JAMES A. BELLAMY, Editor STUDIESn NEAR EASTERN CULTURHE and HISTORY in Memory of Ernest T Abdel-Massib M The University of Michigan Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies 1990  Studies in Near Eastern Culture and History  Studies in Near Eastern Culture and History In memory of Ernest T. Abdel-Massih Edited by James A. Bellamy With a memorial by Ernest N. McCarus Michigan Series on the Middle East Number 2 Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies The University of Michigan 1990 @ 1990 by Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies The University of Michigan All rights reserved Studies in near eastern culture and history in memory of Ernest T. Abdel-Massih (Michigan series on the Middle East; no. 2) ISSN: 1045-6309 ISBN: 0-932098-22-3 (pbk.) Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 90-82376 Printed in the United States of America  Ernest T. Abdel-Massih 1928-1982 Ernest Tewfik Abdel-Massih Professor Ernest T. Abdel-Massih was born in Giza, Egypt, on Octo- ber 28, 1928. He trained in Cairo and Alexandria as a teacher of English; after obtaining a Ph.D. in Linguistics at the University of Michigan in 1968, he specialized in the teaching of Arabic as a foreign language. He did seminal work on Moroccan Arabic and Tamazight Berber and pioneer- ing sociolinguistic studies of Egyptian Arabic, and had begun a long-range study of Pan-Arabic, an attempt to reconcile the problem of diglossia in Arabic. Dr. Abdel-Massih established a firm reputation as an extremely effec- tive teacher of Arabic, without peer in his field. He had the remarkable ability to inspire his students to perform beyond their capacity, in the process earning their affection and loyalty. A person of great energy and vitality and blessed with great tact and an infectious sense of humor, he was an able administrator, serving as director of the University of Michigan Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies from May 1980 until the time of his death. His family and his church were central to his life. He was on the Board of Deacons of St. Mark Coptic Orthodox Church of Greater Detroit, and was in charge of church education in southeastern Michigan; a manifesta- tion of this is his English translation of the Coptic liturgy. He was closely associated with the Coptic Pope Shenouda III, and was made an Honorary Member of the Coptic Orthodox Cultural Center of Venice, Italy. In his last years Ernest T. Abdel-Massih had encountered a series of grave medical crises but, through his indomitable spirit and almost as if by miracle, survived each one. When finally he expired on December 6, 1982 at the age of 54 it came as a shock to those who knew him-how could a man of such vitality, such drive and such faith not have pulled through once more? Only then did we learn that he had had cancer for twelve years, knowledge shared only with his doctor and his wife Cecile. Now we understood his boundless energy, his drive to accomplish objectives without wasted energy or time: he knew that what he was going to achieve had to be done without delay. And his achievements were many, as a scholar, teacher, administrator, and as a person. He is survived by his wife Cecile and daughters Nagwa, Hala, and Mary. Ernest N. McCarus  Contents Selections from Sibawayhi James A. Bellamy ........ . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Teaching Hebrew of the Communications Media: Crosscultural Considerations Edna Amir Coffin ................ ......... 19 The Year 414/1023-4 in the Commercial Life of Zawilah Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz ..... . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 30 The Flying Scroll in Zechariah 5:1-4 David Noel Freedman ............... ....... 42 Brief Observations on the Syntax of RS 1957.702 Charles Krahmalkov ....... . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 A Palestinian Journalist Looks Back Trevor LeGassick ...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 54 Rules for Forming Noun Plurals in Modern Standard Arabic M ary M. Levy ........... .............. 72 Islamic Rhetoric and the Persian Historians 1100-1300 A. D. K. Allin Luther ...... .... ....... ....... 90 A Case of Semantic Reconstruction: The Egyptian Arabic Verbal Prefix Bi- Ernest N. McCarus ..... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 99 Toward a Method for Historical Lexicography of Semitic Languages George E. Mendenhall ........... ....... 108 Baqilldni's Critique of Imru, Al-Qays Mustansir Mir ................ ......... 118 Reflexes of Classical Arabic -ayun 'thing' in the Modern Dialects: Synthetic Forms in Language Change Loraine K. Obler .......... ........... 132 The Ammonite Onomasticon: Syntactic and Morphological Considerations M. O'Connor. .................... . . ......... 153 Having a Dialogue with a Work of History: A Checklist for Critical Examination and Evaluation Louis L. Orlin. .................... ......... 169 The Relation Between Al-Jurjdni and Modern Western Linguists Raji M. Rammuny ....... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage Gene M. Schramm ................... 191 A Neglected Ottoman Poem: The $ehrengz J. Stewart-Robinson .... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 201 A Propositional Analysis on Literary Theory Applied to Middle Eastern Genres Gernot L. Windfuhr ...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 The editor would like to thank Steve Tinney and Beatriz Urraca for word-processing, and Janet Opdyke and Mary Ringia for editorial assis- tance. Thanks are due also to the Horace H. Rackham School of Graduate Studies and the Department of Near Eastern Studies, both of the University of Michigan, for financial support.   Selections from Sibawayhi JAMES A. BELLAMY University of Michigan ONE of the most endearing characteristics of Ernest Abdel-Massih was his willingness to give unstintingly of his time and energy in the service of his colleagues and students. The translations from Sibawayhi presented here were completed several years before his death, so I had the opportunity to discuss them with him and profit from his observations. It is sad that they now must serve as a memorial to him, but, I hope, a fitting one, since they combine elements of scholarship and pedagogy, the two mainsprings of his professional career. Anyone wishing to study the history of Arabic grammar must begin with the Kitib, the 'Book', of Sfbawayhi. This unique work has dominated the thinking of Arab grammarians about their language from the end of the eighth century A.D., when it was produced, down to the present time. Later writers, it is true, made refinements in Sibawayhi's terminology and diction, and even disagreed with him on numerous points; none of them, however, surpassed him or even contributed much that was new in those areas that he had dealt with. Even a superficial comparison of their works with his will clearly show how great his influence was, not only in the method of treatment, but also in trivial matters, such as the examples that are cited and the arrangement of the material. Arabic grammar was not the invention of Sibawayhi's time. The study of the subject had been pursued for upwards of a century before STbawayhi composed his book, and his citations from earlier scholars not only show his indebtedness to this tradition, but also, by their rarity, point up his own genius and originality. The work of his predecessors has not survived, so the 'Book' stands not only as the most comprehensive treatment of the subject that we possess but also the earliest-the source from which most subsequent developments arise. Selections from Sibawayhi Sibawayhi does not simply describe the morphology, syntax, and phonology of Arabic; he is also much concerned with how and why particu- lar forms are generated, and to explain these phenomena he most frequently resorts to the principle of analogy. In fact, analogy is the distinguishing feature in the method employed by Sibawayhi and his followers, and, since they lived and worked in the city of Basrah, they are frequently referred to by scholars as "the analogical school of Basrah". This school holds that certain widely used morphological types and syntactic usages are "bases", upon which analogical constructions can freely be made, while forms and usages which are rare are considered as anoma- lies, upon which analogical constructions cannot be built. The anomalies themselves, however, are usually explained by analogy. Other, less commonly used principles are the "lightness" of a form regularly employed as against the "heaviness" of one that is rejected, the "frequency of use", which is often appealed to in order to explain the omission of a part of a sentence or phrase, and "making do, contenting oneself with" a particular word or form in place of another which is either omitted or not in use. The selection from Sibawayhi's Kitdib translated here have been chosen for the purpose of illustrating these principles, and to show how Sibawayhi handles such important matters as the parts of speech, basic syntactic relationships, and some features of morphology. In translating some of the technical terms I have attempted a com- promise between Arab and western usage. Because the indicative and sub- junctive endings -u and -a are the same respectively as the endings of the nominative and accusative, and because the use of the imperfect verb and the agent noun coincides in some respects, the Arabs give the name Verb- Resembling-Noun to the imperfect. They also use the same technical terms for nominative and indicative and for accusative and subjunctive. I have kept the latter terms distinct in most cases, but where the discussion turns on the resemblance between nouns and verbs, I have resorted to the unnat- ural compounds "nominative/indicative" and "accusative/subjunctive." Chapter 1 Arabic Words PARIS, I, 1; BULAQ, I, 2; CAIRO, I, 12; JAHN, I, I, 1; DE SACY, 1521. Words are noun, verb, and particle. The latter is a word which conveys a meaning but which is neither a noun nor a verb. James A. Bellamy Examples of nouns are: Man, horse, wall. Verbs are (various) patterns taken from the form of those nouns which are (the names of) events (=verbal nouns). They are formed for what is past, for what will be but has not yet occurred, and for what is and has not yet come to an end. Examples of the formation for what is past are: dahaba 'he went', samica 'he heard', makuta 'he remained', and humida 'he was praised'. Examples of what has not yet occurred are: (1) When you command, ,idhab 'go!', ,uqtul 'kill!', and ,idrab 'strike!'; and (2) when you make a statement, yaqtulu 'he will strike', and yudrabu 'he will be struck'. Identical with the latter group are the formations for that which is and has not come to an end, when you make a statement, yaqtulu 'he is killing', etc. These are the (basic) patterns which are taken from the nouns (which are the names) of events, and they occur in many forms, which will be made clear, God willing. Events are (words) like the beating, the praising, and the killing. That which conveys a meaning but is neither noun nor verb is like then, sawfa (marker of the future), by (in oaths), and the preposition of. Chapter 3 The Support and What Is Supported Thereon PARIS, I, 6; BULAQ, I, 7; CAIRO, I, 23; JAHN, I, I, 9; DE SACY, 152. These are two elements which cannot do without each other and which the speaker cannot dispense with. One type of this (combination) is the Beginning-Noun and that which is constructed upon it; e.g., cAbdu lldhi ,ahuka 'Abdallah (is) your brother', and hddd ,akaka 'This (is) your brother'. Another type is: yadhabu cAbdu lldhi 'Abdallah is going'. The verb must have the noun with it just as the first noun has to have the second noun in sentences beginning with nouns, as above. Other combinations which function like Beginning-Nouns are: kdna cAbdu lldhi / muntaliqan 'Abdallah was departing', and layta Zaydan / muntaliqun 'Would that Zayd were departing!', since the first elements in each require what follows just as the Beginning-Noun requires what follows, in the earlier examples. It should be noted that the primary status of nouns is as a Beginning- Noun in a sentence, for the factors governing the accusative, the nomi- native-other than its status as a Beginning-Noun-and the genitive af- fect only the Beginning-Noun. You will observe that only the Beginning- Selections from Sibawayhi Noun can be affected by these governing factors so that it ceases to be a Beginning-Noun, and you will not restore the sentence beginning with a noun so long as these governing factors remain. The only way to do so is to remove them. For example, if you say: cAbdu Ildhi muntaliqun 'Abdallah (is) departing', you may prefix ralaytu 'I saw' to it and get ra'aytu cAbda (acc.) lldhi muntaliqan 'I saw Abdallah departing', or you can say: kana cAbdu (nom.)2 Ildhi muntaliqan 'Abdallah was departing', or marartu bi- cAbdi (gen.) lldhi muntaliqan (acc.) 