpretation of every compound ‘n v’ has
been defined as the result of the application of the
operation assigned to the syntactic operation of con-
catenation to the interpretations of ‘n’ and ‘v’, respec-
tively. The more challenging cases for PC are those in
which one has an intended interpretation for the
complex expressions and would like to find a compo-
sitional interpretation that agrees with it. In contrast
to the previous case, the meanings of the complex
entities are not any longer defined but are given at
the outset. We have here a typical combination of PC
with the Context Principle (CP): An expression has
a meaning only in the context in which it occurs.
The combination was largely explored in the work
of Gottlob Frege and in Donald Davidson’s theory
of meaning, which assumed the form of a theory of
truth. Davidson took whole sentences to be the
meaning-carrying units in language, and truth to be
a primitive, undefinable semantic property that is best
understood. Truth being undefinable, the strategy
applied above, which ensured a trivial implemen-
tation of PC, is no longer available. Instead, PC
acquires the status of a methodological constraint
on an empirical theory of truth for the target lan-
guage: the division of a sentence into parts and their
association with appropriate semantic entities in a
compositional theory becomes a theoretical business
that has no other role except to show how they
contribute to the computation of the truth of the
sentences of the target language in which they occur.
The literature on formal semantics for natural lan-
guage has plenty of cases of the application of the
Context Principle. We consider just two examples. In
game-theoretical semantics (GTS), one starts with a
standard first-order language and defines truth only
for the sentences of that language. The truth of every
such sentence (in a prenex normal form) is defined via
a second-order sentence, known as its Skolem form.
This interpretation is clearly not compositional, since
it violates the Domain Condition. One can now ask
whether there is a compositional interpretation that
agrees with the given game-theoretical interpretation
of sentences. It is known that the answer is positive,
but only assuming certain nontrivial mathematical
principles (the Axiom of Choice).
The second example concerns Dynamic Predicate
Logic. The starting point is the same language as in
GTS – that is, a standard first-order language – but
we now want a compositional interpretation in
which, e.g., an existential quantifier occurring in the
antecedent of a conditional binds a free variable oc-
curring in the consequence of the conditional and in
addition has the force of an universal quantifier.
718 Compositionality: Semantic Aspects
There is a compositional interpretation that has the
required property, that of Dynamic Predicate Logic
(Groenendijk and Stokhoff, 1991).
From a technical point of view, the situation de-
scribed in the two examples may be depicted as an
extension problem (Hodges, 1998). One starts with
an intended interpretation I, which either (a) fixes
only the interpretation of certain complex expres-
sions (e.g., sentences) or (b) puts some relational con-
straints on the interpretation of complex expressions.
One then wants to find a compositional interpreta-
tion I" that agrees with the independently understood
interpretation I. Hodges’s Extension Theorem solves
case (a). It shows that any partial interpretation for a
grammar can be extended to a total compositional
interpretation. This shows that the combination of
PC with CP (in its form [a]) is trivially satisfiable.
The more interesting cases are those falling under
(b). This is the situation that typically arises in the
case of empirical linguistics where the intended inter-
pretation is supposed to be motivated by empirical
argument.
As an illustration, consider the much-discussed ‘pet
fish’ problem. There is some empirical evidence to the
effect that the meanings of concept words are proto-
types. A prototype is either a good exemplar of the
category or a statistical average of all or some
instances of the category (Smith and Medin, 1981).
A given instance x is then categorized as X if x resem-
bles the prototype of X more than any other proto-
type. Given two expressions X (e.g., ‘pet’) and
Y (‘fish’), one asks whether there is an interpretation
that assigns to the complex concept word XY (‘pet
fish’) a prototype that is the composition of the pro-
totype assigned to X and the prototype assigned to
Y. One also wants the meaning function to satisfy
certain basic properties that are required for explana-
tory purposes; e.g., it should be the case that if x is
XY, it must also be X and Y. We thus want every x to
resemble the prototype of XY no less than it resem-
bles the prototypes of X and Y. It has been argued that
there is no such interpretation, that is, there is no
operation of composition that yields a prototype as
the interpretation of XY with the desired properties
when applied to the two prototypes that are the inter-
pretations of X and Y respectively (Fodor, 1998;
Osherson and Smith, 1981).
The moral to be drawn from all this should have
been somehow anticipated from our discussion of
formal languages. When the intended interpretation
puts constraints only on the meanings of primitive
expressions and on the operations governing them,
PC follows rather trivially, provided the semantic
entities of complex expressions are not constrained
in any way.
When the intended interpretation concerns only the
meanings of complex expressions, Hodges’s exten-
sion theorem shows that a compositional semantics
can still be found, at least in some cases, provided that
one does not constrain the meanings of the primitive
expressions or syntactical operations on them. In
natural language, however, the situation is hardly so
simple, as one meets constraints at every level. It is no
wonder, then, that Fodor and Lepore (2002) argued
that most theories of concepts or mental architecture
in cognitive science are in contradiction with PC. The
case of prototype semantics was only one example,
but the same considerations apply to the theory that
the meaning of a word is its use or the criteria for its
application, etc.
PC is often defended as the best explanation of the
empirical phenomenon of systematicity: Any compe-
tent speaker of a given language who has in his reper-
toire the complex expressions P, R, and Q has also in
his repertoire the complex expressions in which P, R,
and Q are permuted (provided they are grammatical).
For instance, anybody who understands the sentence
‘Mary loves John’ also understands the sentence ‘John
loves Mary’. Fodor and his collaborators argued
extensively that PC is the best explanation of the
systematicity of language, but this is an issue that
will not be tackled here (cf. Fodor and Pylyshyn,
1988; Fodor, 2001; Fodor and Lepore, 2002; Fodor,
2003; Aizawa, 2002).
PC should not be confused with the principles of
productivity or generativity of language, which re-
quire that the expressions of a language be generated
from a finite set of basic expressions and syntactical
rules. Although it presupposes that the language
under interpretation has a certain syntactic structure,
PC does not take a stand on how that structure should
be specified (phrase structure rules, derivational his-
tories, etc.), as long as it is given a compositional
interpretation.
See also: Compositionality: Philosophical Aspects; Con-
text Principle; Game-Theoretical Semantics; Montague,
Richard (1931–1971); Prototype Semantics; Systematicity.
Bibliography
Aizawa K (2002). The systematicity argument. Amsterdam:
Kluwer.
Bloom P (1994). ‘Generativity within language and other
domains.’ Cognition 51(2), 177–189.
Chomsky N (1957). Syntactic structures. The Hague:
Mouton.
Fodor J A (1998). Concepts: where cognitive science went
wrong. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Fodor J A (2001). ‘Language, thought and compositional-
ity.’ Mind and Language 16(1), 1–15.
Fodor J A (2003). Hume variations. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Fodor J A & Lepore E (2002). The compositionality papers.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Fodor J A & Pylyshyn Z (1988). ‘Connectionism and
cognitive architecture: a critical analysis.’ Cognition 28,
3–71.
Groenendijk J & Stokhoff M (1991). ‘Dynamic predicate
logic.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 14, 39–100.
Hintikka J & Kulas J (1983). The game of language.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Hodges W (1998). ‘Compositionality is not the problem.’
Logic and Philosophy 6, 7–33.
Horwich P (1998). Meaning. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Janssen T M V (1997). ‘Compositionality.’ In van Benthem
J & Meulen A T (eds.) Handbook of logic and language.
Amsterdam: Elsevier. 417–473.
Compound
L Bauer, Victoria University of Wellington,
Wellington, New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definitions
A compound is usually defined (somewhat paradoxi-
cally) as a word that is made up of two other words.
This basic definition requires a certain amount of
modification, some of it for all languages, some of it
for specific languages. For example, there may be
more than two ‘words’ involved in the formation of
a compound, though there must be at least two. Word
is to be understood in this definition as meaning
‘lexeme.’ The implication of this is that the forms in
which the individual subwords appear may be differ-
ently defined in different languages: a citation form in
one, a stem in another, a specific compounding form
in yet a third, a word form in a fourth. Even this
leaves room for a certain amount of disagreement
about what a compound is in particular languages.
Perhaps the rider should be added that the construc-
tion created by the two or more lexemes should not
be a normal noncompound phrasal structure of the
language: well done and in time are not compounds.
There appear to be two fundamental approaches to
the nature of a compound. The first sees a compound
as a particular construction type, an entity with a
formal definition. The second views a compound as
a lexical unit meeting certain criteria. Because the two
overlap to a large extent, it may not be clear in which
Compound 719
McLaughlin B (1993). ‘The classicism/connectionism battle
to win souls.’ Philosophical Studies 70, 45–72.
Montague R (1974). Formal philosophy: selected papers
of Richard Montague. New Haven: Yale University
Press.
Oshershon D N & Smith E E (1981). ‘On the adequacy of
prototype theory as a theory of concepts.’ Cognition 9,
35–58.
Pelletier F J (1994). ‘The principle of semantic composition-
ality.’ Topoi 13, 11–24.
Rips L J (1995). ‘The current status of research on concept
combination.’ Mind and Language 10(1/2), 72–104.
Smith E E & Medin D L (1981). Categories and concepts.
Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Smolensky P (1987). ‘The constituent structure of mental
states: a reply to Fodor and Pylyshyn.’ Southern Journal
of Philosophy 26, 137–160.
Zadrozny W (1994). ‘From compositional to systematic
semantics.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 17, 329–342.
of these two senses the term is being used. For exam-
ple, under either approach blackbird, windmill, and
combination lock would count as compounds of
English, as would sky-blue, onto, and freeze-dry.
But the things we find in everyday headlines (such as
PM backs mercy killings bill, where the relevant unit
is mercy killings bill) are not included as compounds
by those who view compounds as lexical units on the
grounds that they arise through the productive use of
syntactic rules, but are included as compounds by
those who view compounds as a construction type.
The argument in favor of the latter view would be
that the major distinction between the lexical-item
compounds and the headline compounds is frequency
of occurrence and that there is no formal distinction
to be drawn between the two groups.
Although this leaves us in the unfortunate situation
of not necessarily being able to recognize compounds
in a given language, there are a number of criteria that
are generally accepted as correlating with compound
status, at least to a certain degree. These will be
considered immediately below.
Orthographic Criteria
Although orthographic criteria cannot be robust, given
the number of languages that still are not written or,
if written, have had an orthography imposed by non-
native speakers of the language, or, if neither of
these, may not indicate word breaks in the orthogra-
phy at all, nevertheless they are taken as a powerful
indicator in those languages for which they are

Fodor J A (2001). ‘Language, thought and compositional-
ity.’ Mind and Language 16(1), 1–15.
Fodor J A (2003). Hume variations. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Fodor J A & Lepore E (2002). The compositionality papers.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Fodor J A & Pylyshyn Z (1988). ‘Connectionism and
cognitive architecture: a critical analysis.’ Cognition 28,
3–71.
Groenendijk J & Stokhoff M (1991). ‘Dynamic predicate
logic.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 14, 39–100.
Hintikka J & Kulas J (1983). The game of language.
Dordrecht: Reidel.
Hodges W (1998). ‘Compositionality is not the problem.’
Logic and Philosophy 6, 7–33.
Horwich P (1998). Meaning. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Janssen T M V (1997). ‘Compositionality.’ In van Benthem
J & Meulen A T (eds.) Handbook of logic and language.
Amsterdam: Elsevier. 417–473.
Compound
L Bauer, Victoria University of Wellington,
Wellington, New Zealand
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Definitions
A compound is usually defined (somewhat paradoxi-
cally) as a word that is made up of two other words.
This basic definition requires a certain amount of
modification, some of it for all languages, some of it
for specific languages. For example, there may be
more than two ‘words’ involved in the formation of
a compound, though there must be at least two. Word
is to be understood in this definition as meaning
‘lexeme.’ The implication of this is that the forms in
which the individual subwords appear may be differ-
ently defined in different languages: a citation form in
one, a stem in another, a specific compounding form
in yet a third, a word form in a fourth. Even this
leaves room for a certain amount of disagreement
about what a compound is in particular languages.
Perhaps the rider should be added that the construc-
tion created by the two or more lexemes should not
be a normal noncompound phrasal structure of the
language: well done and in time are not compounds.
There appear to be two fundamental approaches to
the nature of a compound. The first sees a compound
as a particular construction type, an entity with a
formal definition. The second views a compound as
a lexical unit meeting certain criteria. Because the two
overlap to a large extent, it may not be clear in which
Compound 719
McLaughlin B (1993). ‘The classicism/connectionism battle
to win souls.’ Philosophical Studies 70, 45–72.
Montague R (1974). Formal philosophy: selected papers
of Richard Montague. New Haven: Yale University
Press.
Oshershon D N & Smith E E (1981). ‘On the adequacy of
prototype theory as a theory of concepts.’ Cognition 9,
35–58.
Pelletier F J (1994). ‘The principle of semantic composition-
ality.’ Topoi 13, 11–24.
Rips L J (1995). ‘The current status of research on concept
combination.’ Mind and Language 10(1/2), 72–104.
Smith E E & Medin D L (1981). Categories and concepts.
Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Smolensky P (1987). ‘The constituent structure of mental
states: a reply to Fodor and Pylyshyn.’ Southern Journal
of Philosophy 26, 137–160.
Zadrozny W (1994). ‘From compositional to systematic
semantics.’ Linguistics and Philosophy 17, 329–342.
of these two senses the term is being used. For exam-
ple, under either approach blackbird, windmill, and
combination lock would count as compounds of
English, as would sky-blue, onto, and freeze-dry.
But the things we find in everyday headlines (such as
PM backs mercy killings bill, where the relevant unit
is mercy killings bill) are not included as compounds
by those who view compounds as lexical units on the
grounds that they arise through the productive use of
syntactic rules, but are included as compounds by
those who view compounds as a construction type.
The argument in favor of the latter view would be
that the major distinction between the lexical-item
compounds and the headline compounds is frequency
of occurrence and that there is no formal distinction
to be drawn between the two groups.
Although this leaves us in the unfortunate situation
of not necessarily being able to recognize compounds
in a given language, there are a number of criteria that
are generally accepted as correlating with compound
status, at least to a certain degree. These will be
considered immediately below.
Orthographic Criteria
Although orthographic criteria cannot be robust, given
the number of languages that still are not written or,
if written, have had an orthography imposed by non-
native speakers of the language, or, if neither of
these, may not indicate word breaks in the orthogra-
phy at all, nevertheless they are taken as a powerful
indicator in those languages for which they are
720 Compound
relevant. Compounds are assumed to show their status
by being written as single words. This type of crite-
rion is employed linguistically especially by corpus
linguists, who may have no other way of isolating
compounds. For such people, it is a clearly a less than
ideal default. Unfortunately, it is taken as a serious
definition by some outside corpus linguistics.
There are a number of problems with such a crite-
rion. First, in a language like English, there is so much
variation in the writing of two-word lexical items that
even standard dictionaries (supposed arbiters of the
prescribed norm) are unable to agree. Rainforest,
rain-forest, and rain forest are all easily attestable,
for example. It might be argued, however, that such
variation merely shows the progress of an item like
rain forest from syntactic sequence to lexical item.
Unfortunately, such drift is not easily correlated
with the relative age of dictionaries showing a partic-
ular orthography. More serious, though, are items
like a New York–Los Angeles flight, which, on strict
orthographic criteria, give compounds such as York–
Los. We should also note that orthographic conven-
tions can change, as where recent orthographic
changes have made the writing of noun þ noun
sequences as two words a rather more common
event in Danish than it used to be.
Phonological Criteria
There are a number of phonological ways in which
status as single words may be indicated. These may be
segmental or suprasegmental.
In English, for example, stress is sometimes taken
to be criterial, distinguishing most clearly between
examples like blackbird and black bird. Where noun
þ noun sequences are concerned, stress is less consis-
tent in English, church-warden, for example, being
reported with various stress patterns. And for exam-
ples like sky-blue, stress as the sole criterion would
suggest that they are compounds when used attrib-
utively (a sky-blue dress) and not when used
predicatively (her dress was sky-blue).
In Danish, the stød (or glottalization, correspond-
ing to the use of tones in other Scandinavian varieties)
is generally lost in the first element of a compound
(Basbøll, 1985).
In Japanese, there is a process known as rendaku,
whereby the initial consonant of the second element
of a certain class of compounds becomes voiced, as in
the examples in (1).
(1) iro ‘color’ kami ‘paper’ !
irogami ‘colored paper’
e ‘picture’ tako ‘kite’ ! sky.LOC.dwelling
edako ‘picture kite’
ike ‘arrange’ hana ‘flower’ !
ikebana ‘flower arranging’
In Sengseng, geminate consonants are permitted
within a word, but are always broken up by an
epenthetic vowel if they occur adjacent at word
boundaries.
Morphological Criteria
It is sometimes claimed that since compounds are
single lexemes, the only inflection allowed in them
must be the inflection that allows that single word’s
functioning in the sentence as a whole to be seen.
Accordingly, internal words (words acting as modi-
fiers within the compound) are said to disallow
inflections.
There are instances in which this appears to be true.
In peninsular Scandinavian, for example, where defi-
niteness is marked by a suffix, no marking for defi-
niteness can occur on the modifying element of a
compound.
There are other instances in which this rule appears
to hold most of the time, but not all of the time. In
English, for example, plural is not usually marked on
the modifying elements in compounds so that even a
noun like trousers, which rarely appears in the singu-
lar, has no plural marking in the compound trouser-
press. However, there is an apparently increasing set
of items in which internal plural marking is found:
official secrets act, suggestions box, weapons inspec-
tor. The example of mercy killings bill cited earlier is
an instance. Although we might want to argue
that plural in English is not entirely inflectional, we
appear to have sporadic counterexamples here.
Then there are instances in which this rule clearly
does not hold. Sometimes these are sporadic, as in
Danish nytår (new.NEUT"year), where a clearly inflec-
tional neuter agreement occurs contrary to usual
practice. In other languages, though, we may find
systematic violations of the rule. Consider, for in-
stance, the Finnish examples in (2) (from Sulkala
and Karjalainen, 1992) or the Sanskrit examples in
(3) (from Whitney, 1889).
(2) auto"n"ikkuna
car"GEN"window
‘car window’
maa"lta"pako
country"ABL"flee.NOM
‘rural depopulation’
(3) bhayaṁkartr.
fear.ACC.causer
‘causer of fear’
diviks. ı́t
‘dwelling in the sky’

Syntactic Criteria
Syntactic criteria are attempts to find ways of indicat-
ing that the compound is being treated in the syntax as
a single unit and not as a sequence of two distinct
units. This usually means that anaphora cannot pick
out the modifying element in a compound, but can in a
syntactic phrase. Thus, for English, it is noted that we
can say I thought this house had aluminum windows,
not wooden ones (where ones refers to windows, not
aluminum windows, and thus shows aluminum win-
dows to be made up of two elements), and also The
aluminum windows look good but I’m afraid that it
may not be strong enough (where it, in referring to the
aluminum rather than to the whole compound, again
shows that the two words are separate). In parallel
instances with lexical compounds such as combina-
tion lock, the claim would be that I wanted a combi-
nation lock but they only had Yale ones and I installed
a combination lock and now I can’t remember it
(where it refers to the combination) are not possible,
indicating the unity of the sequence. Because these
tests appear to be robust some of the time, they are
hard to argue against, but we can make some com-
ments here. First, intuitions are not always as secure as
the tests seem to predict; second, speakers do produce
the ‘impossible’ constructions on occasion, as is
shown in (4); third, there are constraints on these
uses that have not been fully explored; and fourth,
because the tests deal with the degree to which the
constituent words of a compound can be recognized,
they are again tests of lexicalization.
(4) Here he found that the Greatest Story Ever Told
had stopped for a tea-break. Dorothy
Horncastle was dispensing mugs of the stuff
from a large copper urn . . .
(Reginald Hill, Bones and Silence (London:
Collins, 1990: 275))
I want to give myself a headache by banging it on
the floor! (attested)
Semantic Criteria
Semantic criteria sometimes invoked to indicate that
something has become a compound are fundamentally
indications of lexicalization. A celebrated example
concerns the pair push-chair and wheel-chair. Al-
though it is possible to push a wheel-chair and a
push-chair (‘baby buggy’) has wheels, the two are
uniquely identified by their labels that, therefore,
imply a lot more than they state. This specialization
of meaning is sometimes taken to indicate compound
status.
There are two possible counterarguments here.
The first is that lexicalization (or idiomatization) is
Compound 721
something that affects not only noun þ noun
sequences such as wheel-chair, but also syntactic
sequences such as a red herring or how do you do?
If how do you do? is still a sentence, so wheel-chair
should have the same status before and after lexicali-
zation. The second is that meaning specialization is
not something that comes only with frequent use (and
gradual movement from syntax to the lexicon) but
something that comes with first use. Downing (1977)
provides us with the celebrated attested example of
apple-juice seat. In the abstract this could mean a
number of things, including the seat in which you
have to sit to win some apple juice, the seat on
which apple juice has been spilled, the seat on which
a can of apple juice has been placed, the seat on which
I usually sit when I drink apple juice, and so on. The
attested meaning of ‘seat with a glass of applejuice
placed before it’ is already a specialization from the
large number of potential meanings that construction
could have had. That being the case, we could argue
that any relevant sequence that has actually been used
has already had a specialized meaning. All that
may remain in question is the degree of specialization.
The Universality of Compounds
Because of the two types of definition of compound
referred to earlier, it is not clear whether or not all
languages have compounds. Claims that they have
can be found in the literature; so can claims in gram-
mars of individual languages that compounds are not
found in that language. The two need not be incom-
patible if they depend on different types of definition.
It may be, for example, that compounds viewed as a
construction type are universal, but compounds
viewed as lexical entities are not. Because the problem
has not been recognized in the literature, it is
impossible to be sure.
There is also the problem that in individual lan-
guages, things may be called compounds that would
not normally be so termed in other languages. For
example, Glinert (1989) describes as compounds of
Hebrew, things that sound like blends (q.v.) to the
reader more used to languages such as English. Dis-
cussions of French sometimes refer to units such as
chemin de fer (‘way of iron’ ¼ ‘railway’) or pomme de
terre (‘apple of earth’ ¼ ‘potato’) as compounds. It
is clear that these items are lexical items (listemes in
the terminology of Di Sciullo and Williams, 1987).
The use of the label compound may thus be intended
to indicate the lexicalized nature of such construc-
tions (or at least, of some such constructions) and
their near-syntactic productivity rather than be
intended to attribute any particular structure to
them. The use of the label compound in such
722 Compound
instances certainly adds to the confusion surrounding
the whole issue.
Perhaps just as confusing is the way in which noun
incorporation is sometimes not included under com-
pounding. Incorporation is an important enough and
theoretically interesting enough method of word for-
mation to demand separate discussion, as is done in
this encyclopedia (see Incorporation). But since both
compounding and incorporation involve the close
binding together of two stems into a new morphosyn-
tactic element, there is also a sense in which the two
need to be viewed as related processes. Neoclassical
compounds, also dealt with separately here (see Neo-
classical Compounding), have many of the features of
compounds, but are compounded according to bor-
rowed patterns rather than native ones.
The Semantics of Compounds
Speakers of European languages, at least, seem to
view compounds made up of two nouns as the proto-
typical type of compound (although there are lan-
guages that appear to prefer verb–verb compounds).
A noun–noun compound such as rain–cloud is an
ideal construction for providing a subcategorization.
The element cloud (the head element; see below) tells
us what kind of entity we are dealing with, and the
modifying element (here, rain) tells us something
about the subtype the compound denotes. Similarly,
an adjective–noun compound such as blackbird pro-
vides not so much a description of the bird (female
blackbirds are brown) as a label for a subtype of bird.
What is perhaps strange in English is that this sub-
categorizational use of adjectives need not be restrict-
ed to compounds: neither a red squirrel nor red wine
is prototypically red, yet their labels contrast with
gray squirrel and white wine, respectively, and thus
show a subcategorization of precisely the same type
that is found in compounds.
Much is made in the literature of the superficial
ambiguity of noun–noun compounds. Although a
hayfever pill may be intended to relieve hayfever,
a sleeping pill is intended to induce sleep, a sugar
pill neither relieves nor induces sugar but contains
it, and a morning-after pill provides a fourth logical
link between the elements of the compound. Several
approaches to the descriptive problem posed by
such apparent ambiguity have been taken in the liter-
ature. In no particular order, these include the
following:
i. relating the various logical links to the meanings
of prepositions available in the language or inflec-
tional cases available in the language (so ‘pill
against hayfever,’ ‘pill for sleeping,’ and so on)
and assuming that the compound arises through
the deletion of such marking;
ii. relating the various logical links to the syntactic
role the elements might play in sentences glossing
the link (where ‘the pill relieves hayfever’ and ‘the
pill induces sleeping’ would both be of the same
subject–predicate type, opposed to ‘the pill is
taken on the morning after,’ which would be a
subject–adverbial type);
iii. relating the various logical links to specific pre-
dicates that are assumed to be deleted in the
course of the syntactic derivation of the com-
pound structure (for example, the actual lexemes
RELIEVE and INDUCE might be considered to be
present at some underlying level of analysis, but
not at the surface);
iv. relating the various logical links to a limited set of
semantically basic predicates that are deleted in
the process of derivation (this solution is similar
to the last, but assumes some set of universal
Aristotelian categories rather than language-
specific lexemes);
v. some mixture of the above.
Quite apart from the theoretical problems that
beset all of these approaches, in the final analysis all
of these suggestions fall foul of the fact that there are
some compounds that are remarkably resistant to any
of these classifications. For example, spaghetti west-
ern requires some lengthy paraphrase (‘western made
in a country that can be characterized by the amount
of spaghetti that is consumed there’), and yet is
not unique: goulash communism seems to reflect
precisely the same relationship and the relationship
underlying milk tooth remains obscure.
A preferable solution may be to see the relationship
between the elements not as an ambiguity but as a
vagueness and to deny that the specific links between
the elements of compounds is strictly grammatical at
all. Rather, the specificity that speakers read into the
meanings of these compounds can be seen as the
result of the lexicalization process (q.v.), starting
with the context of first use and becoming more
specific with further use. Even this solution has
problems associated with it, however. Though the
ambiguity or vagueness that has been discussed here
is found with one type of compound, there are other
types that do not show the same variable meaning
relationship. Some of these other types will be
discussed below.
Compounds and Headedness
In the last section, the point was made that com-
pounds provide a suitable structure for reflecting

subcategorization. Compounds like rain–cloud show
a modifier–head structure, with the head denoting the
superordinate of the thing denoted by the compound,
and the modifying element denoting the important
feature for subclassification. Compounds of this
type denote hyponyms of their head elements.
Whereas the headedness can be defined in semantic
terms like this, it is typically the case that headedness
can be used to predict rather more about the structure
of the compound. First, we can note that compounds
of this type all seem to have a binary structure. Even
very complex compounds of the headline type can be
broken down into a number of binary compounds
embedded within each other. At each division we
can distinguish a modifier and a head. Second, we
note that in languages that have grammatical gender
or different inflectional classes, the head of a com-
pound of this type determines the inflectional class for
the compound as a whole. Given a German (Standard
German) compound like Zeitgeist in which the mod-
ifying element (Zeit ‘time’) is grammatically feminine
and the head element (Geist ‘spirit’) is grammatically
masculine, we can tell that the compound will be
grammatically masculine and will make its plural in
the same way that Geist makes its plural. Though
there are some apparent counterexamples to this gen-
eralization (highlight has the past tense form high-
lighted and never *highlit, despite the inflectional
class of light), these occur in very special circum-
stances (here, for example, the verb highlight is
derived from the noun highlight; it is not a com-
pound verb created by the joining of high and light;
compare also grandstanded). Also, the head element
tends to carry the inflections for the word as a whole,
not the modifying element.
There has been some speculation in the literature as
to the regularity of the order of modifier and head in
compounds of individual languages. There does not
appear to be necessary consistency, with languages
like Vietnamese and French showing both orders
(consider French homme-grenouille ‘man frog’ ¼
‘frogman’ as opposed to chauvesouris ‘bald mouse’
¼ ‘bat’). Even English, which is largely right-headed,
does not appear to be exclusively so, as is shown by
isolated examples such as whomever (where the
inflections for the word as a whole are carried on
the leftmost element) and Model T (which denotes a
type of model, not a type of T).
This lack of necessary consistency can make it dif-
ficult to determine what is treated as the head element
in compounds such as Alsace–Lorraine, where the
meaning is the addition of the two elements rather
than a hyponym of one of the elements.
Compounds like redwood, which denote not a type
of wood but a tree that has red wood, are sometimes
Compound 723
said not to have a head. Although it is true that
redwood is not a hyponym of wood, but of an unex-
pressed element tree, it is nonetheless the case that red
is the modifier of wood and that wood is the element
that carries the inflections for the word as a whole.
Thus, redwood may be seen as a headed structure,
just as much as rain–cloud. Similar arguments seem to
hold with examples such as breath-taking, chimney-
sweep, trouble-free where there may be problems in
applying the hyponymy criterion in a straightforward
way.
Classifying Compounds
Compounds have been classified in a number of ways,
none of which appears to be totally satisfactory.
The oldest classification is that provided by the
Sanskrit grammarians. This provides four funda-
mental classes of compound, a classification that
continues to be used, in whole or in part, today.
Tatpurusa compounds are the type in which there is
a clear modifier–head structure, as discussed above.
These are sometimes termed ‘determinative’ com-
pounds. In rain-cloud, rain determines what kind of
cloud is denoted. The Sanskrit grammarians give
kharmadharaya compounds as a subtype of tatpurusa
compounds. In more modern times, the kharmadhar-
aya compounds have been divided into two distinct
groups. In the first, we have adjective–noun com-
pounds like blackbird. The second type seems very
different: it is the compound made up of two ele-
ments, each of which refers independently to some
facet of the thing denoted by the compound as a
whole: man-servant, secretary-treasurer. This latter
type is sometimes confused with the next category,
dvandva compounds. Dvandvas denote an entity that
is the sum of the entities in the two elements: Alsace–
Lorraine is an example of this type; in many other
languages we find dvandvas meaning ‘parents’ made
up of the words for mother and father (for example,
in Kashmiri, Marathi, and Tamil). The third main
Sanskrit type of compound is the bahuvrihi com-
pound. In Sanskrit, these were adjectival in nature,
with bahuvrihi being an example of the type and
meaning ‘having much rice’. In more modern descrip-
tions, this label has been appropriated for compounds
like redwood discussed above, and they are some-
times called possessive compounds or, in German,
Dickkopfkomposita, again illustrating the type. The
final type in the Sanskrit classification is the avyayib-
hava compound, which is the label given to adjectival
compounds used adverbially. The label has tended to
be ignored by modern scholars.
Many more modern classifications of compounds
are in effect reinterpretations of the Sanskrit labels.
724 Compound