'I passed by Abdallah departing (=as he was departing)'. Thus the Beginning-Noun is primary just as the sin- gular is the primary number and just as the indefinite comes before the definite. Chapter 6 Correct and Absurd Sentences PARIS, I, 7; BULAQ, I, 8; CAIRO, I, 25; JAHN, 1, I, 10. These are five types: (1) Correct and good, (2) Absurd, (3) Correct and false, (4) Correct and bad, and (5) Absurd and false. Examples of correct and good sentences are: I came to you yesterday; I shall come to you tomorrow. The absurd sentence is when you nullify the first part of your sentence with the last part; e.g., I came to you tomorrow; I shall come to you yesterday. Examples of correct and false sentences are: I carried the mountain; I drank the ocean, and the like. Correct and bad sentences are when you do not put the words in the right places; e.g., Seen have I Zayd; So that Zayd will come to you3. An example of an absurd and false sentence is: I shall drink the water of the sea yesterday. Chapter 104 Adjectivals Describing Definite Nouns PARIS, I, 187; BULAQ, I, 219; CAIRO, II, 5; JAHN, I, I, 278. Definite nouns4 are of five sorts: (1) Proper nouns, (2) Nouns annexed to a following definite noun, unless you take them in the sense of nouns with the definite ending,5 (3) Nouns taking the definite article, (4) The demonstrative pronouns, and (5) The personal pronouns. James A. Bellamy Markers which are permanent and designate (one thing) specifically are (words) such as Zayd, cAmr, A bdalldh, and the like. They are definite because they are nouns which are applied to a certain one (thing), by which it is known as an individual, and not to the whole of its class. Words definite because they are annexed to a following noun are, for example: hidd ,ahlka 'This (is) your brother', and marartu bi-,abika 'I passed by your father', and the like. These words become definite by virtue of the possessive pronoun which is attached to them, since one designates by the possessive pronoun the person himself and not his whole class. As for (words with) the definite article, examples are: The camel, the man, the horse, and the like. These words are definite because when you use the definite article, you have in mind the thing itself and not its whole class, for if you say, "I passed by a man", you mean only that you passed by someone to whom this noun applies, and not a particular man whom the person you are addressing knows, but when you add the definite article, then you remind him of a man whom he knows, and you say, "the man about whom such-and-such is the case," so that he may call to mind the man whom he knows, about whom such-and-such is the case. As for the demonstratives, this, that, these, those, they are definite because they are nouns by which one points to a thing rather than to its class as a whole. As for the pronouns ..., they are definite because, when you use them, you leave unexpressed a noun after you are aware that the one you are talking to already knows whom or what you mean, and you have in mind a particular thing. A definite noun can be described only by a definite noun, just as the indefinite can only be described by an indefinite noun. The proper noun can be described by three things: (1) A word annexed to its like (i.e., a definite noun), (2) the definite article, and (3) the demonstrative. An example of the annexed noun is marartu bi-Zaydin ,aka 'I passed by Zayd your brother'; of the definite article: marartu bi-Zaydin al-tawli 'I passed by Zayd the tall-one', and the like; of the demonstrative: marartu bi-Zaydin hddd wa-bi-cAmrin hddd 'I passed by this Zayd and this ,Amr'. The noun annexed to a definite noun can be described by three things: (1) By that which is annexed in the same manner as it is, (2) by the definite article, and (3) by the demonstrative. Examples: (1) marartu bi-sdhibika ,ajii Zaydin 'I passed by your friend the brother of Zayd'; (2) marartu bi- sdhibika al-tawili 'I passed by your friend the tall one'; and, (3) marartu bi-sdhibika hdd 'I passed by this friend of yours'. (Words with) the definite article can be described by (words with) the Selections from Sibawayhi definite article and by what is annexed to the definite article, because the latter stands in the same function as the former and becomes adjectival just as words annexed to other than the definite article become descriptive of what does not have the definite article, like "I passed by Zayd your brother". An example of the two articles is: marartu bi-al-jamili al-nabi-li 'I passed by the noble handsome-one'. An example of a word annexed to (a word with) the definite article is: marartu bi-al-rajuli di al-mdli 'I passed by the man (the) possessor of money'. You cannot employ the words your brother to describe the tall-one because when brother is annexed, it becomes more particularized since it is annexed to something particular or to its pronoun, so you must begin with your brother,7 and if this is not sufficiently definite, you may add to it something else that is definite by which its definiteness is further increased (e.g., an adjective with the article). What prevents your brother from being used as a description of the tall-one and the man is that the informant wishes in using your brother to bring something, that is, one thing and nothing else, near and to point to it so that you may know it with both your heart and your eye. But when he says the tall-one, he wishes only to make something known to you through you heart alone and not through your eye. For this reason, your brother can be described by the tall-one, but the tall one cannot be described by it, since it is more particular than the tall-one, inasmuch as the speaker wishes to make his hearer know something with the knowledge of both eye and heart, and when he says the tall-one, he is making known to him something through his heart and not his eye; for that in which two things are combined is more particular.8 The demonstratives may be described both by nouns with the defi- nite article and by adjectives with the definite article. They are described by nouns with the definite article only because the latter and the demon- stratives are practically the same thing; adjectives with the definite article function like nouns, and are not like those adjectives which are used with Zayd and cAmr when you say, "I passed by Zayd the tall-one". (I accept the above explanation) because I do not wish to consider this as a particular noun and to follow it with an adjective by which it is made (more) definite (i.e., hddd al-tawflu 'this tall-one' is not the same as aaka al-tawilu 'your brother the tall-one', in spite of the similarity of construction). (The use of the demonstrative is) as if you were going to say marartu bi-al-rajuli 'I passed by the man', but say "this man" only so as to bring the thing near and point to it (and not use man as a description of this to make it more definite). Proof of this is that you cannot have the dual James A. Bellamy demonstrative followed by two singulars9 (e.g., these-two tall-one and short- one) making it stand to the first noun as the singular demonstrative stands to one noun following; e.g., this man. Likewise you do not say: *marartu bi-hidd di al-mali 'I passed by this the possessor of money', as you say, "I passed by Zayd the possessor of money". Note that adjectives describing the definite noun stand to it just as the adjectives describing the indefinite nouns stand to them... The pronouns cannot really be described since you employ the pro- nouns only when you are aware that the person spoken to knows whom you mean. They can, however, be followed by certain nouns which are general- izing and emphatic, but which are not descriptive, because the description indicates a personal quality such as "tall", or relationship such as "your brother" or "your friend", and the like, or it is like the demonstratives. However, these words under discussion are joined to the noun (=pronoun) and agree with it, and for this reason are (sometimes) called "descriptive" by the grammarians. For example, generalizing: marartu bi-him kullihim 'I passed by them all (of them)'; that is, I did not fail to pass by one of them. And for emphasis: lam yabqa minhum mu4abbirun 'There did not remain of them an informant'; (that is, no one remained to tell their tale) while (obviously some) of them did remain1 .. Chapter 132 Beginning a Sentence with a Noun PARIS, I, 239; BULAQ, I, 278; CAIRO, II, 126; JAHN, I, I, 355. The Beginning-Noun is any noun with which a beginning is made in order that a sentence may be constructed on it. Both the Beginning-Noun and the complement built on it are in the nominative. The beginning cannot exist except with the complement built on it. The Beginning-Noun is the first element and what is built on it is that which comes afterwards. These are the same as the Support and What is Supported Thereon (see above, p. 3-4). The complement built on the Beginning-Noun must be identical with it, or the Beginning-Noun must be in a place or a time;11 these three things may be mentioned after the Beginning-Noun. The complement which is identical with the Beginning-Noun upon which it is built is in the nomina- tive by virtue of the Beginning-Noun, just as the latter is in the nomina- tive by virtue of its being a Beginning-Noun. An example is: cAbdu lldhi muntaliqun 'Abdallah (is) departing'; cAbdu lldhi is nominative because it is mentioned so that muntaliqun may be built upon it, and muntaliqun is Selections from Sibawayhi nominative because that which is built upon a Beginning-Noun has the same status. Al-Uali112 insisted that he disapproved of saying qd'imun Zaydun 'Standing (is) Zayd'. However his disapproval is valid only if one does not consider qdPim as a predicate, placed in front, to be sure, but still con- structed on the Beginning-Noun (i.e., Zayd), just as you transpose when you say daraba Zaydan cAmrun 'cAmr struck Zayd', in which cAmr is nomi- native by virtue of the verb daraba, though normal usage would be for cAmr to come first and Zayd last. The same common usage prevails in this con- struction as well, that is, that the Beginning-Noun comes first. However, reversing the order is also good Arabic; other examples are: A Tamimite (tribal name) am I. Hated (is) he who hates you. A man (is) Abdallah. Silk (is) your saddle-blanket. If, however, this is not the idea they have in mind, but they rather conceive of qdiim as a verb, as in the sentences yaqimu Zaydun 'Zayd is standing' and qdma Zaydun 'Zayd stood up', then that is bad, because qdim is a noun. In their opinion (that is, of grammarians in general), it is good for a noun to function as a verb only when it is a descriptive word joined to something described, or when it is joined to a noun which governs it; just as there can be no object to the participle ddrib 'striking' until it is construed with another word, for you say: "This (person is) striking Zayd" and "I (am) striking Zayd", in which ddribun Zaydan 'striking Zayd' (not a complete sentence) is not like darabtu Zaydan 'I struck Zayd' and darabtu cAmran 'I struck cAmr' (i.e., the subject does not appear in the participle as it does in the finite verb). Just as this is not permitted, so also do they consider it bad for the Beginning-Noun to function like a verb, this so there should be some di- viding line between the verb and the noun, even though they may agree with each other in many functions. For sometimes a thing may agree with another thing in some ways, then not agree with it in some other way, because it is not the same. Chapter 133 That Which Fills the Function of the Beginning-Noun and Substitutes for it because it Indicates the Locality or Position of What Follows PARIS, I, 239; BULAQ, I, 278; CAIRO, II, 128; JAHN, I, I, 356. That which governs the case of what follows the words which indicate locality, putting it in the nominative, is the same which governs it when James A. Bellamy it precedes (i.e., its status as a Beginning-Noun). Each is necessary to the other, so when they are joined together, they form a complete sentence, and they are, as regards completeness, like the sentence: This (is) Abdallah. Examples are: In it (is) Abdallah. And similarly: There (is) Zayd. Here (is) Zayd. Where (is) Zayd? How (is) Abdallah? and the like. The meaning of where? is in what place? and of how?, in what condition? These last are employed first in the sentence before the noun only because they are interrogatives. In this respect they resemble hal and ,a (interrogative particles used at the head of a question anticipating a yes or no answer), because they are used without 3a (i.e., 3a and hal are not used in conjunction with other interrogative particles). They do not function thus (i.e., do not substitute for the Beginning-Noun) except when they are interrogative (i.e., where, when, how, etc., when used in indirect questions, do not come first in the sentence). Chapter 134 Cases Where That Which Is Built on the Beginning-Noun Is Left Unexpressed PARIS, I, 240; BULAQ, I, 279; CAIRO, II, 129; JAHN, I, I, 356. An example of this is the sentence law la A bdu lldhi la-kdna kadc wa-kadd 'Were it not for Abdallah (lit.: If not Abdallah), then such-and- such would be the case'. Then such-and-such would be the case is a phrase which is dependent on the phrase introduced by law Id 'were it not for'. cAbdu lldhi, however, is a part of the phrase introduced by law ld, and it is nominative by virtue of its status as Beginning-Noun, just as it would be nominative for the same reason after the interrogative particle 3a, as in ,a-Zaydun 'ainika? 