Table 1 Types of compound whose elements can be understood to be coordinated

Examples Semantic description Label

man-servant, writer-director,
bitter-sweet
Alsace–Lorraine, mother–
father (e.g., in Tamil)
Vietnamese bàn ghê ‘table
chair ¼ furniture’
London–Los Angeles (flight),
Greek–English (dictionary)
American–Australian (talks)
The elements denote different aspects of the same individual Appositional compounds
The compound denotes a unit made up of the individuals Dvandva compounds
denoted by the elements
The elements denote different individuals that act as Usually seen as dvandvas; may be
prototypical members of the set denoted by the compound termed co-hyponymic compounds
The elements denote the extremes of some real or May be termed translative compounds
metaphorical journey between two points
The elements denote the participants; there is no movement May be termed participative
between extremes compounds

For example, dvandvas are sometimes relabeled as
copulative compounds, and the man-servant type of
kharmadharaya is called an appositional compound.
This leads to a proliferation of labels without any
particular insights. For example, the confusion be-
tween appositional and copulative compounds in
the literature appears to arise because both can be
glossed by inserting the word ‘and’ between the ele-
ments: a man-servant is a man and a servant; Alsace–
Lorraine is made up of Alsace and Lorraine. This
masks the original insight by focusing on a different
superficial similarity, the apparent coordination. But
here we can recognize not only the original distinc-
tion and instances that may be hard to classify on the
borderline, we can recognize further subtypes as well
(see Table 1).
Bloomfield (1935) introduces a different fundamen-
tal distinction into the classification of compounds.
For him, compounds are basically endocentric (they
contain their heads) or exocentric (the true head is
unexpressed). The tatpurusa compounds are endo-
centric, as are probably the dvandvas. The bahuvrihi
compounds are exocentric. Comment was made above
about the headedness of bahuvrihi compounds like
redwood. But there are many other compounds that
have no overt head element. English examples like
pickpocket or their equivalents in Romance languages
(e.g., French garde-robe ‘keep dress’ ¼ ‘wardrobe’)
also lack overt heads. One unfortunate result of this
is that these have sometimes been classified as bahuv-
rihi, which, traditionally, they were not. Rather they
are a type not readily encompassed by the Sanskrit
terminology. Other exocentric types include sit-in (a
noun made up of a verb and a preposition), up-keep
(if this is not to be viewed as a nominalization of a
phrasal verb through processes or reordering and
stress-change), and compounds like roll-neck (sweat-
er), red-brick (university), go-go (dancer), and high-
rise (block), which appear to create nonprototypical
adjectives although they do not have adjectival heads,
and things like army-fashion, which are most often
used adverbially.
A more recent classification sees all the compounds
that have been discussed so far as primary compounds
(sometimes misleadingly termed root compounds), in
contrast to compounds such as bus-driver, which
are synthetic compounds (sometimes called verbal
compounds or verbal–nexus compounds). Synthetic
compounds are built around a verb (in bus-driver, the
verb is drive) with arguments of the verb taking up
other structural positions in the verb. So bus is the
direct object of the verb, and the final -er suffix
represents the subject or external argument of the
verb. There are restrictions on what arguments of
the verb can occur in the various positions in a syn-
thetic compound structure. Generally adverbial ele-
ments and subject arguments do not occur in the first
element of such compounds (*He is a fast-driver of
buses, *Driver-cleaning of buses), except where the
second element is a past participle (home made,
self-driven). Apparent exceptions to this rule are in-
teresting, in that they may help delimit the notion of
synthetic compound. For some authorities, synthetic
compounds are found only when very productive
affixes are involved (-er, -ing, -ed, where English is
concerned) so that speech-synthesizer is a synthetic
compound but speech-synthesis is not. For such autho-
rities, a compound such as insect flight is not a counter-
example to the above generalization, though consumer
spending is. Some authorities are also unwilling to
allow spatial or temporal locative elements as parts of
synthetic compounds, but others present wider defini-
tions. An example like Sunday driver is this a synthetic
compound for some but not for others. Although it is
clear that this whole area still needs more work, it is of
particular interest since it appears to show the interac-
tion of syntactic and morphological principles in the
creation of new lexical items.

The Limits of Compounding
Finally, it must be mentioned that there are some
things that look like compounds but are not generally
accepted as compounds in the literature.
The most obvious type is the type where the
compound is the base of some subsequent process.
For example, things that look like compound verbs
in English are usually not created by straight
compounding but by back-formation (baby-sit from
baby-sitter) or conversion/zero derivation (to grand-
stand from a grandstand). There is some equivocation
here between the final form and the route by which
that final form has been achieved. We have already
seen that words like walk-out may be viewed
as nominalizations of phrasal verbs rather than as
compounds.
There are some multilexeme lexical items that ap-
pear to derive from the lexicalization of a syntactic
structure. English examples include forget-me-not
and toad-in-the-hole. Although these are sometimes
called compounds, it seems that their formation is
completely distinct from that of the constructions
that have been discussed here and that they really
belong under a different heading.
The same is true of so-called compounds whose
primary motivation appears to be phonetic/phono-
logical: things like namby-pamby and shilly-shally.
Those are dealt with separately in this work, since
they are not made up of two lexemes.
See also: Back-Formation; Conversion; Hyponymy and Hy-
peronymy; Incorporation; Lexicalization; Neoclassical
Compounding; Panini; Word.
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Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition
J Elman, University of California San Diego, La Jolla,
CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Why Computational Models?
One of the striking developments in the field of child
language acquisition within the past two decades has
been the dramatic increase in the use of computation-
al models as a way of understanding the acquisition
process. In part, this has been driven by the wide-
spread availability of inexpensive but powerful com-
puters and the development of software that has
made modeling more widely accessible. But there is
a more interesting and scientifically significant reason
for the phenomena. Computational theories of learn-
ing themselves have matured significantly since the
middle of the 20th century. The renaissance in neural
network (or connectionist) approaches, and more re-
cently, the linkages with mathematical approaches
such as Bayesian inference, information theory, and
statistical learning have provided a much more sophis-
ticated perspective on a number of issues relevant to
language acquisition.
These models are necessarily used in conjunction
with empirical approaches, but provide an important
complement to such approaches. At the very least,
computational models can be thought of as enforcing
a level of detail and specificity in a theory or account
that a verbal description might not possess. Further-
more, even in simple models, there may be interac-
tions among the model’s components that are
sufficiently complex that only through empirically
running a simulation is it possible to know how the
model will behave. Computer models also afford the
opportunity to explore aspects of a phenomenon that
may not be easily tested in the real world (either
because the corresponding situation has not yet been
Scalise S (1992). ‘The morphology of compounding.’
Italian Journal of Linguistics/Rivista di Linguistica
4/1.
Sulkala H & Karjalainen M (1992). Finnish. London and
New York: Routledge.
Warren B (1978). Semantic patterns of noun–noun
compounds. Göteborg: Acta Universitatis Gothobur-
gensis.
Whitney W D (1889). Sanskrit grammar (2nd edn.).
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London:
Oxford University Press.
studied, or perhaps may be infeasible to test). By
systematically exploring the full parameter space of
a theory, one can sometimes gain insight into the
deeper principles that underlie a behavior. And of
course, a model may be amenable to analytic techni-
ques that are not practical with real children. With
children we can never do more than make inferences
about the internal mechanisms that drive a behavior.
Computer models, on the other hand, can in principle
be completely understood. Finally, such models can
serve as hypothesis generators. They often suggest
novel ways of understanding a phenomenon. Of
course, the validity of the hypothesis ultimately
depends on empirical testing with real children.
In general, there have emerged two complementary
approaches to modeling. In the first, the goal is to
determine that a problem can be solved without
making specific claims that the solution implemented
in the computer model is the same as it would be for
the child. These approaches tend to be more mathe-
matical in nature. Work involving Bayesian inference,
information theory, and statistical learning are of this
sort. The second approach attempts to model the
acquisition process a bit more directly. Learning
plays a central role in these approaches, and the mod-
els’ behavior at intermediate stages is as much a focus
as the ability to ultimately master the task. Connec-
tionist models are examples of this second sort
of model.
Because the field of computational approaches to
language acquisition has grown so explosively – and
cannot be fully covered in the present short review –
what follows will be organized around the major
issues that have been addressed (leaving aside a
large number of interesting but less central phenom-
ena). For excellent discussion of related computation-
al approaches, see Brent (1996), Munakata and
McClelland (2003), and MacWhinney (1999).
726 Compound
Olsen S (2000). ‘Composition.’ In Booij G, Lehmann C &
Mugdan J (eds.) Morphologie/morphology, vol. 1. Berlin
and New York: de Gruyter. 897–916.
Rohrer C (1977). Die Wortzusammensetzung im modernen
Französisch. Tübingen: Narr.
Ryder M E (1994). Ordered chaos: The interpretation of
English noun–noun compounds. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Sandra D (1990). ‘On the representation and processing of
compound words: Automatic access to constituent mor-
phemes does not occur.’ Quarterly Journal of Experimen-
tal Psychology 42A, 529–567.
Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition
J Elman, University of California San Diego, La Jolla,
CA, USA
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Why Computational Models?
One of the striking developments in the field of child
language acquisition within the past two decades has
been the dramatic increase in the use of computation-
al models as a way of understanding the acquisition
process. In part, this has been driven by the wide-
spread availability of inexpensive but powerful com-
puters and the development of software that has
made modeling more widely accessible. But there is
a more interesting and scientifically significant reason
for the phenomena. Computational theories of learn-
ing themselves have matured significantly since the
middle of the 20th century. The renaissance in neural
network (or connectionist) approaches, and more re-
cently, the linkages with mathematical approaches
such as Bayesian inference, information theory, and
statistical learning have provided a much more sophis-
ticated perspective on a number of issues relevant to
language acquisition.
These models are necessarily used in conjunction
with empirical approaches, but provide an important
complement to such approaches. At the very least,
computational models can be thought of as enforcing
a level of detail and specificity in a theory or account
that a verbal description might not possess. Further-
more, even in simple models, there may be interac-
tions among the model’s components that are
sufficiently complex that only through empirically
running a simulation is it possible to know how the
model will behave. Computer models also afford the
opportunity to explore aspects of a phenomenon that
may not be easily tested in the real world (either
because the corresponding situation has not yet been
Scalise S (1992). ‘The morphology of compounding.’
Italian Journal of Linguistics/Rivista di Linguistica
4/1.
Sulkala H & Karjalainen M (1992). Finnish. London and
New York: Routledge.
Warren B (1978). Semantic patterns of noun–noun
compounds. Göteborg: Acta Universitatis Gothobur-
gensis.
Whitney W D (1889). Sanskrit grammar (2nd edn.).
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/London:
Oxford University Press.
studied, or perhaps may be infeasible to test). By
systematically exploring the full parameter space of
a theory, one can sometimes gain insight into the
deeper principles that underlie a behavior. And of
course, a model may be amenable to analytic techni-
ques that are not practical with real children. With
children we can never do more than make inferences
about the internal mechanisms that drive a behavior.
Computer models, on the other hand, can in principle
be completely understood. Finally, such models can
serve as hypothesis generators. They often suggest
novel ways of understanding a phenomenon. Of
course, the validity of the hypothesis ultimately
depends on empirical testing with real children.
In general, there have emerged two complementary
approaches to modeling. In the first, the goal is to
determine that a problem can be solved without
making specific claims that the solution implemented
in the computer model is the same as it would be for
the child. These approaches tend to be more mathe-
matical in nature. Work involving Bayesian inference,
information theory, and statistical learning are of this
sort. The second approach attempts to model the
acquisition process a bit more directly. Learning
plays a central role in these approaches, and the mod-
els’ behavior at intermediate stages is as much a focus
as the ability to ultimately master the task. Connec-
tionist models are examples of this second sort
of model.
Because the field of computational approaches to
language acquisition has grown so explosively – and
cannot be fully covered in the present short review –
what follows will be organized around the major
issues that have been addressed (leaving aside a
large number of interesting but less central phenom-
ena). For excellent discussion of related computation-
al approaches, see Brent (1996), Munakata and
McClelland (2003), and MacWhinney (1999).
 Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition 727

Issues and Results
It is useful to focus on the modeling work in terms of
three major questions that have been addressed (bear-
ing in mind the caveat above, that just as the field of
language acquisition is itself large and diverse,
there are many models that fall outside the scope of
this taxonomy). These questions have to do with:
(1) Oddities in the ‘shape of change’ (e.g., disconti-
nuities or nonlinearities in acquisition, as in U-shaped
curves); (2) What information is available in the input
a child receives, and what she can infer from it
(e.g., the problem of segmenting words or discover-
ing grammatical categories or syntactic regularities);
and (3) How learning can proceed in the face
of putatively insufficient information (e.g., ‘Baker’s
paradox’ or the so-called ‘Poverty of the Stimulus’
problem).
We shall consider each of these in detail, consider-
ing first what the issues are and then the computa-
tional models that have endeavored to understand the
phenomena.
Explaining the Shape of Change
The simplest and possibly most natural pattern of
development would probably be to assume a linear
increase in performance over time. Such a pattern
would be consistent with the assumption that the
mechanisms that subserve learning remain relatively
constant, and thus the increase in what is learned over
every time increment should also remain constant. In
fact, few developmental patterns illustrate such linear
tendencies. Development seems to proceed in fits and
spurts, sometimes interrupted by long periods where
little appears to change, and sometimes even by
phases where performance temporarily deteriorates.
Noteworthy examples of such nonlinearities
abound in the realm of language acquisition, and
they have played a major role in theories about the
mechanisms that make language acquisition possible.
The special ability of children to learn languages (the
Critical Period) is a notable example of such a non-
linearity. One influential explanation of this effect is
that it reflects the existence of a specialized neural
mechanism, the Language Acquisition Device, which
is operative only during childhood.
Another well-documented set of nonlinearities is
exemplified by the rapid increases in word compre-
hension, production, and knowledge of grammar that
occur in young children during their second year of
life (as in Figure 1, from Bates and Goodman, 1997).
Clearly, something dramatic seems to be happening at
the point where, for example, the child manifests a
burst in the rate at which she learns new words. Many
theorists have interpreted such bursts as evidence that
something new has appeared in the child.
A final example has played a particularly impor-
tant role in the theoretical literature: the apparent
U-shaped curve that characterizes children’s mastery
of the past tense of the English verbal system. At the

Figure 1 Median growth scores for word comprehension expressed as a percentage of available items. (Reproduced with permission
from Bates E & Goodman J (1997). ‘On the inseparability of grammar and the lexicon.’ Language and Cognitive Processes 12(5/6), 507–584.
! Psychology Press Ltd (http://www.psypress.co.uk/journals.asp).)
728 Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition
earliest stage, children know a small number of verbs,
mostly of high frequency and tending to be irregular;
they typically produce the past tense correctly. At the
second stage, the number of verbs in the child’s pro-
ductive vocabulary increases and includes a larger
number of regulars, some of which may be lower in
frequency. At this stage, both observational evidence
(overgeneralization of the ‘þed’ pattern for regular
verbs) and experimental data (ability to generate the
regular version of nonce verbs) suggest that the child
has learned a rule for forming the past tense. During
the second stage, the rule is incompletely learned and
misapplied to many (previously correctly produced)
irregulars, resulting in a decline in overall perfor-
mance. Finally, at the third stage, the correct forms
for both regulars and irregulars are produced, and the
child appears to have learned not only the rule –
which applies to regulars – but also the exceptions.
These data have provided a powerful argument in
favor of the psychological reality of rules.
The Critical Period
A number of computational models have addressed
these issues and in many cases provided alternative
hypotheses for the phenomena. In attempting to
understand how neural networks might deal with
complex recursive structure in language, Elman
(1993) discovered that the network was able to
process complex sentences only when it began either
by initially being exposed to simple sentences (a kind
of neural network ‘motherese’), or if it began the
learning process with a restricted working memory
(similar to the limited WM found in young children).
Elman called this the ‘starting small’ effect. It is simi-
lar in spirit to Newport’s ‘‘less is more’’ hypothesis
(Newport, 1990). In both accounts, the limitation on
processing resources acts like a filter that temporarily
hides the more complex aspects of language from the
network (or child). Learning the simpler phenomena
first creates a foundation of knowledge that makes it
possible to subsequently learn more complex regular-
ities. These accounts suggest that rather than being
enabled by a special mechanism (the LAD) that is lost
in adulthood, the explanation for the Critical Period
is that – paradoxically – it is maturational limitations
that facilitate the learning of language. However, it is
also possible that there are multiple factors that result
in Critical Period effects. Using a model based on
Hebbian learning (a computational paradigm closely
related to the changes in Long Term Potentiation of
synaptic junctions that results from synchronous fir-
ing of neurons), Munakata and Pfaffly (2004) demon-
strated that even though the mechanism for plasticity
did not change, what was learned early in a network’s
life constrained what it could learn later. Marchman
(1993) has demonstrated similar effects in networks
that learn the past tense; networks that suffer
simulated brain damage early in life recover much
better compared to networks that are lesioned after
much learning has occurred.
The Vocabulary Burst
A number of models have been used to attempt to
understand what factors might lead to the rapid
acceleration in learning of new words that typically
occurs in the middle of the second year of life.
Plunkett et al. (1992) trained networks to associate
linguistic labels with visual images and observed that
a burst-like increase in ability to learn labels occurred
after early training. They also found that comprehen-
sion performance in the networks always exceeded
(and preceded) production, that the networks exhib-
ited prototype effects, and that they also show under-
extension and overextension phenomena found in
children. Plunkett et al. (1992) attribute these behav-
iors to the network’s need to develop robust concep-
tual categories. Prior to this time, learning is slow and
errorful. Once categories are learned, they facilitate
the learning of new words. A similar effect was found
in Elman (1998), who also found that there was a
direct, causal connection between vocabulary growth
and the later emergence of grammar (cf. Bates and
Goodman, 1997). The effect arose because essentially
grammar was understood as a generalization over the
commonalities in syntactic behavior of many words;
with a small vocabulary these patterns are not
evident, and so vocabulary growth is a necessary
prerequisite to discovery of grammatical patterns
(cf. Tomasello, 2000 for a similar account in the
acquisition literature).
The English Past Tense: Rules or Connections?
The final example of nonlinearities in language acqui-
sition is the U-shaped performance shown in English
by many children as they learn the correct past tense
forms of verbs. This phenomenon has long been
seen as demonstrating the psychological reality of
rules, insofar as we appear to be observing the mo-
ment in time when the rule for the past tense is being
acquired (Pinker, 1991). Rumelhart and McClelland
(1986) challenged this assumption by showing that
when a neural network was trained, on a verb-by-
verb basis, to produce the past tense of English verbs,
it not only manifested a similar U-shaped perfor-
mance curve, but also replicated in detail many of
the more specific empirical phenomena found in chil-
dren. Rumelhart and McClelland suggested that the
network account provided an alternative to the tradi-
tional interpretation involving rules. Not surprisingly,

this claim provoked a controversy that continues to
this day (Prince and Pinker, 1988). The debate has
been lively, if at times acrimonious. And although the
theoretical interpretation remains controversial, one
of the most important outcomes of this debate has
been the broadening – in terms of both languages
studied and level of detail – of empirical research
in English but also in other languages, including
German, Hebrew, Icelandic, Italian, Norwegian,
Polish, and Spanish. This is an excellent example of
how computational models can refine the questions
that are addressed and inspire new avenues of empir-
ical investigation. The debate has also led to a more
sophisticated understanding of the implications of
the competing accounts not only for acquisition but
also for other aspects of language processing and
historical change.
What Information Is Available to a Child, and What
Can Be Learned?
Although obviously a child’s experience places a criti-
cal role in the learning process, the relationship be-
tween what the child hears and what she ultimately
knows is in many cases not transparent. Indeed, it has
been claimed that in some cases there is no evidence at
all for this knowledge (Crain, 1991). The putative
insufficiency of the evidence available to a child –
the poverty of the stimulus problem – has led to the
conclusion that significant amounts of linguistic
knowledge must be ‘preknown’ by a child. This
knowledge constitutes a universal grammar that is
part of the biological endowment every child uses as
she learns the specific features of her own language.
There are three issues that must be considered
when evaluating such a hypothesis. The first involves
what the actual input is that is available to children.
Although that input is in fact massive in terms of
word tokens, there is now reason to believe that it
reflects a restricted range of the adult language
(Cameron-Faulkner et al., 2003). Second, it is also
clear that for a long period of time, children are
actually much more conservative in their productions
and stick closely to what they hear (Cameron-
Faulkner et al., 2003; Lieven et al., 2003; Theakston
et al., 2003). Nonetheless, it is also obviously true
that at some point children venture into uncharted
territory, so the problem of what motivates such cre-
ative use of language is real. This leads to the third
question, which is what theory of learning is assumed.
At least some of the Nativist accounts have assumed a
weak kind of learning, essentially little more than a
mental tabulation of utterances (e.g., Pinker, 1984:
49ff.). Computational models have been most suc-
cessful in addressing this third question, by exploring
Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition 729
the properties of more powerful – but hopefully
psychologically plausible – learning mechanisms.
Discovering Where the Words Are: The
Segmentation Problem
Unlike written language, in which words are delim-
ited by white space or punctuation characters, spoken
language yields few explicit clues as to where the
boundaries between words are. For the infant, this
poses a serious challenge, complicated by the fact that
even the definition of what counts as a word differs
dramatically across languages. How does the child
thus learn (a) what can serve as a word, and (b)
where the words are in continuous speech?
A number of computational approaches have con-
verged in a similar insight, which is that at least to a
first approximation, sequences of sounds that are
highly associated are good candidates to be words.
The manner in which this hypothesis is implemented
varies (Brent and Cartwright, 1996; Christiansen
et al., 1998; Elman, 1990), but the essential idea is
that word boundaries are locations where the condi-
tional probability of the next sound, given what has
preceded it, is low. This can be seen in Figure 2, which
shows the errors made by a network that has learned
to predict the next letter in a sequence of words
(white space removed) that make up a child’s story
(Elman, 1990). Error tends to be greatest at the onsets
of words, and decreases as more of a word is heard.
Error maxima thus constitute likely word boundaries.
Another issue that concerns word learning is the
problem of determining the syntactic and semantic
categories of words. Here again, strong claims have
been advanced that at least the categories must be
innate, as well as innate principles that guide the
child in making such determinations. The arguments
have included the claim that the kind of distributional
information available to a child (e.g., words in the
same category tend to have similar distributional
properties) will fail given the complexity of real lan-
guage input. However, a number of computational
models have suggested otherwise. Considerably
more information of this sort appears to be available
to a child than might be imagined (Cartwright and
Brent, 1997; Elman, 1995; Mintz, 2002; Redington
et al., 1998). Again, these models differ in their
details, but share the same insight that a word’s privi-
lege of occurrence is a powerful indicator of its cate-
gory. Importantly, there is an increasingly empirical
literature involving learning of artificial languages by
infants and young children that is highly consistent
with the type of learning embodied in the computa-
tional models (see Gomez and Gerken, 2000 and
Saffran, 2001 for a discussion of this work).
730 Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition
Figure 2 Performance of a simple recurrent network that has learned to predict the next letter in a short story. Error maxima are
highly correlated with the onsets of a new word. (Reproduced with permission from Elman J L (1990). ‘Finding structure in time.’ Cognitive
Science 14(2), 179–211. ! Taylor & Francis.)
Discovering Grammar? The Poverty of the
Stimulus Problem
Perhaps the strongest claims regarding the ne-
cessity for children’s innate linguistic knowledge
arise in the context of grammar. As with the past
tense debate, the controversy has been heated. It has
also been complex, because it interacts not only
with the long-standing nature vs. nurture debate
but also with questions regarding the extent to
which linguistic knowledge is modular and indepen-
dent from other cognitive processes (i.e., domain-
specific), and whether the uniqueness of language to
our species also reflects specialized neural – and pre-
sumably also genetic – substrates that are entirely
absent in other species. For two different answers to
these questions, see Elman et al. (1996) and Pinker
(1994).
One basic question that arose early in the discus-
sion is whether connectionist models were capable at
all of capturing some of the apparently recursive na-
ture of natural language. Even if recursion in human
language is only partial, there is good evidence that
some kind of abstract internal representations must
underlie the surface forms. Symbolic accounts that
make use of syntactic trees provide one mechanism
that might explain why, for example, the verb is in (1)
is in the singular, agreeing with woman, rather than
with any of the other nouns in the sentence.
(1) The woman who Mary and Bob introduced me to
last summer while I was visiting them in Paris on
my way to Prague is really quite interesting.
Similarly, tree-structured representations provide a
formalism that makes possible hypotheses about
why (2) is an acceptable sentence, whereas (3) –
which is similar in meaning – is ungrammatical.
(It should be noted, however, that accounts of such
differences are elusive, and there is still not com-
plete agreement within any framework about the
explanation for these sorts of differences.)
(2) Who did you believe Annie saw? (Possible
answer: I believed Annie saw Elvis.)
(3) *Who did you believe the claim Annie saw?
(Possible answer: I believed the claim Annie saw
Elvis.)
Claims that neural networks are in principle unable
to deal with such linguistic complexities may be pre-
mature. Their solution to the problem of recursion
differs from classical discrete automata, but recur-
rent neural networks definitely have sufficient power
to deal with complex grammatical constructions
(Siegelmann, 1995). More relevant to issues in lan-
guage acquisition is whether these complex grammat-
ical regularities can actually be learned, given the
input to which a child might be exposed.
A number of computational models suggest a posi-
tive answer (e.g., Christiansen and Chater, 1999;
Elman, 1993). One particularly challenging problem,
and the one we will conclude with, was posed by
Crain (1991) and concerns what has been called
Aux Inversion as a hypothesis to explain how certain
kinds of questions are formed.