'Is Zayd your brother?' where Zayd is nominative just as it is in Zaydun 'agiika 'Zayd is your brother', the only difference being that the former is interrogative and the latter a statement. In this case where the predicate is left unexpressed, it appears that what the predicate is built on does exist in a certain specific place; thus it is as if one said law ld cAbdu lldhi kdina ff dalika al-makdni 'Were it not for Abdallah being in that place' and 'Were it not for the battle being at a particular time in a particular place', however, the predicates were omitted because of their frequent use in the phrase, just as the phrase (=protasis) is omitted when using ,immald 'then at least'. Al-lalil asserts that they mean "If you will not do anything else, then at least do thus-and-so", but they omit the first phrase because it occurs so often in the phrase . . . Many things are omitted in speech because they are employed so frequently. An example 10 Selections from Sibawayhi of this is 'Any food?" that is, "Is there any food in a particular time or place?" . . . And similarly the answer: "There is no food (in a particular time or place)." Chapter 135 Sentences in which the Beginning-Noun Is Left Unexpressed and What Is Built on It Is Expressed PARIS, I, 240; BULAQ, I, 279; CAIRO, II, 130; JAHN, I, I, 357. This is when you see someone's figure and it is evidence to you of the identity of the person, so you say: "Abdallah, by my Lord!" It is as if you said, "That is Abdallah" or "This is Abdallah". Or you hear a voice and recognize its owner, for it is a sign to you of his identity, and you say: "Zayd, by my Lord!" Or you touch a body, or smell an odor, and you say: "Zayd!" or "Musk!" Or you taste something, and you say: "Honey!" Or if someone told you of the facial characteristics of a man, and that became a sign to you of his identity, you would say: "Abdallah!" Likewise a man might say: "I passed by a man who is kind to the poor and shows kindness towards his parents," and you would say: "So-and-so, by God!" Chapter 186 Exceptions with ,Illa (except)13 PARIS, I, 315; BULAQ, I, 360; CAIRO, II, 310; JAHN, II, I, 70. The noun following ,illd 'except' can be employed in two ways. The first is that you do not change the (case of the) noun from what it was before you prefixed ,illd, just as you make no change when you prefix 15 'not' to a noun, as in lI marhaban (acc.) wa-ld salamun (nom.) '(I extend you) no welcome, and no peace (be upon you)!' You do the same with ,illd, although it, like ld, does convey an (additional) meaning. The second way is that the noun following ,illd does not share in the construction of the noun before, which is governed by the preceding part of the sentence; (here ,illd governs rather) as cifrijna 'twenty' governs what follows it (i.e., always in the accusative), for example, cijrfina dirhaman 'twenty dirhams'. The first usage, in which the noun functions as it did before the in- sertion of ,illd, is that you introduce the noun into a situation from which you exclude every other noun, for example: md ,atdnf ,illd Zaydun (nom.) 11 'There did not come to me (anyone) except Zayd', and md laqitu ,illd Zay- dan (acc.) 'I did not meet (anyone) except Zayd' and md marartu ,illa bi-Zaydin (gen.) 'I did not pass by (anyone) except Zayd'. Here you put the noun in the same case as you do when you say md ,atani Zaydun, ma laqi-tu Zaydan, and md marartu bi-Zaydin 'Zayd did not come to me; I did not meet Zayd; and, I did not pass by Zayd', but you introduce ,illa in order to make the verbs affirmative as regards these nouns (=Zayd, in the examples) to the exclusion of all other nouns; these nouns become "excepted". There is no usage possible for these nouns in this position other than to be in the same case as they were before the insertion of 'illd. This is because they, when they follow ,illd, are still construed with the same elements governing the genitive, nominative, and accusative as they were before ,illd was added, and since you did not divert (the governing power of) these elements from these nouns by inserting other nouns before you added 'illa to the verb. (For example, md atn ,ahadun ,illd Zaydan, in which the insertion of 'ahadun 'anyone' "diverts" the governing power of the verb over Zayd and thus puts it in the accusative. The nominative is also possible here, and is perhaps more common.) Chapter 236 The Nominative/Indicative in Verbs-Resembling-Nouns PARIS, I, 363; BULAQ, I, 409; CAIRO, III, 9; JAHN, II, I, 136. These verbs, when they are in the position of a Beginning-Noun, or of a noun built upon a Beginning-Noun, or in the position of a noun in the nominative which is neither a Beginning-Noun nor built upon a Beginning-Noun, or in the position of a noun in the genitive or accusative, are nominative/indicative. Their being in these positions forces on them the nominative/indicative and it is this (alone) that causes them to take the nominative/indicative. The reason behind this is that what governs nouns does not gov- ern these verbs in the same manner that it governs nouns, just as that which governs verbs and puts them in the apocopate or in the accusative/ subjunctive does not govern nouns (in the same way). Rather it is their being in the place of a noun which puts them in the nominative/indicative, just as a noun is made nominative/indicative by its being a Beginning- Noun. Examples. Verb in place of a Beginning-Noun: Yaqilu Zaydun dacka 'Zayd is saying (lit.: says Zayd) that'. In the place of a noun built on a Beginning-Noun: Zaydun yaqlu ddka 'Zayd is saying that' (=Zayd (is) 12 Selections from Sibawayhi the sayer of that). In the place of a noun which is neither a Beginning- Noun nor a noun built on a Beginning-Noun: marartu bi-rajulin yaqilu daka 'I passed by a man (who was) saying that' (=qdilin, act. part. in gen. modifying rajulin), and hidai yawmu 'dtfka 'This (is) the day I come to you (:,tika = a noun in the genitive following yawmu; cf. kitdbu al-rajuli. Likewise halld yaqilu Zaydun dika 'Why is Zayd not saying that?' Here yaqilu is (still) in the position of Beginning-Noun since halld 'why not?' governs neither verb nor noun, and it is as if you said simply: yaqiilu Zaydun ddka. There are particles, however, which can precede only verbs which are in the position of a Beginning-Noun, for verbs are more inclined than nouns to this peculiarity; that is, that nothing can be mentioned after these particles except verbs (i.e., verbs are more likely to be preceded by non-governing particles than are nouns). We shall explain this later, God willing, and it has been explained before. Likewise the sentence: 'itini bacda md tafrugu 'Come to me after (what) you finish'; md and tafruu, taken together, function like fardj 'the act of finishing'. Tafruju is the extension (of the relative pronoun), and (so) it is a Beginning-Noun. The relation of tafrugu to md 'what' is the same as its relation to alladf 'that', if you say bacda allad, tafruju 'after (that) you finish'; thus it is in the position of a Beginning-Noun because allad cannot govern anything so nouns after it are Beginning-Nouns. Those who claim that verbs are nominative/indicative by virtue of ac- tually being Beginning-Nouns must also make them accusative/subjunctive and "genitive" whenever they are in a position in which a noun would be ac- cusative/subjunctive or genitive. In reality verbs are nominative/indicative only when they are in the position of a noun (i.e., regardless of the case of a noun in the same position). Likewise the sentence:14 kidtu ,afcalu ddka 'I almost did that' and kudta tafrugu 'You almost finished'. Kidtu (alternate form: kudtu) does not put the following verbs in the accusative/subjunctive nor the apocopate, and 3afcalu here is in the same relation (to kidtu as it is to kuntu 'I was' in kuntu (Oafcalu) 'I was doing', except that (agent) nouns are not used after kidtu and its like (as they are after kuntu). Similarly casd yafcalu ddka 'he may perhaps do that'. Kidtu and words like it stand in the same relation as kuntu in their view, as if you said: *kidtu fdcilan and then put ,af calu in the place of fdcil. Arabic contains many similar things and you will see them, God willing.... It is clear, when you say: balagani- ,anna Zaydan jda '(Word) has reached me that Zayd has come', that 'anna Zaydan jaia 'that Zayd has come', taken as a whole, is a noun. You also say: law 'anna Zaydan jiaa James A. Bellamy 13 la-kdna kadi wa-kadi 'If Zayd came, so-and-so would happen', and its meaning is *law majiu Zaydin 'If Zayd's coming', even though one does not actually say *law majiu Zaydin . . . And also: qad jacala yaqilu dcka as if you said qad sra yaqilu dka 'he proceeded to say that'. This is how the nominative/indicative is used in Verbs-Resembling- Nouns. It seems that the only reason that prevented them from using (agent) nouns with kidtu and casaytu is that their meaning is the same as that of similar words which are used with the conjunction 'an'that', (and hence do not take a following agent noun), such as ali-qun ,an yaqila 'apt to say' and qraba ,an ld yafcala'he almost did not do' (lit.: he came close to (the point) that he did not do). You will have noticed that they do say casd 'an ,afcala, and the poet, by poetic license, may say kidtu 'an. So since the meaning in these was tantamount to 'an with the accusative/subjunctive, they did not adopt the construction with the agent noun so that the construction which has this meaning would not be like the other, and they constructed the phrase as they do with kuntu because it is a verb like the former. Kidtu 'an ,afcala is permissible only in poetry because kdda is really like kna frcilan and yakinu fAcilan (and therefore should take the nominative/indicative verb, as it does in normal prose usage). Likewise the meaning of jacala yaqulu and ,aAada yaqlu is qad 'dtara 'an yaqila 'he chose to say' and the like. Thus the agent nouns are forbidden here because the nominative/ indicative verbs have the same meaning as those which are used with 'an, so when they dropped ,an, they kept the verbs, but they do not use the agent noun so as not to destroy this meaning (i.,e., that the verbs here are the same as ,an with the subjunctive). Chapter 4774 Vocalization of the Prefix of the Verbs-Resembling-Nouns with I When You Use I with the Second Radical When You Say Facila15 PARIS, II, 275; BULAQ, II, 256; CAIRo, IV, 110; JAHN, II, I, 605. This occurs in the speech of all the Arabs except the people of Hijaz.16 Thus they say 'anta ticlamu daka, ,anc ,iclamu daka, hiya ticlamu and nahnu niclamu daka 'you know that, I know that, she knows, and we know that'; similarly all those verbs having wdw or ya, as the second or third radical as well as verbs from doubled roots in which you say facila. Examples: aqi-ta, 'anta tiiqd 'you were/are wretched'; 4aftu, 'and ,i4d 'I feared/fear'; 4ilna, 14 Selections from Sibawayhi nahnu ni ilu 'we imagined/imagine'; cadidtunna, 'antunna ticdadna, 'anti ticaddina 'you bit/bite (fem.pl.), you bite (fem.sg.)'. They vocalize the prefixes with i because they want them to be like the second radical of facila, just as they use a with the prefix when the second radical of facala has a, for the way to form the verb in their opinion is to make the prefixes run like the second radical of facila. So they say darabta, tadribu, 'adribu 'you struck, you strike, I strike', vocalizing the prefix with a, just as they use a with the r in daraba. The only reason that they do not put i with the second consonant (i.e., the first radical which is the consonant immediately following the prefix) as they do in facila is that it does not take a vowel, so the i is put with the prefix. In all of these verbs, however, when you use the third sg. masc. yafcalu and prefix the y, you use the a-vowel. This is because they disapprove of i with y, wherever they do not fear that some form will be lost, in which case, of course, the use of i would be tolerated. In the same manner, they disapprove of y's and w's with y's and the like. In this category of verb no prefix is ever vocalized with i whose second radical in facala has a, like daraba, dahaba, and the like. They do, however, say ,aba, ,anta ti'bd, huwa yi'bd 'he refused, you refuse, he refuses'. This is one of the verbs in which the Verb-Resembling- Noun is always vocalized with a on the second radical, and it is not by analogy17 that it has a, for it is an irregular word. Since the verb runs like those which have i in facila (like gaqiya, yadqd, even though its past is really 'abd = facala), they treat it in the same way. They even go further and put i with the prefix y and say yi'ba. In doing so, they go against the rules of the verb class facila (according to which it should be ya'bd, just as they do when they use a with the second radical (according to the rules it should be ya'bi) and, when it is put into the facila class, they liken it to yijalu (rather than the regular yawjalu), since the y is next to a weak consonant. Frequently the Arabs alter the most commonly used forms in their speech and treat them carelessly, when they are already irregular according to their view. Thus they say murhu 'command him!' and some say 'imurhu (both instead of the regular *,uwmurhu); since the word is irregular at one point and is common in their speech, they feel free to make it irregular at another point. All of these verb forms that we have been discussing have a (with the prefix) in the dialect of the people of the Hijaz, and that is the original form. As for yasacu and yata'u, they have a with the prefix for the following James A. Bellamy 15 reason: They are of the pattern facila, yafcilu, like hasiba, yahsibu, but they use a with the second radical because of the glottal stop and the cayn, just as they use a because of the glottal stop and the cayn when they say yaqrau and yafzacu. Since they are thus really formed on the pattern of those verbs whose facala has a, they do not use i with the prefix as they do with tabd (i.e., ti'bd); this they do because the latter is formed on the pattern of those verbs whose facila has the i-vowel. Proof of the fact that the original form with faciltu is that yafcalu have a with the prefix according to the usage of the people of the Hijaz is that a is always retained with the prefix y, and also that the prefix never has u when facula has u. Thus i with the prefix is only a later development (lit.: accidental). As for wajila, yawjalu, and the like, the people of the Hijaz say yawjalu and form the verb like calimtu. All the other Arabs, however, instead of tawjalu, say: hiya tjalu, 'ana '-jalu, nahnu ijalu. When it comes to yawjalu, however, some Arabs say yayjalu, out of a dislike for the w with the y, and they liken it to 3ayydm (from an original ,aywdm), and the like. Others say ydjalu, substituting d for the w, out of a dislike for w with the y, just as they substitute it for the glottal stop without a vowel (e.g., ra's > rds). Some of them say y-jalu, apparently out of a dislike for w and y together, putting the i with the y so as to change the following w into y, since they know that w without a vowel when preceded by i becomes a y, l and they do not feel that the w following y can be changed (to y) when the y is vocalized with a. So they prefer to change it in the manner indicated (i.e., by first altering the vowel to i), and they dislike changing it in the other way (i.e., retaining the a and saying yayjalu). You should know that in every verb which begins with a prosthetic glottal stop and has more than three letters in the facala you will use i with the prefix in the Verb-Resembling-Noun. This is because they want to use i with prefixes of these verbs, just as they do with the prefixes of those verbs which have only three consonants in facala, and since they prefer to handle the Verbs-Resembling-Nouns in this manner, they use the i-vowel with their prefixes, likening the one type of verb to the other. They are prevented from using i with the second consonant (i.e., the first radical) in the verb class facila only by the fact that it has no vowel, so they place the vowel on the first consonant (i.e., the prefix). They cannot, however, place the i on the third consonant (i.e., the second radical), for that would cause confusion between yafcilu and yafcalu. Examples of verbs with more than three letters are: ,istajfara, 'anta tistagfiru; ,ihranjama, ,anta tihranjimu; 'igdawdana, 'anta tijdawdinu; ,iqcansasa, tiqcansisu; fur- 16 Selections from Sibawayhi ther, all those verbs the facala of which is tafaccaltu, tafacaltu, and tafaclaltu vocalize the prefix in the same way (i.e., titafaccalu, etc.). This is because in their view the original form of these verbs is such as ought to have the prosthetic glottal stop in the facala because they have the same (general range of) meaning as ,infiql (verbal noun of ,infacala, a verb pattern al- ways having a middle or passive sense) and hence function like ,infataha 'it (was) opened' and 'intalaqa 'he departed'. However, they do not use the prosthetic glottal stop here because they consider the forms as given lighter. Omission of this glottal stop is quite frequent; we have mentioned it before and you will see other examples later on, God willing. Proof that these verbs originally had the glottal stop can be found in the fact that in them the prefix y takes a (as in all verbs with the prosthetic glottal stop having more than three letters, whereas those without it have u with the prefix).... All of these prefixes are vocalized with a by the people of the Hijaz, and the Banu Tanfn (i.e., the eastern Arabs) do not use i with the prefix y, (but use a like the people of Hijaz). Verbs of the pattern facula do not use u with the prefix as verbs in facila use i (i.e., one does not say tuf culu, but only tafculu), because in their opinion the u is heavier and they dislike two u's together, and, since they do not fear that two forms will be confused, they adopt the lighter form. Here they do not wish to make a distinction between two forms-as you wish to in the case of facila, that is, in making (the vowels of the prefix) follow the second radical in facala. If they did so, wish then, of course, the two u's would have to be tolerated. Thus the a with the i is tolerable in their opinion, but they reject the u with another u. Notes 1 There are three main editions of the Kitab of Sibawayhi, designated here by the place of publication: (1) Le Livre de Sibawaihi; traitd de grammaire arabe . . . Texte arabe publie par H. Derenbourg, Paris, 1881-89. (2) Kit b Sfbawayhi, Billq, 1316-18. (3) al-Kitab; Kitdb Sibawayhi, ed by ,Abd al-Sal ixn Muhammad Hirfin, Cairo, 1966- 1967. The edition of BilWiq is based largely on the Paris edition, so there is very little difference between the two; the former, however, contains some corrections, is more fully vocalized, and has marginal notes drawn from a medieval commentary. The BiilWq edition is thus more easily usable so I have made it the basis of these translations. There is one complete translation: Sibawaihi's Buch iber die Grammatik, fibersetzt und erklirt von G. Jahn, Berlin, 1895-1900. Several chapters (among them Nos. 1 and 3) were edited James A. Bellamy 17 with notes and translation by Silvestre de Sacy in his Anthologie Grammaticale Arabe, Paris, 1829. 2 Nominative, but by virtue of the verb kdna, not by virtue of its status as a Beginning-Noun, which it lost when kdna was prefixed. Note that kdna 'he was' governs the complement in the accusative, as do all verbs in Arabic meaning be, become, seem, and the like. 3 These sentences are "bad" in Arabic because the subject Zayd is placed between the particle and the verb. 4 The term noun (=name) includes adjectives and pronouns. 5 For example, dribu-ka (=dribun la-ka 'striking you, striker of you' is indefinite even though the personal pronoun is definite. 6 The term pronoun includes subject, object, and possessive pronouns as well as the personal endings of the verbs. 7 That is, you cannot say al-tawilu 'agika 'the tall your brother' but must say ,a4 fka al-tawilu 'your brother the tall one'. 1 Brother, and your brother even more so, are concrete objects that can be seen with the eye and conceived of by the heart (=the mind); "tall", on the other hand, cannot be seen, but can only be conceived of, since tallness is a quality and does not exist independently. 9 Contrary to the construction of a dual noun with two singular adjectives, which is possible, e.g., marartu bi-,a awayka al-tawfli wa-al-qastri 'I passed by your two brothers the tall-one and the short-one'. 10 That is, someone must have remained, otherwise no one would know enough about them to make the statement. 11 Examples, not given by Sibawayhi, of complements indicating place and time are: Zaydun ft al-bayti 'Zayd (is) in the house' and qudiimu Zaydin al-yawma 'The coming of Zayd (is) today'. A complement indicating time can occur only with a verbal noun as Beginning-Noun. 12 Al-IJalil b. Ah.mad, the teacher of Sibawayhi, was the first Arab lexicographer and also the first to formulate the rules of Arabic prosody. The following two paragraphs are typical of the style of argumentation in Arabic grammar. A correct example is cited and then said to be correct if interpreted in one manner but wrong if interpreted in another. 13 This chapter is typical of many in the Kitdb which treat the functions of the various particles. 14 Arabic has several auxiliary verbs, some of which are followed by the indicative verb or the agent noun, and others by the conjunction )an 'that', which governs the subjunctive. In general, the indicative and the agent noun are interchangeable in such constructions, but neither can be substituted for 'an with the subjunctive. The discus- sion in the following paragraphs brings out these points and deals with certain exceptions to the common usage, specifically ,asa and kdda (first pers. sg. kidtu or kudtu), which take the indicative or )an with the subjunctive, but not the agent noun. 15 In literary Arabic the prefix of the imperfect active of the basic verb is always vocalized with a. In speech, however, only the people of western Arabia use a universally. The rest of the Arabs use i with the prefixes t, n and the glottal stop, when the vowel of the second radical is i in the perfect; but even they revert to a when the prefix is y. In the first part of this chapter Sibawayhi explains this phenomenon, and then proceeds to discuss several exceptions to the rule: yi'bd, in which i occurs with the prefix y, and tasacu and tata'u, which come from perfects in facila, and so should have the prefix with i. The arguments are good illustrations of Sibawayhi's analogical method. 18 Selections from Sibawayhi 16 The Hijaz is that part of western Arabia along the Red Sea coast in which Mecca and Medina are located. 17 Analogy here would give *ya~bf, ,abd like yabki, bakd or *)abiya, ya'ba like baqiya, yabqd. The standard forms of literary Arabic are ,aba (perfect) and ya'bd (imperfect). 