Crain argued that based on the evidence available
to a child, such as question-answer pairs shown in (4)
and (5), any account of grammar acquisition that
relies solely on learning would be expected to
produce the incorrect generalization that, for any
declarative, the corresponding interrogative involves
inversion of the first verb and first noun, as captured
schematically by the rule shown in (6).
(4a) Mary is happy.
(4b) Is Mary happy?
(5a) Timmy can swim awfully fast.
(5b) Can Timmy swim awfully fast?
(6) Declarative: Noun AUX . . .
Interrogative: AUX Noun . . .
But this rule would be wrong, because it predicts
incorrectly that the interrogative that corresponds to
(7a) would be (7b). In reality, the correct interrogative
is (7c) (For convenience, underlining shows the loca-
tion of the auxiliary prior to inversion.)
(7a) The boy who is smoking is crazy.
(7b) *Is the boy who __ smoking is crazy?
(7c) Is the boy who is smoking __ crazy?
Crain argues that children do not hear the sort of data
(e.g., questions of the form in (7c)) until well past the
period where they can be shown – by experimentally
eliciting them – to correctly produce these forms. He
concludes that this is strong evidence for the existence
of an innate constraint that requires that abstract
constituent structure be the basis for learning gram-
matical regularities. He calls this the ‘parade case’ for
an innate constraint.
To test this claim, Lewis and Elman (2001) con-
structed a simulation in which a recurrent neural net-
work was trained on examples of well-formed sentences;
the training data were generated to mimic the types and
frequencies of sentences found in the Manchester
corpora from the CHILDES databank (MacWhinney,
2000; Theakston et al., 2001). Crucially, although there
were many sentences of the form shown in (4) and (5), no
sentences of the forms shown in (7) were included. The
network was then tested on both ungrammatical (7b)
and grammatical (7c) inputs. Its clear preference was for
the grammatical questions, despite never having seen
similar sentences during training.
How did the network learn the true grammatical
generalization? It turns out that there are many other
sentences present in the input (to children as well as
these networks) that provide ample evidence for the
fact that noun phrases act as constituents. These in-
clude sentences such as those shown in (9a) and (9b).
(9a) The bike with wheels belongs to me.
(Not: The bike with wheels *belong to me.)
Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition 731
(9b) The cats my dog chases belong to our neighbor.
(Not: The cats my dog chases *belongs to our
neighbor.)
The input to the network is thus sufficient to moti-
vate a number of generalizations. These involve
learning about different grammatical categories
(nouns, verbs, prepositions, complementizers, etc.);
selectional restrictions imposed by verbs on their
arguments; the form of simple declaratives; the form
of simple interrogatives; and the fact that agree-
ment relations (among others) must respect constitu-
enthood. Although these are logically independent
generalizations, they have the opportunity to inter-
act. The critical interaction occurs when a complex
sentence is also an interrogative. The network
has never seen such interactions, but its ability to
partial out independent generalizations also makes
it possible to combine generalizations as they may
interact.
There is an important lesson here, and it is a
clear demonstration of the ways in which computa-
tional models – particularly those that involve
learning – can yield new insights into old problems.
To a large degree, the question of what can be learned
from the available input hinges crucially on what
counts as input. Many of the claims regarding poverty
of the stimulus have taken a straightforward and
literal view of the input. If the target generalization
to be learned involves strings of the form X, then the
relevant input consists of strings of the form X. But
this is a limited view of the relationship between our
experience and what we make of it. The Lewis and
Elman simulation suggests that some of the more
complex aspects of language learning may involve a
good deal of what is really indirect evidence, and
that inductive mechanisms of the sort instantiated in
neural networks are capable of combining that evi-
dence in novel ways to yield outcomes that are
not transparently related to the input. Whether this
is in fact also true of children of course can only be
determined through empirical research. The impor-
tance of the computational simulations is that they
open up a logical possibility that previously had been
ruled out.
See also: Associationism and Connectionism; Chart Pars-
ing and Well-Formed Substring Tables; CHILDES Data-
base; Corpora; Developmental Relationship between
Language and Cognition; Formal Models and Language
Acquisition; Infancy: Sensitivity to Linguistic Form; Infor-
mation Theory; Language Acquisition Research Methods;
Language Development: Morphology; Language Devel-
opment: Overview; Lexical Acquisition; Syntactic Devel-
opment.
732 Computational Approaches to Language Acquisition
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Computational Language Systems: Architectures
H Cunningham and K Bontcheva, University of
Sheffield, Sheffield, UK
! 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Software Architecture
Every building, and every computer program, has
an ‘architecture’: structural and organizational prin-
ciples that underpin its design and construction. The
garden shed once built by one of the authors had an
ad hoc architecture, extracted (somewhat painfully)
from the imagination during a slow and nondeter-
ministic process that, luckily, resulted in a structure
that keeps the rain on the outside and the mower on
the inside (at least for the time being). As well as being
ad hoc (i.e., not informed by analysis of similar prac-
tice or relevant science or engineering) this architec-
ture is implicit: no explicit design was made, and no
records or documentation were kept of the construc-
tion process. The pyramid in the courtyard of the
Louvre, by contrast, was constructed in a process
involving explicit design performed by qualified engi-
neers with a wealth of theoretical and practical
knowledge of the properties of materials, the rela-
tive merits and strengths of different construction
techniques, and the like.
So it is with software: sometimes it is thrown to-
gether by enthusiastic amateurs, and sometimes it is
architected, built to last, and intended to be ‘not
something you finish, but something you start’ (to
paraphrase Brand, 1994).
Several researchers argued in the early and middle
1990s that the field of computational infrastructure
or architecture for human language computation
merited increased attention. The reasoning was that
the increasingly large-scale and technologically sig-
nificant nature of language processing science was
placing increasing burdens of an engineering nature
on research and development (R&D) workers seeking
robust and practical methods (as was the increasingly
collaborative nature of research in this field, which
puts a large premium on software integration and
interoperation). Since then, several significant sys-
tems and practices have been developed in what
may be called software architecture for language
engineering (SALE).
Language engineering (LE) may be defined as the
production of software systems that involve proces-
sing human language with quantifiable accuracy and
predictable development resources (Cunningham,
1999). LE is related to but distinct from the fields of
computational linguistics, natural language process-
ing, and artificial intelligence, with its own priorities
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 733
and concerns. Chief among these are (1) dealing with
large-scale tasks of practical utility, (2) measuring
progress quantitatively relative to performance on
examples of such tasks, (3) a growing realization of
the importance of software engineering in general,
and (4) reusability, robustness, efficiency, and produc-
tivity, in particular. Software architectures can con-
tribute significantly toward achieving these goals
(Maynard et al., 2002; Cunningham and Scott, 2004).
This article gives a critical review of the various
approaches that have been taken to the problem of
software architecture for language engineering
(SALE). The prime criterion for inclusion in this arti-
cle is that the approaches are infrastructural – work
that is intended to support language engineering
(LE) R&D in some way that extends beyond the
boundaries of a single time-limited project.
This article presents categories of work that range
over a wide area. To provide an organizing principle
for the discussion, we extrapolate a set of architectur-
al issues that represent the union of those addressed
by the various researchers cited. This approach has
the advantage of making it easier to see how certain
problems have been addressed and the disadvantage
that multipurpose infrastructures appear in several
categories.
The following section discusses infrastructures
aimed at algorithmic resources including the issues
of component integration and execution. The article
then analyzes data resources infrastructure, including
the issues of access and the representation of infor-
mation about text and speech. If concludes with a
discussion on future directions for work on SALE.
Software Architectures for Language
Engineering
The problem addressed by the systems reviewed here
is the construction of software infrastructure for lan-
guage processing: software that is intended to apply
to whole families of problems within this field and
to be like a craftsman’s toolbox in the service of
construction and experimentation. We consider
three types of infrastructural systems: frameworks,
architectures, and development environments.
A ‘framework’ typically means an object-oriented
class library that has been designed with a certain
domain in mind and that can be tailored and extend-
ed to solve problems in that domain. A framework
may also be known as a platform or a component
system.
All software systems have an architecture. Some-
times, the architecture is explicit, perhaps conforming
734 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
to certain standards or patterns, and sometimes it is
implicit. Where an architecture is explicit and tar-
geted on more than one system, it is known as a
‘reference architecture’ or a ‘domain-specific archi-
tecture.’ The former is ‘‘a software architecture for
a family of application systems’’ (Tracz and Mar,
1995). The term ‘domain-specific software architec-
ture (DSSA),’ the subject of an eponymous ARPA
research program, ‘‘applies to architectures designed
to address the known architectural abstractions spe-
cific to given problem domains’’ (Clements and
Northron, 1996).
An implementation of an architecture that includes
some graphical tools for building and testing systems
is a ‘development environment’. One of the benefits
of an explicit and repeatable architecture is that it
can give rise to a symbiotic relationship with a
dedicated development environment. In this rela-
tionship, the development environment can help
designers conform to architectural principles and
visualize the effect of various design choices and can
provide code libraries tailored to the architecture.
The most significant issues addressed by SALE
systems include the following.
. enabling a clean separation of low-level tasks, such
as data storage, data visualization, location and
loading of components, and execution of processes
from the data structures and algorithms that actu-
ally process human language
. reducing integration overheads by providing stan-
dard mechanisms for components to communicate
data about language and using open standards,
such as Java and XML, as the underlying platform
. providing a baseline set of language processing
components that can be extended and/or replaced
by users as required
. providing a development environment or at least a
set of tools to support users in modifying and
implementing language processing components
and applications
. automating measurement of performance of lan-
guage-processing components.
This article focuses on the first two sets of issues,
because they are issues that arise in every single NLP
system or application and are prime areas where
SALE can make a contribution. For a discussion of
other requirements, see Cunningham (2000).
Categories of Work on SALE
As with other software, LE programs comprise
data and algorithms. The current trend in software
development is to model both data and algorithms
together, as ‘objects.’ (Older development methods,
such as structured analysis kept them largely sepa-
rate; Yourdon, 1989.) Systems that adopt the
new approach are referred to as ‘object-oriented’
(OO), and there are good reasons to believe that
OO software is easier to build and maintain (see
Booch, 1994).
In the domain of human language processing
R&D, however, the choice is not quite so clear cut.
Language data, in various forms, are of such signifi-
cance in the field that they are frequently worked on
independently of the algorithms that process them.
Such data have even come to have their own term:
‘language resources’ (LRs; LREC-1, 1998), covering
many data sources, from lexicons to corpora.
In recognition of this distinction, this article uses
the following terminology.
. Language resource (LR) refers to data-only
resources, such as lexicons, corpora, thesauri, or
ontologies. Some LRs come with software (e.g.,
Wordnet has both a user query interface and
C and Prolog APIs), but resources in which soft-
ware is only a means of accessing the underlying
data are still defined as LRs.
. Processing resource (PR) refers to resources that are
principally programmatic or algorithmic, such as
lemmatizers, generators, translators, parsers, or
speech recognizers. For example a part-of-speech
(POS) tagger is best characterized by reference
to the process it performs on text. PRs typically
include LRs (e.g., a tagger often has a lexicon).
PRs can be viewed as algorithms that map between
different types of LR and that typically use LRs in
the mapping process. An MT (Machine Translation)
engine, for example, maps a monolingual corpus
into a multilingual aligned corpus using lexicons,
grammars, and the like.
Adopting the PR/LR distinction is a matter of con-
forming to established domain practice and termi-
nology. It does not imply that one cannot model the
domain (or build software to support it) in an object-
oriented manner. This distinction is used to categorize
work on SALE. The next section surveys infrastruc-
tural work on processing resources, and the following
section reviews the much more substantial body of
work on language resources.
Processing Resources
Often, a language processing system follows several
discrete steps. For example, a translation applica-
tion must first analyze the source text to arrive at
some representation of meaning before it can begin
deciding upon target language structures that parallel
that meaning. A typical language analysis process

follows such stages as text structure analysis, tokeni-
zation, morphological analysis, syntactic parsing, and
semantic analysis. The exact breakdown varies wide-
ly and is to some extent dependent on method; some
statistical work early in the second wave of the appli-
cation of these types of method completely ignored
the conventional language analysis steps in favor of a
technique based on a memory of parallel texts (Brown
et al., 1990). Later work has tended to accept the
advantages of some of these stages, however, though
they may be moved into an off-line corpus annotation
process, such as the Penn Treebank (Marcus et al.,
1993).
Each of these stages is represented by components
that perform processes on text and use components
containing data about language, such as lexicons and
grammars. In other words, the analysis steps are rea-
lized as a set of processing resources (PRs). Several
architectural questions arise in this context:
1. Is the execution of the PRs best done serially or in
parallel?
2. How should PRs be represented such that
their discovery on a network and loading into an
executive process are transparent to the developer
of their linguistic functions?
3. How should distribution across different machines
be handled?
4. What information should be stored about
components, and how should it be represented?
5. How can commonalities among component sets
be exploited?
6. How should the components communicate infor-
mation between each other? (This question can
also be stated as, ‘How should information about
text and speech be represented?’)
This section reviews work that addresses questions
1–5. The issue of representing information about
language is addressed in the following section.
Locating and Loading
There are several reasons why PR components
should be separate from the controlling application
that executes them:
. There will often be a many-to-one relation between
applications and PRs. Any application using
language analysis technology needs a tokenizer
component, for example.
. A PR may have been developed for one computing
platform, such as UNIX, but the application wish-
ing to use it may operate on another (e.g.,
Windows).
. The processing regime of the application may re-
quire linear or asynchronous execution; this choice
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 735
should be isolated from the component structures
as far as possible to promote generality and encour-
age reuse.
. PR developers should not be forced to deal with
application-level software engineering issues, such
as how to manage installation, distribution over
networks, exception handling, and so on.
. Explicit modeling of components allows exploita-
tion of modern component infrastructures, such as
Java Beans or Active X.
Accordingly, many papers on infrastructural
software for LE separate components from the con-
trol executive (e.g., Boitet and Seligman, 1994;
Edmondson and Iles, 1994; Koning et al., 1995;
Wolinski et al., 1998; Poirier, 1999; Zajac, 1998b;
Lavelli et al., 2002; Cunningham et al., 2002a). The
term ‘executive’ is used here in the sense of a software
entity that executes, or runs, other entities. The ques-
tions then are how do components become known
to control processes or applications and how are
they loaded and initialized. A related question is
what data should be stored with components to facil-
itate their use by an executive; see the discussion on
metadata below. Much work ignores component-
related issues the rest of this section covers those
SALE systems for which the data are available.
The TIPSTER architecture (Grishman, 1997)
recognized the existence of the locating and loading
problems, but did not provide a full solution to the
problem. The architecture document includes a place-
holder for such a solution – in the form of a ‘register
annotator’ Application Programmers’ Interface (API)
call, which an implementation could use to provide
component loading – but the semantics of the call
were never specified.
The TalLab architecture ‘‘is embedded in the
operating system,’’ which allows them to ‘‘reuse di-
rectly a huge, efficient and reliable amount of code’’
(Wolinski et al., 1998). The precise practicalities of
this choice are unclear, but it seems that components
are stored in particular types of directory structure,
which are presumably known to the application at
startup time.
The Intarc Communication Environment (ICE) is
an ‘‘environment for the development of distributed
AI systems’’ (Amtrup, 1995) and part of the Verb-
mobil real-time speech-to-speech translation project
(Kay et al., 1994). ICE provides distribution based
around Parallel Virtual Machine (PVM) and a com-
munication layer based on channels. ICE is not spe-
cific to LE because the communication channels do
not use data structures specific to NLP needs and
because document handling issues are left to the indi-
vidual modules. ICE’s answer to the locating and
736 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
loading problem is the Intarc License Server, which is
a kind of naming service or registry that stores
addressing information for components. Components
must themselves register with the server by making an
API call (Ice_Attach). The components must therefore
link to the ICE libraries and know the location of the
license server as must applications using ICE services.
Following from the ICE work, Herzog et al. (2004)
presented the latest in three generations of architec-
ture to arise from the Verbmobil and Smartkom pro-
jects, in the shape of the Multiplatform system. This
architecture supports multiple distributed compo-
nents from diverse platforms and implementation lan-
guages running asynchonously and communicating
via a message-passing substrate.
Corelli (Zajac, 1997) and its successor, Calypso,
(Zajac, 1998b) are also distributed systems that
cater for asynchronous execution. The initial Corelli
system implemented much of the CORBA standard
(Object Management Group, 1992), and component
discovery used a naming and directory service. All
communication and distribution were mediated by
an object request broker (ORB). Components ran as
servers and implemented a small API to allow their
use by an executive or application process. In the later
Calypso incarnation, CORBA was replaced by sim-
pler mechanisms because efficiency problems (for a
usage example, see Amtrup, 1999). In Calypso, com-
ponents are stored in a centralized repository, which
sidesteps the discovery problem. Loading is handled
by requiring components to implement a common
interface.
Another distributed architecture based on CORBA
is SiSSA (Lavelli et al., 2002). The architecture
comprises processors (PRs in our terms), servers for
their execution, data containers (LRs), and a manager
component called SiSSA Manager, which establishes
and removes connections between the processors,
according to a user-designed data flow. SiSSA uses
a processor repository to keep information about
processors registered with the architecture.
Carreras and Padró (2002) reported a distributed
architecture specifically for language analyzers.
GATE version 1 (Cunningham et al., 1997) was a
single-process, serial execution system. Components
had to reside in the same file system as the executive;
location was performed by searching a path stored in
an environment variable. Loading was performed in
three ways, depending on the type of component and
which of the GATE APIs it used.
GATE version 2 (Cunningham et al., 2002a,b) sup-
ports remote components; location is performed by
providing one or more component repositories called
Collection of REusable Objects for Language Engi-
neering (CREOLE) repositories, which contain XML
definitions of each resource and the types of its para-
meters (e.g., whether it works with documents or
corpora). The user can then instantiate a component
by selecting it from the list of available components
and choosing its load-time parameters. GATE makes
a distinction between load-time and run-time para-
meters; the former are essential for the working of the
module (e.g., a grammar) and need to be provided at
load time, whereas the latter can change from one
execution to the next (e.g., a document to be ana-
lyzed). Components can also be re-initialized, which
enables users to edit their load-time data (e.g., gram-
mars) within the graphical environment and then
reload the component to reflect the changes. GATE
also supports editing of remote language resources
and execution of remote components using remote
method invocation (RMI); that is, it provides facilities
for building client-server applications.
Execution
It seems unlikely that people process language by
means of a set of linear steps involving morphology,
syntax, and so on. More likely, we deploy our cogni-
tive faculties in a parallel fashion; hence, the term
‘parallel distributed processing’ in neural modeling
work (McClelland and Rumelhart, 1986). These
kinds of ideas have motivated work on nonlinear
component execution in NLP; von Hahn (1994)
gave an overview of a number of approaches, and a
significant early contribution was the Hearsay speech
understanding system (Erman et al., 1980).
Examples of asynchronous infrastructural systems
include Kasuga (Boitet and Seligman, 1994), Pantome
(Edmondson and Iles, 1994), Talisman (Koning
et al., 1995), Verbmobil (Görz et al., 1996), TalLab
(Wolinski et al., 1998), Xelda (Poirier, 1999), Corelli
(Zajac, 1997), Calypso (Zajac, 1998b), SiSSA (Lavelli
et al., 2002), Distributed Inquery (Cahoon and
McKinley, 1996), and the Galaxy Communicator
Software Infrastructure (GCSI-MITRE, 2002). Moti-
vations include the desire for nonlinear execution
and for feedback loops in ambiguity resolution (see
Koning et al., 1995).
In the Inquery and Verbmobil systems, an addi-
tional motivation is efficiency. ICE, the Verbmobil
infrastructure, addressed two problems: distributed
processing and incremental interpretation. Distribu-
tion is intended to contribute to processing speed in
what is a very computer-intensive application area
(speech-to-speech translation). Incremental interpre-
tation is designed both for speed and to facilitate
feedback of results from downstream modules to
upstream ones (e.g., to inform the selection of
word interpretations from phone lattices using POS