18 Arab grammarians consider what we take to be a long vowel as a short vowel followed by a weak consonant without a vowel; thus f = iy and i = uw. Hence one can transliterate either y-jalu or yiyjalu. Teaching Hebrew of the Communications Media: Crosscultural Considerations EDNA AMIR COFFIN University of Michigan To Ernest-my source of inspiration, who for many years taught Arabic of the Communications Media Introduction: Media Texts in Second-Language Curriculum T HIS article addresses the linguistic, cultural and social considerations in the teaching of Hebrew of the communications media (HCM). Follow- ing a general discussion of the language domains generally expressed using HCM, methodological questions concerning the development of language skills by students of Modern Hebrew are addressed, taking into account linguistic theory and practice, with an emphasis on the functions of lan- guage as a social communicative tool. In today's communication oriented society a great deal of emphasis is put by the public on the communications media, which transport im- portant local and global events to the living rooms of individual readers, listeners and viewers. The way in which a society addresses current issues in its news broadcasts provides an important key for understanding its focal concerns. The language utilized for such communicative purposes consti- tutes a common tool which provides linguistic cohesion within society. Language curriculum developers have mostly ignored this central as- pect of discourse and have excluded the media domain from existing aca- demic programs, providing exclusively for the study of literary and his- torical texts. For a more meaningful acquisition of a second language, learners have to develop the necessary communicative skills and vocabu- lary repertoire to deal with the central issues which are of concern to the target culture. A change of attitude and an awareness of importance of the language of the media within language learning curriculum can provide 20 Hebrew of the Communications Media learners with the necessary access to this very important aspect of the tar- get culture, allowing them not only to use their reading and listening skills but also preparing them for a meaningful and sophisticated interaction with members of the target langauge community. When introducing media texts into the language learning curriculum, both learners and instructors have to develop a sensitivity and awareness of the uniqueness of both their own and the target language's linguistic, cultural, political and social functions of this specific language domain. While different societies do share common features of discourse in their news texts, there are important differences that must be observed, and which do become critical in preparing learners for decoding such texts. The Functions of News Media It is generally recognized that the main function of the communica- tions media in modern society is to report major events and happenings of both global and local significance in the political, economic, and cultural arenas. The events which are reported are for the most part considered to be of prime importance to the intended receivers, either directly or indi- rectly. The informational aspect is not always the overriding consideration in news presentation. There are political bodies which control news trans- mission whose ideology and interests affect the content of the news to the point of reducing it to propaganda. There are also media channels which are profit-making bodies motivated by economic interests and whose judg- ment depends on popular ratings. They tend to reshape the news almost as a form of entertainment to keep a competitive edge. The entertainment aspect of the news has gained an unusual emphasis as television has come to dominate the media. Many major US television networks, for commer- cial considerations, view news presentations as filling the leisure time of the audience and as vehicles for introducing their commercials. News anchor- men and women have become popular public figures, celebrities in their own right, and are measured not so much by the content of their message, reflecting their reporting skills and general knowledge, but by their manner of delivery and their charisma. Such considerations affect not only form and content, but also the type of news which is selected for the viewing audience. In many areas in the world, and in networks controlled by spe- cial interests with an ideological bent, news broadcasts are used to a great extent as propaganda tools. The type and flow of information is tightly controlled and censorship is exercised over what is presented to the public. Edna Amir Coffin 21 Students of HCM, who do not belong to the community of native He- brew speakers, have to be made aware of the above considerations. Such questions as who controls the news media, by what means, and to what extent, are important for those who focus on the study of this langauge domain. The comparative process of assessing the nature of the news transmission system in the target culture vis-a-vis one's own culture, raises students' awareness of things they may have taken for granted in their own society. This opportunity for examination and introspection is an invalu- able part of the experience of learning a second language and culture. A crosscultural evaluation sharpens the focus of the students and directs them to think about the truth value of what they are used to accept as objec- tive news without question as well as the presentation of news in another language. In dealing with the target langauge, such an assessment is not easy and cannot be done by relating to the text alone. The learners for the most part lack the necessary extratextual knowledge and linguistic tools to interpret texts as their intended audience would. However they can gain further insight into that aspect of the texts by pragmatic considerations as to who the collective originator and transmitter of the news is, what their function and intention is, and what system controls the news media. News is transmitted not only in different channels, but also in differ- ent formats which are by no means uniform even within one society. In countries which enjoy free press, the listeners/viewers are bombarded by a variety of news formats: from the five minute local oriented hourly radio newscasts, to the lengthy news journal of public broadcasting corporations, and from the one minute highlights of the news which appear as television commercials, to lengthy in-depth reporting, such as the MacNeil-Lehrer daily news hour. In societies where the flow of information is regulated or controlled by governmental bodies, or where only one or two channels of news exist, the communication media is an exclusive and at times an all powerful tool which can shape the views of its listeners by the kind of in- formation it provides them. Both the availability of sources and the format used in presenting the news are major considerations for learners, who will develop different expectations from different types of presentations. Just as learners should be made aware of crosscultural differences, they should also be made aware of shared features. As mentioned above, there are differences across cultures in the presentation and dissemination of news, reflecting the nature of the societal differences. News media not only reflect such differences but also help shape the general and ideological outlook of individual societies. However, there is growing evidence that the news media has contributed to bringing different cultures and societies 22 Hebrew of the Communications Media closer to each other. There is a cross national community of viewers which is exposed to a common base of information, transmitted through satellites and other electronic means. Events which previously seemed too far to be of immediate interest or concern to the listening audience, have become items of prime importance by virtue of their being brought into the living rooms of the viewers or listeners. The recently coined term "the global village" captures the essence of this new reality which has brought geo- graphically and culturally distant communities into immediate contact, and has transformed recipients-bystanders of news into involved participants. The technological advances which provide for a common information data base bring audiences of various cultures and languages together and create a community of viewers and listeners. This is of prime importance to the learner, for whom such a common base of information creates an important bridge with the target language community. The news media performs not only a communicative function in the sense that it informs or educates the public, but it also sets certain linguistic standards which affect its listening public. The national news broadcasts in the US carried by the major networks share on the whole a standard American-English, an accepted language register for transmitting news. In Israel, the linguistic aspect of news transmission is of extreme importance, as it not only involves the use of an existing standard register of Hebrew, but also plays a very important role in forming that standard. One of the perceived roles of such news transmission is the isntruction of the listening public in correct language usage and enhancement of the acquisition of de- sired language norms. This is seen as most important as Israeli society is still, to a great degree, an immigrant society, with speakers whose native languages, or those of their parents, are numerous. In addition, since He- brew is a revived language and its revival involves a great deal of language planning, the news media plays a more important role in the development of norms and standards than in other societies, because of its unique lin- guistic history. The Hebrew Language Academy transmits through this medium many language innovations to the general public. HCM is the main medium in which spoken language and higher literary registers com- bine to create a new standard language which serves both purposes. The control of this language register is one of the most important functions of a language learner. The language register which characterizes the genre of the news media is without a doubt the common denominator within a given langauge speaking community, which provides the glue which keeps together different dialect and social classes, and cuts across a variety of other genres and registers. A student who can understand and use HCM, Edna Amir Coffin 23 will be able to also get a good start at preparing himself/herself to read other genres of prose fiction and non-fiction, and will be able to carry on an adult conversation. The Nature of the Israeli Communications Media When undertaking the teaching and study of Hebrew of the communi- cations media, the above considerations are of prime importance. Students of HCM within the setting of an American University are exposed to a wide spectrum of commercial and public broadcasting news services. Such a spectrum is not available to the Israeli audience, because of the size of the Israeli population and because of economic considerations. Both Israeli radio and television are state owned, and news broadcasts are considered a public service. There are several radio stations and one television channel. The radio stations share a central news broadcasting service, and in ad- dition have their own special programs. The government owned television channel broadcasts news in both Hebrew and Arabic. Both media, radio and television, provide their listeners with a reasonable choice of programs, and with several in-depth radio and television news journals. In spite of the government ownership of the news media, individual commentators on the whole maintain a fair measure of independence. There is no comeptition between anchormen and women, who do not play as central a role as they do in American broadcasts, and on the whole such news transmitters are not regarded as celebrities. Newspapers are privately owned and provide an amazing array of daily publications. Pedagogical Considerations in HCM Instruction The importance of the news media in shaping and affecting society and the centrality of the news transmission as part of Israeli life resulting from the precarious political situation, makes HCM a uniquely important area of study. There are two main settings for teaching such courses, each comprising a somewhat different intended audience. HCM is taught to students of Hebrew as a second language (non-Hebrew speaking students in Israel, who live within a Hebrew speaking community and for whom Hebrew will serve as a second language), and to students of Hebrew as a foreign language (taught to students outside of Israel, who acquire Hebrew not in the community of Hebrew speakers and for a variety of purposes). Our concern in this paper is with the latter group of students of Hebrew as a foreign language, which reflects the situation in American academic institutions. The motivation of both groups of students is generally very 24 Hebrew of the Communications Media high. They are genuinely interested in the content of the news being trans- mitted and eager to express themselves in the target language on focal topics included in the news. Students who have spent some time in Israel are particularly eager to master this language domain. They have often felt excluded when they were not able to discuss current events with native speakers, and when they were not able to participate as listeners, from the ritual of listening to the news, on radio or television. The Challenge to Learners For students who undertake the study of HCM, it is of great impor- tance to be aware of the media facilities in Israel and to have a general knowledge of the major political events which affect Israeli society. On any given day, the front pages of the major Israeli newspapers, and the main topics of radio and television broadcasts, are quite different from those be- ing discussed by the media with which the learners are familiar. They differ in their content, emphasis, in their style of delivery, and in the nature of the commentaries on the news. Even when news items deal with the same events dealt with in the learners' native langauge, the reporting of the same events can exhibit great differences. A major occurrence with global impli- cations, such as a disaster in a nuclear plant, is likely to make front pages and major headlines everywhere, and may even share news services reports (such as AP, Reuther and UPI), however, the placement and prominence given to such news differs radically, as well as the commentary provided for the interpretation of the event, influencing the perception of the audience. Learners also have to take into account not only differences between cultures in the manner and style of news delivery but also pay attention to the channel of transmission: written, audio or visual delivery of news present different challenges to students. The nature of the medium to a large extent determines the way in which discourse is structured and information is conveyed. It is well recognized that a single picture can be worth a thousand words, since the visual presentations contain a great deal of extratextual information. At the same time, it is important to keep in mind that a thousand words can include a great deal of information that one picture cannot transmit. Pictures can be just as selective a presentation of the total scene as words can be, and create inaccurate impressions of how representative of a general situation they are. While news transmitted by all channels of communication share the same content and belong to the same language domain and register, the structure of the discourse is different and is dictated by the channels of communication. Of the two skills of listening comprehension and reading Edna Amir Coffin 25 comprehension, listening presents greater challenges to the students. Even though the syntax of the written newspaper articles tends to be more com- plex than that of radio or television broadcasts, the manner of delivery creates difficulties for students of HCM. The difficulty resides in the fact that the radio or television news text which is orally transmitted is never available to the listeners in its entirety at any given point. The text is transmitted sequentially, with only bits of information available to the re- ceiver at one time. The rest of the information is stored in memory. The comprehension of one item depends on the comprehension of a previous bit of information. There is no way of retrieving information which has already been delivered, and so any inability to comprehend one or two details in the chain of transmitted components of the text can affect access to the complete text. A written text, on the other hand, is always present in its full form, and students can browse back and forth through the information presented to them. The reader does not have to approach the text in its sequential order but can review previous details or read ahead. Readers can spend more time on details which interest them or present some certain linguistic difficulties, and can also skip certain passages which seem less im- portant. The context is always available for trying to guess the meaning of new words, and decode anaphoric and cataphoric references. The listener can engage in none of these above activities, which are so important to a learner. Once the sequences of words are read, they are no longer available to the listener (except when provided with a recorded broadcast, something that is not available in a learning environment). Decoding written texts gives the readers/learners additional advantages that are not available to the listeners and viewers; they can determine the pace for decoding the text. Radio and television broadcasts have some advantages for the learners over written news items. In the case of television news, the most obvious advantage are the pictures which form part of the message and complete the orally transmitted text. Both radio and television-read news also include such features as features of intonation and pauses which constitute part of the text and help clarify its content. A special unique feature to Hebrew, is the fact that written texts are unvocalized, and a great deal of ambiguity can result when vowels are not included. Orally transmitted texts are complete with vowels, as they cannot be transmitted otherwise, and as such help disambiguate parts of the text. The challenges that each mode of transmission presents to the learner should not be the basis for assigning priorities in teaching by concentrat- ing on one type of news transmission over another. Newspaper reading and 26 Hebrew of the Communications Media television viewing are central activities for the Israeli news consumers, how- ever radio news broadcasts, unlike their diminished role in the US, have a unique role in Israeli daily life. While for the learner it presents the greatest challenge, it is also a very important one. It constitutes almost a ritual act, and participating in this act is almost an initiation act into Israeli society. Public buses are equipped with radios and the drivers turn the radio on every hour on the hour when the news is broadcasted. Even though it is unlikely that every hour there will be anything new there is always an ex- pectation of a crisis. This is part of the group behavior which characterizes the Israeli public. Because it has assumed such an importance, there is an unusual incentive for learners to be able to participate as listeners in such events. Extratextual Information One of the key elements to effective learning of HCM is the ability to use external information. Learners can bring to the task of decoding of the news texts whatever specific information they have as well as their ability to draw conclusions from similar occurrences, and bring them to bear on the interpretation of the new information. In the transmission of daily news, regardless of channel of communication, most of the news consists of the addition of few new details to know contents. Even if a news item brings information about a sudden, one-time occurrence, it often belongs to a broader context that the receiver is familiar with: a strike in a factory, new taxes, an attack on an embassy, etc . . . are events that may be new for a given day, but belong to a given context which includes similar events. A knowledge of the economic situation in a country provides the background and context for a particular strike news item, or new taxes. Likewise, a knowledge of the political situation in the Middle East or in Central America will provide the context for such events as an attack on an embassy. Floods in the Midwest, a volcano eruption in Hawaii, or an earthquake in Mexico, while they may be new events for a given day, are not one-time occurrences, as natural disasters have occurred before and will occur again and constitute an accepted topic of news. Such news items are both expected and unexpected events-they have precedence, but it is usually impossible to predict their occurrence. The learners can approach them within the general framework of their experience and broad knowledge of the world, even though they may not be within their own personal experience. The external knowledge of the outside world as well as knowledge of the target culture whose language the learner is studying, are important Edna Amir Coffin 27 sources of knowledge that can be drawn on for the understanding of the news transmitted by the various media in the target language. The focus of the news in Israel, as expected, is on the political and economic arenas in Israel and the Middle East. Only a small part of the daily news is devoted to other topics. The students who want to acquire proficiency in HCM have to educate themselves in these areas. They must acquire the basic knowledge of the society, its governmental structure, the different political parties, important people in the news and their political learnings, etc. Much of this information can be acquired in the native language of the students. The native speakers are updated in most cases, even if they are not always sophisticated readers. They not only share the presuppositions of the society of which they are members, but also have certain expectations shared by other members of the society. The learner does not have the same shared presuppositions and expectations and has to acquire a sensitivity to the subjects which preoccupy the Israeli public, otherwise he will not be able to fill in the gaps in information, which is not always fully transmitted in a given news item, since previous knowledge is assumed. The special nature of the discourse of news broadcasts may not be directly of central concern to the learners, but has to interest those who facilitate the learning process. Not only the text itself, but also prior in- formation has to be incorporated into the classroom presentation. The learners have to be directed to the surface structure of the news item, and also to the information not specified but assumed. Here it is possible to be helped by discourse analysis, a linguistic realm which has made serious contributions to the understanding of linguistic structures, because it em- phasizes the embedding of the linguistic utterance in a natural context and also the pragmatic aspects of different strategies of expression. The full comprehension of a text depends on understanding the intent of the trans- mitted of the text as well as the external circumstances, and not only the structure of the texts with its various linguistic ingredients. Even though news texts are presumed to be examples of objective writing, they often in- clude quotes by involved parties and represent special points of view. Each text in addition to its face value demands a listening or reading between the lines. The native listeners, consciously or unconsciously, are able to discern such aspects of the text and pass judgment as to the truth value of the text and its relationship to external reality. The learners, with the aid of the language facilitators, have to de- velop this type of skills which will eventually increase their sophistication in reading and evaluating the texts and the intent of the speakers. 28 Hebrew of the Communications Media It should also be kept in mind that there are several possible real- izations of each text. Even native speakers who are members of the same language community can interpret the same text in a variety of ways, de- pending on such factors as their own political leanings, previous knowledge, experience, etc. It is not unusual for such an occurrence to happen even among very experienced readers and listeners. Recently, after listening to a speech by President Reagan, various commentators brought their own different interpretations as to what they thought the President said in his speech. The special orientation of the commentators was made clear by the way in which they understood the intention of the President. Following a stormy discussion, one of the commentators turned to his friend and said: "It seems that I heard a different speech. It is clear that both of us did not hear the same speech." Compounded by serious deficiencies in language, students are likely to have a variety of individual readings. The instructor must be aware of whether the different readings result from language de- ficiencies or present genuine differences in interpretation due to individual orientations. What a student is expected to do as a first reading is to deal with the text in its simplest literal meaning, only then can other questions of interpretation be raised. The goal of any HCM language course is to bring the novice readers, the learners of Hebrew, to a simple comprehension of texts, be they written or oral. The communicative function of such news transmission is filled when the receivers, in this case the students, can comprehend and interpret a variety of presuppositions which are not expressed but are presupposed in the various utterances, and can begin to discern what is the old part of information on which the news item relies, and the new part of the information that it makes accessible for the readers. The full realization and interpretation of the text can be achieved by the learners when some of the above considerations are taken into account in the learning process. Reference Bibliography Shoshana Blum, "Teaching Newspaper Reading" (in Hebrew), Rosen Vol- ume, Council of the Teaching of Hebrew, Jerusalem, 1974. G. Brown and G. Yule, Discourse Analysis, Cambridge University Press, 1983. Edna Amir Coffin 29 M.A.K. Halliday and Ruqaiya Hasan, Cohesion in English, Longman, 1980. Alex S. Jones, "The Anchors," The New York Times Magazine, July 27, 1986, pp. 12-17, 22-24. Nir, Raphael, Uma Ve-Lashon, "Simplifying Hebrew of the Newspaper Texts," Jerusalem, 1986. The Year 414/1023-4 in the Commercial Life of Zawilah ANDREW S. EHRENKREUTZ Melbourne, Australia M EDIEVAL Zawilah, a settlement in Fazzan, the south-western region of Libya, rose