information). ICE’s PVM-based architecture provides
for distributed asynchronous execution.
GCSI is an open source architecture for construct-
ing dialogue systems. This infrastructure concentrates
on distributed processing, hooking together sets of
servers and clients that collaborate to hold dialogues
with human interlocutors. Data get passed between
these components as attribute/value sets or ‘frames,’
the structuring and semantics of which must be
agreed upon on a case-by-case basis. Communication
between modules is achieved using a hub. This archi-
tectural style tends to treat components as black
boxes that are developed using other tool sets. To
solve this problem, other support environments can
be used to produce GCSI server components, using
GCSI as a communication substrate to integrate with
other components.
The model currently adopted in GATE is that each
PR may run in its own thread if asynchronous proces-
sing is required (by default, PRs will be executed
serially in a single thread). The set of LRs being
manipulated by a group of multithreaded PRs must
be synchronized (i.e., all their methods must have
locks associated with whichever thread is calling
them at a particular point). Synchronization of LRs
is performed in a manner similar to the Java collec-
tions framework. This arrangement allows the PRs to
share data safely. Responsibility for the semantics of
the interleaving of data access (who has to write what
in what sequence for the system to succeed) is a
matter for the user, however.
Metadata
A distinction may be made between the data that
language processing components use (or language
resources) and data that are associated with compo-
nents for descriptive and other reasons. The latter are
sometimes referred to as ‘metadata’ to differentiate
them from the former. In a similar fashion web con-
tent is largely expressed in HTML; data that describe
web resources, such as ‘this HTML page is a library
catalogue,’ are also called metadata. Relevant stan-
dards in this area include the Resource Description
Framework RDF; (Lassila and Swick, 1999; Berners-
Lee et al., 1999).
There are several reasons why metadata should be
part of a component infrastructure, including the
following:
. to facilitate the interfacing and configuration of
components
. to encode version, author, and availability data
. to encode purpose data and allow browsing of
large component sets.
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 737
When components are reused across more than
one application or research project, often their
input/output (I/O) characteristics have not been
designed alongside the other components forming
the language-processing capability of the application.
For example, one POS tagger may require tokens as
input in a one-per-line encoding. Another may require
the Standard Generalized Markup Language (SGML)
input (Goldfarb, 1990). To reuse the tagger with a
tokenizer that produces some different flavor of out-
put, that output must be transformed to suit the
tagger’s expectations. In cases where there is an iso-
morphism between the available output and the re-
quired input, a straightforward syntactic mapping of
representations is possible. In cases where there is a
semantic mismatch, additional processing is necessary.
Busemann (1999) addressed component interfac-
ing and described a method for using feature structure
matrices to encode structural transformations on
component I/O data structures. These transforma-
tions essentially reorder the data structures around
pre-existing unit boundaries; therefore, the tech-
nique assumes isomorphism among the representa-
tions concerned. The technique also allows for type
checking of the output data during restructuring.
TIPSTER (Grishman, 1997), GATE (Cunningham,
2002), and Calypso (Zajac, 1998b) deal with inter-
facing in two ways. First, component interfaces share
a common data structure (e.g., corpora of annotated
documents), thus ensuring that the syntactic proper-
ties of the interface are compatible. Component
wrappers are used to interface to other representa-
tions as necessary; for example, a Brill tagger (Brill,
1992) wrapper writes out token annotations in the
required one-per-line format, then reads in the tags,
and writes them back to the document as annota-
tions. Second, where there is semantic incompatibility
between the output of one component and the input
of another, a dedicated transduction component can
be written to act as an intermediary between the two.
In Verbmobil a component interface language is
used, which constrains the I/O profiles of the various
modules (Bos et al., 1998). This language is a Prolog
term that encodes logical semantic information in a
flat list structure. The principle is similar to that used
in TIPSTER-based systems, but the applicability is
somewhat restricted by the specific nature of the
data structure.
Provision of descriptive metadata has been
addressed by the Natural Language Software Registry
(NLSR; DFKI, 1999) and by the EUDICO distributed
corpora project (Brugman et al., 1998a,b). In each
case, web-compatible data (HTML and XML, respec-
tively) are associated with components. The NLSR is
738 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
purely a browsable description; the EUDICO work
links the metadata with the resources themselves,
allowing the launching of appropriate tools to ex-
amine them. Note that EUDICO has only dealt
with language resource components to date. GATE
2 (Cunningham et al., 2002b) uses XML for describ-
ing the metadata associated with processing resources
in its CREOLE repositories. This metadata are used
for component loading and also for launching the
corresponding visualization and editing tools.
In addition to the issue of I/O transformation,
in certain cases it may be desirable to be able to
identify automatically which components are plug-
compatible with which other ones, so as to identify
possible execution paths through the component set.
GATE 1 (Cunningham et al., 1997) addresses auto-
matic identification of execution paths by associating
a configuration file with each processing component
that details the input (preconditions) and output
(post-conditions) in terms of TIPSTER annotation
and attribute types (see the section on reference
attribution). This information is then used to auto-
generate an execution graph for the component set.
Commonalities
To conclude this survey of infrastructural work
related to processing, this section looks at the exploi-
tation of commonalities between components. For
example, both parsers and taggers have the character-
istics of language analyzers. One of the key motivat-
ing factors for SALE is to break the ‘software waste
cycle’ (Veronis and Ide, 1996) and promote reuse of
components. Various researchers have approached
this issue by identifying typical component sets for
particular tasks (Hobbs, 1993; TIPSTER, 1995;
Reiter and Dale, 2000). Work is continuing on
providing implementations of common components
(Ibrahim and Cummins, 1989; Cheong et al., 1994).
The rest of this section describes these approaches.
Reiter and Dale have reviewed and categorized
Natural Language Generation (NLG) components
and systems in some detail. Reiter (1994) argued
that a consensus component breakdown has emerged
in NLG (and that there is some psychological plausi-
bility for this architecture); the classification was ex-
tended in Reiter and Dale (2000). They also discussed
common data structures in NLG (as does the RAGS
project; see below) and appropriate methods for the
design and development of NLG systems. Reiter
(1999) argued that the usefulness of this kind of
architectural description is to ‘make it easier to de-
scribe functionalities and data structures’ and thus
facilitate research by creating a common vocabulary
among researchers. He stated that this is a more
limited but more realistic goal than supporting the
integration of diverse NLG components in an actual
software system. The term he used for this kind of
descriptive work is a ‘reference architecture,’ which is
also the subject of the workshop at which the paper
was presented (Mellish and Scott, 1999).
The TIPSTER research program developed descrip-
tive or reference architectures for information extrac-
tion and for information retrieval. Hobbs (1993)
described a typical module set for an IE system. The
architecture comprises 10 components, dealing with
such tasks as pre-processing, parsing, semantic inter-
pretation, and lexical disambiguation; for a descrip-
tion of the full set, see Gaizauskas and Wilks, 1998).
For IR, TIPSTER (1995) describes two functions,
search and routing, each with a typical component
set (some of which are PRs and some LRs.)
An architecture for spoken dialogue systems, which
divides the task into dialogue management, context
tracking, and pragmatic adaptation, is presented in
LuperFoy et al. (1998). This in turn leads to an archi-
tecture in which various components (realized as
agents) collaborate in the dialogue. Some example
components are speech recognition, language inter-
pretation, language generation, and speech synthesis.
In addition a dialogue manager component provides
high-level control and routing of information among
components.
The preceding discussion illustrates that there is
considerable overlap among component sets devel-
oped for various purposes. A SALE that facilitated
multipurpose components would cut down on the
waste involved in the continual reimplementation of
similar components in different contexts. The compo-
nent model given in Cunningham (2000) is made
available in the GATE framework (Cunningham
et al., 2002b). This model is based on inheritance:
A parser is a type of language analyzer that is a type of
processing resource. Language engineers can choose,
therefore, between implementing a more specific in-
terface and adhering to the choices made by the
GATE developers for that type, or implementing a
more general interface and making their own choices
about the specifics of their particular resource.
In several cases, work on identifying component
commonalities has led to the development of toolkits
that aim to implement common tasks in a reusable
manner. For example, TARO (Ibrahim and Cummins,
1989) is an OO syntactic analyzer toolkit based on
a specification language. A toolkit for building IE
systems and exemplified in the MFE IE system is
presented in Cheong et al. (1994).

Language Resources
As described above, language resources are data com-
ponents, such as lexicons, corpora, and language
models. They are the raw materials of language engi-
neering. This section covers five issues relating to
infrastructure for LRs:
1. computational access (local and nonlocal)
2. managing document formats and document collec-
tions (corpora), including multilingual resources
3. representing information about corpora (language
data or performance modeling)
4. representing information about language (data
about language or competence modeling)
5. indexing and retrieval of language-related infor-
mation.
Note also that the advantages of a component-based
model presented (in relation to PRs) in the section on
locating and loading PRs also apply to LRs.
Programmatic Access
LRs are of worth only inasmuch as they contribute to
the development and operation of PRs and the lan-
guage processing research prototypes, experiments,
and applications that are built from them. A key
issue in the use of LRs for language processing pur-
poses is that of computational access. Suppose that a
developer is writing a program to generate descrip-
tions of museum catalogue items this program may
have a requirement for synonyms, for example, in
order to lessen repetition. Several sources for syno-
nyms are available, such as WordNet (Miller, 1990)
or Roget’s Thesaurus. To reuse these sources, the
developer needs to access the data in these LRs from
their program.
Although the reuse of LRs has exceeded that of
PRs (Cunningham et al., 1994), in general, there are
still two barriers to LR access and hence LR reuse:
(1) each resource has its own representation syntax
and corresponding programmatic access mode (e.g.,
SQL for Celex, C or Prolog for WordNet); and
(2) resources must generally be installed locally to be
usable, and how this is done depends on what
operating systems are available, what support software
is required, and the like, which vary from site to site.
A consequence of the first barrier is that, although
resources of the same type usually have some struc-
ture in common (for example, at one of the most
general levels of description, lexicons are organized
around words), this commonality cannot be exploited
when it comes to using a new resource. In each case,
the user has to adapt to a new data structure; this
adaptation is a significant overhead. Work that seeks
to investigate or exploit commonalities among
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 739
resources has first to build a layer of access routines
on top of each resource. So, for example, if one
wished to do task-based evaluation of lexicons by
measuring the relative performance of an IE system
with different instantiations of lexical resource, one
would typically have to write code to translate several
different resources into SQL or some other common
format. Similarly, work, such as Jing and McKeown
(1998) on merging large-scale lexical resources (in-
cluding WordNet and Comlex) for NLG, must deal
with this problem.
There have been two principal responses to this
problem: standardization and abstraction. The stan-
dardization solution seeks to impose uniformity by
specifying formats and structures for LRs. So, for
example, the EAGLES working groups have defined
standards for lexicons, corpora, and so on (EAGLES,
1999). More recently, Ide and Romary (2004)
reported the creation of a framework for linguistic
annotations as part of the work of ISO standardi-
zation Technical Committee 37, Sub-Committee 4,
whose objective
is to prepare various standards by specifying principles
and methods for creating, coding, processing and man-
aging language resources, such as written corpora, lexi-
cal corpora, speech corpora, dictionary compiling and
classification schemes. These standards will also cover
the information produced by natural language proces-
sing components in these various domains.
The work reported here is from Working Group 1
of the committee, which has developed a linguistic
annotation framework based on the XML (eXtensible
Markup Language), RDF(S) (Resource Discovery
Framework (Schema)), and OWL (Ontology Web
Language).
Although standardization would undoubtedly
solve the representation problem, there remains the
question of existing LRs (and of competing stan-
dards). Peters et al. (1998) and Cunningham et al.
(1998) described experiments with an abstraction
approach based on a common object-oriented model
for LRs that encapsulates the union of the linguistic
information contained in a range of resources and
encompasses as many object hierarchies as there are
resources. At the top of the resource hierarchies
are very general abstractions; at the leaves are data
items specific to individual resources. Programmatic
access is available at all levels, allowing the developer
to select an appropriate level of commonality for each
application. Generalizations are made over different
object types in the resources, and the object hierar-
chies are linked at whatever levels of description are
appropriate. No single view of the data is imposed on
the user, who may choose to stay with the ‘original’
740 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
representation of a particular resource or to access a
model of the commonalities among several resources,
or a combination of both.
A consequence of the requirement for local instal-
lation – the second barrier to LR access – is that users
may have to adjust their compute environments to
suit resources tailored to particular platforms. In ad-
dition, there is no way to ‘try before you buy,’ no way
to examine an LR for its suitability for one’s needs
before licensing it in toto. Correspondingly, there is
no way for a resource provider to give limited access
to their products for advertising purposes or to gain
revenue through piecemeal supply of sections of a
resource.
This problem of non local access has also attracted
two types of responses, which can be broadly categor-
ized as: web browsing and distributed databases.
Several sites now provide querying facilities
from HTML pages, including the Linguistic Data
Consortium and the British National Corpus server.
So, for example, all occurrences of a particular word
in a particular corpus may be found via a web brows-
er. This is a convenient way to access LRs for man-
ual investigative purposes, but is not suited to
(or intended for) use by programs for their access
purposes.
Moving beyond browsing, several papers report
work on programmatic access using distributed data-
bases. Fikes and Farquhar (1999) showed how ontol-
ogies may be distributed, Brugman et al. (1998a,b)
described the EUDICO distributed corpus access sys-
tem, and Peters et al. (1998) and Cunningham et al.
(1998) proposed a system similar to EUDICO,
generalized to other types of LR. Some new directions
in sharing language resources are discussed in the
section on trends.
Other issues in the area of access to LRs include
that of efficient indexing and search of corpora (see
the section, ‘Indexing and Retrieval’), and that of
annotation of corpora (see the section on annotation).
The issue of how to access SGML documents in an
efficient manner is discussed in Olson and Lee (1997),
who investigated the use of object-oriented databases
for storing and retrieving SGML documents. Their
conclusions were essentially negative due to the
slowness of the databases used. Hendler and Stoffel
(1999) discussed how ontologies may be stored and
processed efficiently using relational databases, and
here the results were more positive.
Documents, Formats, and Corpora
Documents play a central role in LE. They are the
subject of analysis for such technologies as IE, and
they are both analyzed and generated in technologies
such as MT. In addition, a large amount of work uses
annotated documents as training data for machine
learning of numerical models. Previous work on LE
infrastructure has developed models for documents
and corpora, provided abstraction layers for docu-
ment formats, and investigated efficient storage of
documents in particular formats.
Documents may contain text, audio, video or a
mixture of these formats; documents with a mixture
of formats are referred to as multimedia documents.
The underlying data are frequently accompanied by
formatting information (delineating titles, para-
graphs, areas of bold text, etc.) and, in the LE context,
by annotation (storing linguistic data, such as gesture
tags, POS tags, or syntax trees). Both formatting and
annotation come in a wide variety of formats, includ-
ing proprietary binary data, such as MS Word’s.doc or
Excel’s .xls; semi-open, semi-readable formats, such
as Rich Text Format (Word’s exchange format); and
nonproprietary standardized formats, such as HTML,
XML, or GIF (Graphics Interchange Format).
The Text Encoding Initiative (TEI; (Sperberg-
McQueen and Burnard, 1994, 2002), the Corpus
Encoding Standard (CES; Ide, 1998), and XCES (Ide
et al., 2000) are models of documents and corpora
that aim to standardize the representation of structur-
al and linguistic data for textual documents. The
general approach is to represent all information
about document structure, formatting, and linguistic
annotation using SGML/XML.
The issue of document formats has been addressed
by several TIPSTER-based systems, including GATE
and Calypso, and by the HTK speech recognition
toolkit (Young et al., 1999). In the HTK toolkit, the
approach is to provide API calls that deal with docu-
ments in various known formats (e.g. Windows
audioformat, MPEG) independent of those formats.
For example, a speech recognizer can access the
raw audio from these documents without knowing
anything about the representation format.
The TIPSTER systems deal with formats by means
of input filters that contain knowledge about the
format encoding and use that knowledge to unpack
format information into annotations. TIPSTER also
supplies a model of corpora and data associated with
both corpus and documents (Grishman, 1997). Note
that the two approaches are not mutually exclusive:
Ogden (1999) has defined a mapping between TEI/
CES and TIPSTER annotations.
Another important issue that needs to be dealt with
in infrastructures supporting LRs in multiple lan-
guages is the problem of editing and displaying
multilingual information. It is often thought that the