to prominence in the beginning of the fifth century of the Hijrah. Politically it served as the capital of the Berber family of the Bani Khattab, which ever since A.H. 306/A.D. 918-919 had ruled over their Ibdi urban and nomadic followers.1 A political integration of North Africa with Egypt under the commercially oriented Fa timid Caliphate, and the ensuing expansion of trans-Saharan and trans-Mediterranean trade en- hanced the status of Zawilah, which served as "the point where a sub- ordinate trade and pilgrim route running east and west crossed the main north-south road. This east-west route now reached Cairo, where it entered the Fatimid city by the Bab Zawila or Zuwayla, the Zawla Gate."2 The name Zawilah appears also on some extremely rare dindr spec- imens dated A.H. 414. In the early 1960s, the surfacing of yet another such dinar in Fazzan (Libya), prompted Dr. Mohamed Mostafa to offer a statement regarding this interesting numismatic phenomenon: "No doubt, this Dinar is of special significance as it points out the city of Zuwayla as a coinage center and consequently as a place of great importance which played an essential part in the cultural history of Libya."3 In making this assertion, Dr. Mostafa echoed an earlier statement by Professor Hady Roger Idris, who listed Zawlah as the site of one of the principal mints.4 While the importance of Zawilah in the history of Libya cannot be dis- puted, its significance as a coinage center can hardly be established on the basis of extant numismatic and textual evidence. So far, the only evidence attesting to the existence of a mint in Zawrlah consists of eight gold coins, all of which happened to be struck in one and the same year, A.H. 414. If one were to attribute the survival of these specimens and the total absence of dinars struck there before and after A.H. 414 to mere chance, then one Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 31 Illustration 1. Pilgrim and trade routes converging on Zawilah. Based on a drawing in B. G. Martin, "Kanem, Bornu and the Fazzin: Notes on the Political History of a Trade Route," Journal of African History, 10, 1969, p. 20. 32 The Commercial Life of Zawilah could entertain some thoughts about continued operations of a mint in medieval Zawflah. However, in my opinion, the fact of survival of these dindrs should be interpreted as evidence of a rather exceptional event in the commercial and monetary life of Zawilah, consisting of a temporary opening in A.H. 414 of a mint charged with the task of supplying the local markets with gold coinage. In line with the latter interpretation this paper will attempt to suggest the circumstances and causes leading to what appears to have been a short-lived and exceptional episode in the history of Zawilah. L Numismatic Evidence a. The size of the sample Until now, a total of eight dinars, struck in A.H. 414 in Zawlah in the name of Fatimid caliph al-Zahir (A.H. 411-427/A.D. 1021-1036) has been established. They are listed here in the chronological sequence of the printed recording of their existence: Nr. 1 = #216 Lavoix, Henri, Catalogue des monnaies musulmanes de la Bibliotheque Nationale, Vol. III, Paris, 1896, p. 86-87. Nr. 2 = #108k Lane-Poole, Stanley, Catalogue of Oriental Coins in the British Museum, Vol. IX, Part i, 1889, p. 320, pl. XVIII. Nr. 3 = #1081 Ibid., p. 320. Nr. 4 = Sotheby Auction Catalogue, 1906, lot 349. Nr. 5 = #95 Farrugia de Candia, J., "Monnaies fatimites du Musee du Bardo," Revue Tunisienne, Nr. 27/28, 1936, p. 59. Nr. 6 = #G425 Seaby's Coin and Medal Bulletin, February 1963 = ANS 1963.5 Nr. 7 = Mohamed Mostafa, art. cit., p. 126, pl. LIII bis. Nr. 8 = Specimen in possession of Mr. Ali Mustafa Musrati (Tripoli, Libya). Except for Nr. 4, I have examined all these specimens either directly (Nr. 1-3 and Nr. 6-8), or with the help of excellent photographic repro- ductions (Nr. 5). b. The standard of fineness The two specimens from the British Museum (Nr. 2 and 3) were ex- amined by means of Neutron Activation Analysis to reveal a very good standard of fineness of 96% and 97.8%, respectively, which excelled the quality of the contemporary North African Fatimid dinars.6 Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 33 Illustration 2. Standard of fineness (% of purity of gold) of the Malidlyali 0, Mansiiryah 0, and Zawillah0 d-indrs. A.H. 392 399 405 408 410 411 412 414 419 100 __ 99 98 __ 970 96 __ 95 94 93_____ 920__ 910__ 90 __0 89 __ 080 34 The Commercial Life of Zawilah Illustration 3. Weight frequency distribution of dinar specimens. MahdTyah Mansilriyah Zawilah Grams 4.35 4.3 4.25 4.2 4.15 4.1 4.05 4 3.95 3.90 3.85 3.8 3.75 3.7 3.65 3.6 0 o 0 o o o 0 00 00 000 00 0 0 0@ 0 0 0 0 0e o0 o a OS * *S Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 35 c. The size and weight of the Zawilah di-nrs While the diameter of the Zawilah specimens-ca. 22 mls.-corre- sponds more or less with that of the contemporary North African dinars, the same is not true of their weight. The weight of an overwhelming major- ity of North African dinars struck during the rule of al-Hakim and al-Zahir (i.e. A.H. 386-427/A.D. 996-1036) falls within the 4.0-4.2 gram limits.7 The weight of the Zawflah specimens is much lower, fluctuating between 3.62 and 3.76 grams. (Nr. 1 = 3.72; Nr. 2 = 3.37; Nr. 3 = 3.74; Nr. 5 = 3.62; Nr. 6 = 3.76; Nr. 7 = 3.62). d. Inscriptions on the Zawilah di-ndrs North African dinars issued during the years of transition from the regime of al-Hakim to that of al-Zahir are charachterized by faulty inscrip- tions. For instance, the usual quotation of Verse 33 from the Ninth Suirah ("arsalahu bi-l-huda . . . al-mushrikina") sometimes appears unfinished' and sometimes irregular.9 They show also irregularities in registrative in- scriptions and in chronological inaccuracies, such as the posthumous listing of the name of al-Hakim.10 The Zawilah specimens suffer from even worse deficiencies. The ob- verse of Nr. 1, 3, and 7 is marred by mistakes in each of the circular inscriptions. The reverse of Nr. 3 lists the word dirham instead of dindr in the basic statement defining denomination of the coin. e. Volume of production The seven specimens constitute an adequate sample to allow specu- lation regarding the quantity of dinars issued in A.H. 414 by the mint of Zawilah. To the extent one can speculate about the volume of coin pro- duction on the basis of the number of dies detected in a sample of coins belonging to the same mint-and-years series,11 it is possible to suggest that the total number of dinars issued in A.H. 414 in Zawilah was very high, especially if one considers its socio-economic environment. The Zawilah sample reveals the use of at least 2 obverse and 3 reverse dies. 36 36 The Commercial Life of Zaw-1lah Illustration 4. Errors in the inscriptions on the Zawiflah dinars (#1, #3, #6). dJ 4~L "AV s o- ZVI(1) li i ,Jj (1) f 411 ()The words between brackets are missing in the text oti the Drn~r. Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 37 Illustration 5. Reverse of specimen nr. 3 showing the word dirham instead of dinar. 38 The Commercial Life of Zawilah Pattern of die distribution in the Zawilah sample. Dinar specimen Obverse Reverse Type of die Type of die BM #1081 A A BN #216 A B Mohamed Mostafa A B BM #108k B B Musee du Bardo #95 B B ANS 1963 B B Musrati B C If the dies were used to their maximum productive capacity their identified number would indicate an output of 10,000 to 20,000 dinars.12 Considering that the annual production of the chief Egyptian mint (Misr) amounted to + 100,000 dindrs,13-stimulated as it was by the magnitude and intensity of political and economic life of the capital city-an output of 10,000-20,000 dinars attained by the provincial mint of Zawilah would constitute a truly impressive accomplishment. II. Textual Evidence Until now no text has come to light attesting, explicitly or implictly, to the activities of a mint in Zawilah. In spite of its political status and its thriving commercial activities which allowed the rulers to amass enviable quantities of money,14 Zawilah is not reported to have possessed a mint of its own. Especially in the Fatimid period Zawilah did not need to strike coins for its main trading zone since under normal political circumstances its monetary needs could be met by the influx of dinars originating from the North African mints of al-Mansilriyah, al-Mahdiyah, or from Egypt (Misr). The absolute lack of textual evidence is corroborated by the fact that there exist no specimens from Zawilah other than the A.H. 414 dTnars. Evidently, had it not been for the A.H. 414 numismatic phenomenon, the question concerning the mint in Zawiflah would not have arisen at all. III. What prompted the production of dindrs in A.H. in Zawilah? The first years of the fifth century of the Hijrah saw a critical dete- rioration of political conditions in the Western provinces of the Fatimid Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 39 Caliphate. Al-Ha kim's listless countermeasures against the spread of anti- Isma-cili feelings and the growing strength of the Sunni Zirif family produced a temporary tension between the latter and Cairo. Between A.H. 407 and 413 IsmacIh followers in Qayrawdn, al-Mansiiriyah and al-Mahdyah were persecuted and massacred.15 It is rather unlikely that the mints of al- Mansiiriyah and al-Mahdfyah continued to issue dinrs with pro-Fdtimid inscriptions, which may be the reason why numismatic collections show no North African specimens dated A.H. 406, 409 and 413. Furthermore, a major revolt of the anti-Fatimid Zanata tribes, which attacked major car- avan routes,16 must have impeded the circulation of gold coinage, possibly leading to a shortage of dina-rs in Zawilah. Although al-Hakim perished in A.H. 411, the official embassy pro- claiming the regime of his successor al-Zahir did not appear in the North African capital of al-Mansilrlyah until A.H. 414. In that year reconciliation between the Zirids and the Fatimid suzerain was solemnly affirmed. In the same year, on 25 Jumada I, Mucizz ibn Badis, the Zirld ruler, entrusted the vizirate to an outstanding administrator, Abui al-Bahar ibn Khalfif, who proved to be extremely successful in reestablishing internal sta- bility and fiscal cohesion.17 To proclaim restoration of Fatimid supremacy, and to resupply the markets with gold coinage, the mints of al-Mansfiryah, of al-Mahdliyah, and of Tardbulus resumed the striking of dinars in the name of the Ismacil-i overlord in Cairo.18 Apparently the production of these dinars or their distribution was deficient since in that same year of A.H. 414 a mint of Zawilah joined in to strike Fatimid dinars. According to the late George C. Miles, the mint in question was lo- cated not in the Zawilah of Fazzan but in Zawilah, the famous and prosper- ous suburb of al-Mahdiyah."9 Although a pressing demand for an increased output of dinars might have been resolved by a temporary activation of a branch of the main Mahdiyah mint, the quality of the Zawl-lah dina-rs con- tradicts the likelihood of such a solution. First, specialists employed to engrave the dies for the striking of dina-rs in the subsidiary mint of al- Mahdfyah could hardly have made the shocking inscriptional errors dis- played by the Zawilah specimens (see above, p. 35). Second, the standard of fineness of the Zawilah specimens was markedly superior to that of the contemporary dinars from al-Mahdlyah and al-Mansirifyah. Finally, the light weight of these specimens constitutes a third argument against an identification of the din-r-producing Zawlah with Zawilah the suburb of al-Mahdiyah. In my opinion, the A.H. 414 Zawflah dinars originated from Fazzan. There, a decrease in the influx of gold coins caused by insecurity of trade 40 The Commercial Life of Zawilah created an unusual demand for the local production of gold coinage. The year of the experiment coincided with the reassertion of Fatimid preponder- ance expressed in the inscriptions on coins produced by the regular North African mints. The improvised mint at Zawilah should not have had much difficulty in refining the alloy for its dinars since gold ore coming from West African regions was of excellent natural quality,20 hence the impressive standard of fineness of the Zawilah specimens. However, it was the quantity rather than the quality of product which was of primary concern to the mint of Zawilah. The mint achieved its objective by disregarding prevailing standards of weight and by issuing lighter and consequently more numerous dinars. The disregard for quality, as well as the haste, experience, or carelessness in the operations of the Zaw-lah mint were all reflected in the inscriptions of its dinars. Again, it would seem obvious that the mint of Zawrlah did not secure the services of