character sets problem has been solved by use of
the Unicode standard. This standard is an important
advance, but in practice the ability to process text in a
large number of the world’s languages is still limited
by (1) incomplete support for Unicode in operating
systems and applications software, (2) languages
missing from the standard, and (3) difficulties in con-
verting non-Unicode character encodings to Unicode.
To deal with all these issues, including displaying
and editing of Unicode documents, GATE provides
a Unicode Kit and a specialized editor (Tablan et al.,
2002). In addition, all processing resources and
visualization components are Unicode-compliant.
Annotation
One of the key issues for much of the work done in this
area is how to represent information about text and
speech. This kind of information is sometimes called
‘language data,’ distinguishing it from ‘data about
language’ in the form of lexicons, grammars, etc.
Two broad approaches to annotation have been
taken: to use markup (e.g., SGML/XML) or to use
annotation data structures with references or pointers
to the original (e.g., TIPSTER, ATLAS). Interestingly,
the differences between the two kinds of approaches
have become less pronounced in recent work. SGML
used to involve embedding markup in the text;
TIPSTER (and related systems) use a referential
scheme where the text remains unchanged and anno-
tation refers to it by character offsets. The embedding
approach has several problems, including the difficul-
ty of extending the model to cope with multimedia
data (Nelson, 1997, Cunningham et al., 1997; Bird
and Liberman, 1999a). Partly in response to these
difficulties and as part of the rebirth of SGML as
XML (Goldfarb and Prescod, 1998), the ‘ML’ com-
munity has adopted a referential scheme itself, which
is now known as ‘stand-off markup.’ The data models
of the various systems are now much closer than they
were before XML existed, and the potential for inter-
operation between referential systems, such as GATE
and XML-based architectures, is greater as a result.
GATE exploits this potential by providing input from
and output to XML in most parts of the data model
(Cunningham et al., 2002a,b).
Markup-Based Architectures Language data can
be represented by embedding annotation in the docu-
ment itself, at least in the case of text documents; users
of embedding typically transcribe speech documents
before markup or use ‘stand-off markup.’ The prin-
cipal examples of embedded markup for lan-
guage data use the Standard Generalized Markup
Language (SGML; Goldfarb, 1990). SGML is a
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 741
‘meta-language,’ a language used to create other lan-
guages. The syntax of SGML is therefore abstract,
with each document filling in this syntax to obtain a
concrete syntax and a particular markup language
for that document. In practice, certain conventions
are so widespread as to be de facto characteristics
of SGML itself. For example, annotation is gener-
ally delimited by <TAG> and </TAG> pairs, often
with some attributes associated, such as <TAG
ATTRIBUTE ¼ value>. The legitimate tags (or ‘ele-
ments’) and their attributes and values must be defined
for each class of document, using a Document-Type
Definition (DTD). It does not specify what the markup
means; the DTD is the grammar that defines how the
elements may be legally combined and in what order
in a particular class of text; see Goldfarb (1990).
A good example of SGML used for corpus annotation
is the British National Corpus (BNC; Burnard, 1995).
The HyperText Markup Language (HTML) is an
application of SGML and is specified by its own
DTD. A difference from ordinary SGML is that the
DTD is often cached with software, such as web
browsers, rather than being a separate file associated
with the documents that instantiate it. In practice,
web browsers have been lenient in enforcing confor-
mance to the HTML DTD, which has led to diversity
among web pages; this means that HTML DTDs now
represent an idealized specification of the language
that often differs from its usage in reality.
Partly in response to this problem, the eXtensible
Markup Language (XML; Goldfarb and Prescod,
1998) was developed. SGML is a complex language:
DTDs are difficult to write, and full SGML is difficult
to parse. XML made the DTD optional and disallowed
certain features of SGML, such as markup minimiza-
tion. For example, the American National Corpus
(ANC; Macleod et al., 2002) uses XML and XCES
(Ide et al., 2000) to encode linguistic annotations.
One of the problems in the SGML/XML world is
that of computational access to and manipulation of
markup information. Addressing this problem, the
Language Technology group at the University of
Edinburgh developed an architecture and framework
based on SGML called the LT Normalized SGML
Library (LT NSL; McKelvie et al., 1998). This in
turn led to the development of LT XML (Brew
et al., 1999), following the introduction of the XML
standard.
Tools in an LT NSL system communicate via inter-
faces specified as SGML DTDs (essentially tag set
descriptions), using character streams on pipes: a
pipe-and-filter arrangement modeled after UNIX-
style shell programming. To avoid the need to deal
with certain difficult types of SGML (e.g., minimized
742 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
markup), texts are converted to a normal form before
processing. A tool selects what information it requires
from an input SGML stream and adds information
as new SGML markup. LT XML is an extension of
LT NSL to XML; it makes the normalization step
unnecessary.
Other similar work in this area includes the XDOC
workbench (Rösner and Kunze, 2002), stand-off
markup for NLP tools (Artola et al., 2002), and
the multilevel annotation of speech (Cassidy and
Harrington, 2001).
Reference Annotation I: TIPSTER The ARPA-
sponsored TIPSTER program in the United States,
which was completed in 1998, produced a data-driven
architecture for NLP systems (Grishman, 1997) sever-
al sites implemented the architecture, such as GATE
version 1 (Cunningham et al., 1999) and ELLOGON
(Petasis et al., 2002); the initial prototype was written
by Ted Dunning at the Computing Research Lab of
New Mexico State University. In contrast to the
embedding approach, in TIPSTER, the text remains
unchanged while information about it is stored in a
separate database. The database refers to the text by
means of offsets. The data are stored by reference.
Information is stored in the database in the form of
annotations, which associate arbitrary information
(attributes) with portions of documents (identified
by sets of start/end character offsets or spans). Attri-
butes are often the result of linguistic analysis (e.g.,
POS tags). In this way, information about texts is kept
separate from the texts themselves. In place of an
SGML DTD (or XML XSchema), an ‘annotation
type declaration’ defines the information present in
Figure 1 Example of a TIPSTER annotation.
annotation sets (though few implementations instan-
tiated this part of the architecture). Figure 1 gives an
example of TIPSTER annotation; it ‘‘shows a single
sentence and the result of three annotation proce-
dures: tokenization with part-of-speech assignment,
name recognition, and sentence boundary recogni-
tion. Each token has a single attribute, its part of
speech (POS); . . .; each name also has a single attri-
bute, indicating the type of name: person, company,
etc.’’ (Grishman, 1997).
Documents are grouped into collections (or
corpora), each with an associated database storing
annotations and such document attributes as identi-
fiers, headlines, etc. The definition of documents and
annotations in TIPSTER forms part of an object-
oriented model that can deal with inter-as well as
intratextual information by means of reference
objects that can point at annotations, documents,
and collections. The model also describes elements
of IE and IR systems relating to their use, providing
classes representing queries and information needs.
TIPSTER-style models have several advantages
and disadvantages. Texts may appear to be one-
dimensional, consisting of a sequence of characters,
but this view is incompatible with such structures as
tables, which are inherently two-dimensional. Their
representation and manipulation are easier in a refer-
ential model like TIPSTER than in an embedding one
like SGML, in which markup is stored in a one-
dimensional text string. In TIPSTER, a column of a
table can be represented as a single object with multi-
ple references to parts of the text (an annotation with
multiple spans, or a document attribute with multiple
references to annotations). Marking columns in
SGML requires a tag for each row of the column,
and manipulation of the structure as a whole necessi-
tates traversal of all the tags and construction of some
other, non-SGML data structure.
Distributed control has a relatively straightforward
implementation path in a database-centered system
like TIPSTER: the database can act as a blackboard,
and implementations can take advantage of well-
understood access control technology.
In TIPSTER, in contrast to the hyperlinking used in
LT XML, there is no need to break up a document
into smaller chunks, as the database management
system (DBMS) in the document manager can deal
efficiently with large data sets and visualization tools
can give intelligible views into this data. To cross-
refer between annotations is a matter of citing ID
numbers, which are themselves indexes into database
records and can be used for efficient data access. It
is also possible to have implicit links: Simple API
calls find all the token annotations subsumed by a

sentence annotation, for example, via their respective
byte ranges without any need for additional cross-
referencing information.
Another advantage of embedded markup in TIP-
STER is that an SGML structure like <w id ¼ p4.
w1> has to be parsed in order to extract the fact
that there is a ‘w’ tag whose ‘id’ attribute is ‘p4.w1’.
A TIPSTER annotation is effectively a database re-
cord with separate fields for type (e.g., ‘w’), ID, and
other attributes, all of which may be indexed and
none of which ever requires parsing.
There are three principal disadvantages of the
TIPSTER approach.
1. Editing of texts requires offset recalculation.
2. TIPSTER specifies no interchange format, and
TIPSTER data are weakly typed. There is no effec-
tive DTD mechanism, though this may also to an
extent be an advantage, as a complex typing
scheme can inhibit unskilled users.
3. The reference classes can introduce brittleness in
the face of changing data: Unless an application
chases all references and updates them as the
objects they point to change, the data can become
inconsistent. This problem also applies to hyper-
linking in embedded markup.
Reference Annotation II: Linguistic Data Consortium
The Linguistic Data Consortium (LDC) has proposed
the use of Directed Acyclic Graphs (DAGs) or just
Annotation Graphs (AGs) as a unified data structure
for text and speech annotation (Bird et al., 2000b).
Bird and Liberman (1999b) provided an example of
using these graphs to mark up discourse-level objects.
This section compares the structure of TIPSTER
annotations with the graph format.
As discussed above, TIPSTER annotations are asso-
ciated with documents and have four elements:
1. a type, which is a string
2. an ID, which is a string unique among annotations
on the document
3. a set of spans that point into the text of the docu-
ment
4. a set of attributes.
TIPSTER attributes, which are associated with
annotations and with documents and collections of
documents, have a name, which is a string, and a
value, which may be one of several data types includ-
ing a string; a reference to an annotation, document,
or collection; or a set of strings or references. Some
implementors of the architecture, including GATE
and Corelli, have relaxed the type requirements
on attribute values, allowing any object as a value.
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 743
This has the advantage of flexibility and the disad-
vantage that it makes viewing, editing, and storage of
annotations more complex.
TIPSTER explicitly models references between
annotations with special reference classes. These clas-
ses rely on annotations, documents, and collections of
documents having unique identifiers.
LDC annotations are arcs in a graph, the nodes of
which are time points or, by extension, character off-
sets in a text. Each annotation has a type and a value,
which are both atomic. A document may have several
different graphs, and graphs can be associated with
more than one document; this is not specified in
the model.
There are no explicit references. Rather, references
are handled implicitly by equivalence classes: if two
annotations share the same type and value, they are
considered co-referential. To refer to particular docu-
ments or other objects, an application or annotator
must choose some convention for representing those
references as strings and use those as annotation
values. This seems problematic: an annotation of
type Co-reference Chain and value Chain23 should
be equivalent to another of the same type and value,
but this is not true for an annotation of type PartOf-
Speech and value Noun. Because LDC annotation
values are atomic, any representation of complex
data structures must define its own reference struc-
ture to point into some other representation system.
TIPSTER has a richer formalism, both because of
the complexity of the annotation/attribute part of the
model and because documents and collections of
documents are an explicit part of the model, as are
references among all these objects.
The inherent problems with developing a model of
a task to be solved in software in isolation from the
development of instances of that software are evident
in the work of Cassidy and Bird (2000), who dis-
cussed the properties of the LDC AG model when
stored and indexed in a relational database. At that
point the authors added identifier fields to annota-
tions to allow referencing without the equivalent
class notion.
Reference Annotation III: GATE GATE version
2 has a reference annotation model that was designed
to combine the advantages of the TIPSTER and LDC
models:
. Annotation sets are more explicitly graph-based.
This feature allows increased efficiency of traversal
and simpler editing because offsets are moved from
the annotations into a separate node object. In
addition, the offsets can be both character and
744 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
time offsets, thus enabling annotation of
multimodal data.
. Multiple annotation sets are allowed on docu-
ments. Consider the situation when two people
are adding annotations to the same document and
later wish to compare and merge their results. TIP-
STER would handle this by having an ‘annotator’
attribute on all the annotations. It is much simpler
to have disjoint sets.
. Documents and collections are an essential part of
the model, and information can be associated with
them in similar fashion to that on annotations.
. All annotations have unique identifiers to allow for
referencing.
. An annotation only has two nodes which means
that the multiple-span annotations of TIPSTER are
no longer supported; the workaround is to store
noncontiguous data structures as features of the
document and point from there to the multiple
annotations that make up the structures.
. The annotation values are extensible (i.e., any clas-
ses of object can be added to the model and be
associated with annotations).
In addition, both LDC and TIPSTER need an
annotation meta-language to describe – for purposes
of validation or configuration of viewing and edit-
ing tools – the structure and permissible value set
of annotations. GATE uses the XML schema lan-
guage supported by W3C as an annotation meta-
language (Cunningham et al., 2002b). These
annotation schemas define which attributes and
optionally which values are permissible for each
type of annotation (e.g., POS, named entity). For
instance, a chosen tag set can be specified as per-
missible values for all POS annotations. This meta-
information enables the annotation tools to control
the correctness of the user input, thus making it easier
to enforce annotation standards.
Data about Language
The preceding sections described language data, in-
formation related directly to examples of the human
performance of language. This section considers
work on data about language or the description of
human language competence. Much work in this area
has concentrated on formalisms for the representa-
tion of the data and has advocated declarative, con-
straint-based representations (using feature-structure
matrices manipulated under unification) as an appro-
priate vehicle with which ‘‘many technical problems
in language description and computer manipula-
tion of language can be solved’’ (Shieber, 1992).
One example of an infrastructure project based on
Attribute-Value Matrices (AVMs) is ALEP, the Ad-
vanced Language Engineering Platform. ALEP aims
to provide ‘‘the NLP research and engineering com-
munity in Europe with an open, versatile, and gener-
al-purpose development environment’’ (Simkins,
1992). ALEP, although open in principle, is primarily
an advanced system for developing and manipulating
feature structure knowledge bases under unification.
It also has several parsing algorithms – algorithms for
transfer, synthesis, and generation (Schütz, 1994). As
such, it is a system for developing particular types
of LRs (e.g., grammars, lexicons) and for doing a
particular set of tasks in LE in a particular way.
The system, despite claiming to use a theory-
neutral formalism (in fact an HPSG (Head-driven
Phrase Structure Grammar)-like formalism), is still
committed to a particular approach to linguistic
analysis and representation. It is clearly of utility to
those in the LE community who use that class of
theories and to whom those formalisms are relevant,
but it excludes or at least does not support actively
those who are not, including an increasing number of
researchers committed to statistical and corpus-based
approaches.
Other systems that use AVMs include a framework
for defining NLP systems based on AVMs (Zajac,
1992); the Eurotra architecture, an ‘open and modu-
lar’ architecture for MT promoting resource reuse
(Schütz et al., 1991); the DATR morphological lexi-
con formalism (Evans and Gazdar, 1996); the Shiraz
MT Architecture, a chart and unification-based
architecture for MT and (Amtrup, 1999), a unified
(Finite State Transducer) FST/AVM formalism for
morphological lexicons Zajac (1998a); and the
RAGS architecture.
A related issue is that of grammar development in
an LE context (see Netter and Pianesi, 1997; Estival
et al., 1997). Fischer et al. (1996) presented an ab-
stract model of thesauri and terminology mainte-
nance in an OO framework. ARIES is a formalism
and development tool for Spanish morphological
lexicons (Goni et al. 1997).
The Reference Architecture for Generation Systems
(RAGS) project (Cahill et al., 1999a,b) has concen-
trated on describing structures that may be shared
among NLG component interfaces. This choice is
motivated by the fact that the input to a generator is
not a document, but a meaning representation. RAGS
describes component I/O using a nested feature ma-
trix representation, but does not describe the types of
LR that an NLG system may use or the way in which
components may be represented, loaded, and so on.
More recently, Mellish et al. (2004) presented the
RAGS conceptual framework and Mellish and

Evans (2004) discussed the implementation of this
framework in several experimental systems and how
these systems illustrate a wider range of issues for the
construction of SALE for generation.
Indexing and Retrieval
Modern corpora, and annotations upon them, fre-
quently run to many millions of tokens. To enable
efficient access to this data, the tokens and annotation
structures must be indexed. In the case of
raw corpora, this problem equates to information
retrieval (IR; also known as document detection), a
field with a relatively well-understood set of techni-
ques based on treating documents as bags of stemmed
words and retrieving based on relative frequency of
these terms in documents and corpora (see van
Rijsbergen, 1979). Although these processes are well
understood and relatively static, IR is an active re-
search field, partly because existing methods are im-
perfect and partly because that imperfection becomes
more and more troubling in the face of the explosion
of web content. There have been several attempts to
provide SALE systems in this context.
As noted above, the TIPSTER (1995) program de-
veloped a reference model of typical IR component
sets. More concretely, this program also developed a
communication protocol based on Z39.50 for the
detection of interactions between the querying appli-
cation and search engine (Buckley, 1998). The anno-
tation and attribute data structures described earlier
were also applied for IR purposes, although the prac-
tical applications of the architecture were found in
general to be too slow for the large data sets involved.
GATE (Cunningham et al., 2002a,b) uses an ex-
tendable, open-source IR engine, Lucene, to index
documents and corpora for full-text retrieval. Lucene
also allows indexing and retrieval by custom-
provided fields like annotations. The model used to
wrap Lucene in GATE is designed for extensibility
to other IR systems when required.
Whereas the problem of indexing and retrieving
documents is well understood, the problem of index-
ing complex structures in annotations is more of an
open question. The Corpus Query System (Christ,
1994, 1995) is the most-cited source in this area,
providing indexing and search of corpora and later
of WordNet. Similar ideas have been implemented in
CUE (Mason, 1998) for indexing and search of anno-
tated corpora and at the W3-Corpora site (University
of Essex, 1999) for searchable on-line annotated
corpora. Some work on indexing in the LT XML
system was reported in McKelvie and Mikheev
(1998). Bird et al. (2000a) proposed a query language
for the LDC annotation graph model, called AGQL.
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 745
Cassidy (2002) discussed the use of XQuery as
an annotation query language and concluded that
it is good for dealing with hierarchical data models
like XML, but needs extending with better support
for sequential data models, such as annotation
graphs.
GATE indexes and retrieves annotations by storing
them in a relational database, indexed by type, attri-
butes, and their values. In this way, it is possible to
retrieve all documents that contain a given attribute
and/or value or to retrieve all annotations of a given
type in a corpus, without having to traverse
each document separately (Bontcheva et al., 2002;
Cunningham et al., 2002b). The query language
used is SQL.
Recent Trends and Future Directions
As has become evident from the work reviewed here,
there are many tools and architectures, and many of
these are focused on subareas of NLP (e.g., dialog
speech) or specific formalisms (e.g., HPSG). Each of
these infrastructures offers specialized solutions, so it
is not likely that there will ever be only one universal
architecture or infrastructure. Instead, the focus in
recent work has been on ‘inter-operability’, allowing
infrastructures to work together, and reusability, en-
abling users to reuse and adapt tools with a minimum
effort. We review some of these new trends here to see
how they are likely to influence the next period of
research on SALE.
Toward Multipurpose Repositories
To support the reusability of resources, several re-
positories have been established; some describe NLP
tools (e.g., ACL Natural Language Software Regis-
try), and others distribute language resources, such as
corpora and lexicons (e.g., ELRA and LDC). To date,
these repositories have remained largely independent
of each other, with the exception of such repositories
as TRACTOR (Martin, 2001), which contain both
corpora in a number of languages and specialized
tools for corpus analysis.
As argued in Declerck (2001), there is a need to link
the two kinds of repositories to allow corpus
researchers to find the tools they need to process
corpora and vice versa. The idea is to create a multi-
purpose infrastructure for the storage and access of
both language data and the corresponding processing
resources. One of the cornerstones of such an infra-
structure are metadata, associated with each resource
and pointing at other relevant resources (e.g., tools
pointing at the language data that they need and
746 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
can process). The following section discusses recent
research on metadata descriptions for tools and lan-
guage resources, including handling of multimodal
and multilingual data.
Resource Metadata and Annotation Standards
As discussed earlier, there are several reasons why
metadata should be part of a component infrastruc-
ture (i.e., why it is useful beyond the more narrow
scope of providing descriptions of resources in a
repository). One dimension that affects the kinds of
metadata needed to describe resources is their type:
whether they are documents in a corpus, a lexicon, or
a tool working on language data. For example, the
ISLE Computational Lexicon working group has
developed a modular architecture, called MILE,
designed to factor out linguistically independent
primitive units of lexical information; deal with
monolingual, bilingual, and multilingual lexicons;
and avoid theoretical bias (Calzolari et al., 2001).
Some of these desiderata are relevant also to the
problem of resource distribution, as discussed in the
section on programmatic access and in Cunningham
et al. (2000). Multimedia/multimodal language re-
sources (MMLR) pose a different set of problems,
and existing standards for tagging textual docu-
ments (e.g., XCES; Ide et al., 2000) are not suffi-
cient. Broeder and Wittenburg (2001) provided a
metadata vocabulary for MMLR, which encodes
information related to the media files (e.g., format
and size) and the annotation units used (e.g., POS),
as well as the basic information on creator, content,
and so on.
Another aspect of improving resource reusability
and interoperability is the development of standards
for encoding annotation data. Ide and Romary (2002)
described a framework for linguistic annotations
based on XML and the XML-based RDF and
DAMLþOIL standards for defining the semantics of
the annotations. It provides a link with recent work
on formal ontologies and the semantic web and
enables the use of the related knowledge management
tools to support linguistic annotation. For example,
Collier et al. (2002) used the popular Protégé ontol-
ogy editor as a basis for an annotation tool capable of
producing RDF(S) annotations of language data in
multiple languages.
Open Archives
One of the new research directions is toward ‘open
archives,’ archives aiming to make resources easily
discoverable, accessible, and identifiable. This work
not only includes language resources, such as corpora
and lexicons, but also software tools (i.e., processing
resources and development environments). Resource
discovery is made possible by metadata associated
with each resource and made available in a cen-
tralized repository. The recently established Open
Language Archives Community (OLAC; Bird and
Simons, 2001; Bird et al., 2002) aims to create a
worldwide virtual library of language resources
through the development of inter-operating reposi-
tories and tools for their maintenance and access.
OLAC also aims to establish and promote best
practices in archiving for language resources. The
OLAC infrastructure is based on two initiatives
from digital library research: the Open Archieves Ini-
tiative and the Dublin Core initiative for resource
metadata. Currently, OLAC comprises 12 archives
with a cross-archive searching facility.
As argued in Wynne (2002), the current trends
toward multilinguality and multimodality suggest
that the language resources of the future will span
across languages and modalities, will be distributed
over many repositories, and will form virtual corpora,
supported by a diverse set of linguistic analysis and
searching tools. As already discussed, metadata
and annotation standards play a very important
role here. The other major challenge lies in making
existing processing resources accessible over the web
and enhancing their reusability and portability.
Component Reusability, Distributed Access,
and Execution
To enable virtual corpora and collaborative annota-
tion efforts spanning country boundaries, software
infrastructures and tools need to control user access
to different documents, types of annotations, and
metadata. Ma et al. (2002) discussed how this access
can be achieved by using a shared relational database
as a storage medium, combined with a number of
annotation tools based on the annotation graph for-
malism discussed in the section on the Linguistic Data
Consortium. The same approach has been taken in
GATE (Cunningham et al., 2002b), in which all LRs
and their associated annotations can be stored in
Oracle or PostgreSQL. This feature enables users to
access remote LRs, index LRs by their annotations,
and construct search queries retrieving LRs given
annotations or metadata constraints (e.g., find all
documents that contain person entities called Bush).
User access is controlled at the individual and group
level, with read/write access rights specified at LR
creation time by their owner (the user who has first
stored the LR in the database). Because the storage
mechanisms in GATE are separate from the API used
for accessing LRs and annotations, the visualization
tools and processing resources work on both local

and remote data in the same way. Ma et al. (2002)
discussed a special version of AGTK TableTrans tool
created to work with the database annotations. In
addition, GATE’s database storage model supports
other LRs, such as lexicons and ontologies.
The recent development of web services enables
integration of different information repositories
and services across the Internet and offers a new
way of sharing language resources across the Internet.
Dalli (2002) discussed an architecture for web-based
inter-operable LRs based on SOAP and web services.
Work in progress extends this approach to processing
resource execution in the context of on-line adaptive
information extraction (see Tablan et al., 2003). Both
make extensive use of XML for metadata description.
However, the benefits of the relational database stor-
age mechanism can still be maintained by providing a
conversion layer, which transforms the stored LRs
and annotations into the desired XML format when
needed. Similarly, Todirascu et al. (2002) described
an architecture that uses SOAP to provide distributed
processing resources as services on the web, both as a
protocol for message passing and a mechanism for
executing remote modules from the client. Bontcheva
et al. (2004) reported recent work in upgrading
GATE to meet challenges posed by research in seman-
tic web, large-scale digital libraries, and machine
learning for language analysis.
Popov et al. (2004) presented an application that
combines several SALE systems, including GATE and
Sesame, to create a platform for semantic annotation
called KIM (Knowledge and Information Manage-
ment). Their paper covered several issues relating
to building scaleable ontology-based information
extraction.
Measurement
A persistent theme in SALE work has been measure-
ment, quantitative evaluation, and the relationship
between engineering practice and scientific theory.
To quote Lord Kelvin in a lecture to the Institution
of Civil Engineers, in London in 1883.
When you can measure what you are speaking about,
and express it in numbers, you know something about it;
but when you cannot measure it, when you cannot ex-
press it in numbers, your knowledge is of a meager and
unsatisfactory kind: it may be the beginning of knowl-
edge, but you have scarcely in your thoughts advanced to
the stage of science.
On the other hand, Einstein tells us,
Not everything that counts can be counted, and not
everything that can be counted counts (from a sign
hanging in Einstein’s office at Princeton University).
Computational Language Systems: Architectures 747
Researchers have taken similarly varied
approaches to measurement, both of component sys-
tems developed using SALE systems and of the suc-
cess of those systems themselves. The presentation of
IBM’s TEXTRACT architecture by Neff et al. (2004)
included an illustration of how the same mechanism
can be used for producing both quantitative metrics
and for visual feedback to users of the results of
automated processing.
Ferrucci and Lally (2004) reported a successor
to TEXTRACT called UIMA (Unstructured Informa-
tion Management Architecture), which is in active
development to support the work of several hundred
R&D staff working in areas as diverse as question
answering and machine translation. The significant
commitment of IBM to SALE development indi-
cates the success of the TEXTRACT concept and
of architectural support for language processing
research.
Prognosis
The principal defining characteristic of NLE work is
its objective: to engineer products that deal with natural
language and that satisfy the constraints in which
they have to operate. This definition may seem tautolo-
gous or a statement of the obvious to an engineer
practicing in another, well established area (e.g., me-
chanical or civil engineering), but is still a useful remind-
er to practitioners of software engineering, and it
becomes near-revolutionary when applied to natural
language processing. This is partly because of what, in
our opinion, has been the ethos of most Computational
Linguistics research. Such research has concentrated
on studying natural languages, just as traditional lin-
guistics does, but using computers as a tool to model
(and, sometimes, verify or falsify) fragments of linguistic
theories deemed of particular interest. This is of course
a perfectly respectable and useful scientific endeavor,
but does not necessarily (or even often) lead to work-
ing systems for the general public (Boguraev et al.,
1995).
Working systems for public consumption require
qualities of robustness that are unlikely to be achieved
at zero cost as part of the normal development of
experimental systems in language computation re-
search (Maynard et al., 2002). Investing the time
and energy necessary to create robust reusable soft-
ware is not always the right thing to do, of course;
sometimes what is needed is a quick hack to explore
some simple idea with as little overhead as possible.
To conclude that this is always the case is a rather
frequent error, however, and is of particular con-
cern at a time when web-scale challenges to language
processing are common.
748 Computational Language Systems: Architectures
Also problematic for SALE is the fact that it is not
always easy to justify the costs of engineered systems
when developers of more informal and short-term
solutions have been known to make claims for their
power and generality that are, shall we say, somewhat
optimistic. The fact that the majority of the language
processing field continues to use a SALE system of
one type or another indicates that this has been a
fruitful pursuit.
Acknowledgments
The authors were partly supported by EPSRC grant
GR/N15764/01 (AKT) and by EU grants SEKT,
PrestoSpeace, and Knowledge Web.
See also: Human Language Technology; Language Pro-
cessing: Statistical Methods; Natural Language Proces-
sing: System Evaluation; Text Retrieval Conference and
Message Understanding Conference.
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