an experienced engraver. The one responsible for the man- ufacture of the dies commanded neither the art of designing, engraving, calligraphy, or even orthography. There existed no earlier dinars to serve as prototypes. Significantly, the word Zawilah constitutes the most poorly executed element in the entire set of inscriptions. On the other hand, the engraver must have used a relatively new coin for his model since the com- positional arrangement of the inscriptions, including the listing of the name of the newly enthroned al-Zdhir, shows no innovative deviations. It is con- ceivable that the model consisted of a dirham. This and the carelessness or ignorance of the engraver would account for the appearance of the word "dirham" on some of the Zawilah d7nars. As mentioned above (see p. 35) some diTnars showed errors in religious inscriptions. Obviously the quality control in that mint could hardly have been effective if faulty dies were allowed in production and its products allowed to leave the mint. After the release in A.H. 414 of a considerable quantity of dinars for circulation-possibly as many as 10,000 to 20,000 pieces -the mint of Zawilah discontinued its operations. Profound political, social, and eco- nomic changes affecting North Africa did not call for a continuation of the production of gold coinage in Fazzan. Whatever the economic or monetary impact of the mint of Zawilah might have been, today the only traces of its existence consist of the eight surviving dinars of A.H. 414. Few as these numismatic specimens are, they constitute a very important body of evidence singling out a year in the life of the commercial community of medieval Zawilah-A.H. 414-the year of the opening of a mint in this remote but busy caravan trade center. Andrew S. Ehrenkreutz 41 Notes 1 Tadeusz Lewicki, 'La repartition geographique des groupements ibi4dites dans l'Afrique du Nord au moyen-age,' Rocznik Orientalistyczny, 21, 1957, p. 342-343; for a collection of relevant texts, written by medieval geographers and travelers, see Muhammad Yaisuf Najm and Ihsan ,Abbas, Libiyi ft kutub al-jughrdfryah wa al.rihlit, Benghizi, 1968. 2 B.G. Martin, 'Notes on the political history of a trade route,' Journal of African History, 10, 1969, p. 18. 3 Mohamed Mostafa, 'Islamic Objects of Art,' Libya Antiqua, 2, 1965, p. 127. 4 Hady Roger Idris, La Berberie Orientale Sous Les Zfrids, Paris, 1962, p. 539. s According to an authoritative opinion of Dr. Michael L. Bates, Curator of Islamic Coins in the American Numismatic Society, item Nr. 4 may possibly be one and the same coin as Nr. 6 which in 1963 was acquired by ANS. 6 I am indebted to Dr. W. A. Oddy from the British Museum Laboratory for kindly providing me the data for the graph. 7 The graph illustrating this point is based on information derived from a scrutiny of the following numismatic works: J. Farrugia de Candia, op. cit.,; S. Lane-Poole, op. cit.; idem, Catalogue of the Collection of Arabic Coins preserved in the Khedivial Library at Cairo, London, 1897 (hereafter S. Lane-Poole, Kh.); H. Lavoix, op. cit.; G. C. Miles, Fdtimid coins in the collection of the University Museum, Philadelphia, and the American Numismatic Society, (Numismatic Notes and Monographs No. 121) New York, 1951 (hereafter FC), as well as on the data furnished by Dr. W. A. Oddy. 8 E.g. A.H. 410-BM/IV/95; BM/IX/114c; A.H. 415-J. Farrugia de Candia, op. cit., #67. 9 E.g. A.H. 419-FC/245; A.H. 420-FC/246. 10 E.g. A.H. 412 (al-Mansfiriyah)-J. Farrugia de Candia, op. cit., #65; S. Lane- Poole, Kh., #1057; A.H. 415 (Tripolis)-J. Farrugia de Candia, op. cit., #67. 11 A.S. Ehrenkreutz, 'Numismatics re-monetized,' Michigan Oriental Studies in honor of George G. Cameron, Ann Arbor, 1976, p. 215. 12 A.S. Ehrenkreutz, 'Numismato-statistical reflections on the annual gold produc- tion of the Tilinid mint in Egypt,' Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 20, 1977, p. 270, n. 10. 13 Cf. A.S. Ehrenkreutz, art. cit., p. 277. 14 Rihlat al-Tijdn in Muhammad Yfisuf Najm and Ihsan ,Abbis, op. cit., p. 123. s15 H.R. Idris, op. cit., p. 143 f. 16 Ibid., p. 150, 159. 17 Ibid., p. 160. 18 The mint of Tarabulus issued dinrs in the name of al-IHIkim, see above, note 10. 19 FC, p. 50. 20 Ronald A. Messier, 'The Almoravids-West African gold and the gold currency of the Mediterranean Basin,' Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 17, 1974, p. 36-37. The Flying Scroll in Zechariah 5:1-4 DAVID NOEL FREEDMAN University of Michigan N Zechariah 5:1-4, in the sixth of Zechariah's "night visions", the prophet reports a curious vision of a "flying scroll" (me'gilla^ cpd). The account of the vision is as follows: 1. Then I raised my eyes again and I looked and behold a flying scroll (me-gilla- cdpd). 2. And he (the angel or messenger) said to me, "What do you see?" And I said, "I see a flying scroll. Its length is twenty cubits and its width is ten cubits." 3. And he said to me, "This is the curse that goes forth across the whole earth. For every thief on this side like it has been acquitted and every one who swears (falsely) on that side like it has been acquitted. 4. I have brought (will bring) it forth-oracle of Yahweh and Hosts- and it will enter into the house of the thief and into the house of the one who swears by my name for a lie and it will lodge in the midst of his house and it will destroy it-both sticks and stones." (Zech 5:1-4) This short but intriguing passage causes us to ask the same question posed by the angel, "what did Zechariah see?" Some of the specific ques- tions that this study will attempt to address are as follows: 1) What does the term "scroll" refer to here? 2) What is the significance of the dimen- sions of the scroll? 3) What is the significance of the message written on the scroll? The term megillah poses no problems as it is the common term used for "scroll" throughout the Hebrew Bible. Many believe that it is "a shortened form of the phrase 'rolled book'" (megillat-siper) found in Psalm 40:8 (E7); Ezek 2:9 and Isa 34:4.1 Nevertheless the term by itself seems to be quite clear and must represent an ancient scroll much like those that have been discovered at Qumran in the last 40 years. That prophetic writings were David Noel Freedman 43 written on scrolls in the time of Zechariah is clear from the description of the scroll of Jeremiah (Jer 36). Scrolls consisting of both papyrus and parchment are known from early times; and we can only speculate as to the composition of the scroll in the vision.2 The association of scrolls with prophets, in which a specially revealed scroll contains the words of the Lord, is also well known. Although the word "scroll" is not used, Jeremiah reports that he has eaten the words of the Lord and found them sweet (Jer 15:16). Ezekiel affirms that he has eaten the words of the Lord con- tained in a scroll and found them sweet in his stomach (Ezek 2:8-3:3). The case of John the Revelator in New Testament times is similar, but with an important difference; he found the scroll "sweet in his mouth but bitter in his belly" (Rev 10:8-11). The flying scroll in Zechariah, however, is not to be eaten but read. Besides this, it is clearly no ordinary scroll either in its proportions or in its airborne capabilities. It is difficult to determine whether the statement of the dimensions of the scroll is part of the prophet's response to the angel or simply an aside to the reader, but the fact that the dimensions are stated at all has led to much discussion as to their significance. Most commentators readily note that the measurements of this scroll, twenty cubits long by ten cubits wide (ca. 30 x 15 feet or 10 x 5 meters), besides being inordinately large, clearly do not fit the proportions of any known scroll from antiquity. Assuming that the first measurement refers to the horizontal dimension of the scroll, they are quick to point out that whereas the Qumran Isaiah scroll, one of the longest of the scrolls from Qumran, measures about 24 feet long (7.34 meters) it is only about 11 inches high. Therefore most commentators have concluded that the scroll itself must simply be a great sheet of leather or papyrus that is completely unrolled-a "flying billboard" of some sort.3 Furthermore the measurements of the flying scroll in Zechariah are the same as those given for the "porch" (,iIdm) of Solomon's Temple as described in 1 Kings 6:3. Much of the scholarly effort in the past has been expended in searching for a symbolic meaning of the dimensions of the scroll that is somehow related to the Temple. Since the Temple is a central theme in several of the other visions of Zechariah, numerous theories have been advanced which connect the dimensions of the scroll with those of the Temple, and which usually involve complex theological speculations about the message of the entire book of Zechariah.4 While there may be some merit to this symbolism, the fact that a convincing relationship between the scroll and its message and the Temple is not apparent, and the attempts to demonstrate such a relationship are so varied and without any consensus, suggests that a simpler, more realistic or even obvious explanation may be 44 The Flying Scroll in order. Underlying the following proposal is the assumption or theory that prophetic visions, like dreams, are ultimately rooted in actual often prosaic and commonplace elements and events. Sometimes they consist in nothing more than ordinary objects such as a basket of summer fruit (Amos 8:1- 3) or an almond tree (Jer 1:11-12). In these cases the larger or deeper significance of the vision lies in an analogy, the link between the vision and the message being established by a play on words (kelib qayis//q s: harvest time//end; J-qed//i5qMd: almond branch//watching over the nation). In other cases the vision itself includes unusual or remarkable features as is the case here. Scrolls as such are part of everyday life, well known to all, but especially in literate, literary, and priestly/prophetic circles. This particular scroll is remarkable in two respects: 1) it is flying and not by accident; and 2) it has very large dimensions. The key to understanding the former feature is that the scroll has its place of origin in heaven and comes from the divine court itself. The key to the other element is to be found in the ratio of the two dimensions specified, namely 2:1. This is entirely realistic and in order for scrolls generally and biblical scrolls in particular, as we know from later if not contemporary evidence. What is extraordinary is the great size of what the prophet sees. An examination of the biblical scrolls from Qumran demonstrates that there is a general 2:1 ratio between the height and width of columns of writing in the scrolls. There is some variation in the dimensions of the written columns throughout each individual scroll, apparently due in part to the varying length of the leather pieces that are sewn together, and the fact that the columns are arranged on each piece to allow the seam to remain in the margin. Although these scrolls are of a much later date than the scroll in Zechariah's vision the 2:1 ratio of height to width may have been standardized in very early times. Therefore we propose that the dimensions given for the flying scroll represent simply one column-the column to be read by Zechariah-of a gigantic heavenly scroll, and rather than having a purely symbolic meaning may simply reflect the commonly recognized dimensions of a column of biblical text but on a vast scale. The proposed solution is based on the attested practice of reading scrolls. Normally a scroll is rolled up, on one or two rollers, but when it is being read, it is partially unrolled. Since the prophet apparently could read what was written on the scroll, it must have been unrolled to the extent of exposing at least one column. What the prophet saw, therefore, was a single column or panel of the scroll, while the rest of the scroll remained rolled up. David Noel Freedman 45 One of the reasons that this solution apparently has not been sug- gested before is the way that the measurements are presented. When one reads that the scroll is 20 cubits long one immediately imagines this mea- surement to represent the horizontal dimension, while the 10-cubit mea- surement would represent the height or vertical dimension. Hebrew ex- pressions of measurement, much like English expressions, seem to follow a regular pattern. Whereas in English measurements are given with the smaller dimension first (e.g. 2" x 4" piece of lumber, a 3" x 5" index card, or an 8 1/2" x 11" sheet of paper), in Hebrew the larger dimension uni- formly appears first regardless of the terminology used: of length, height, width (or breadth), or depth. So in the case of essentially two-dimensional objects the space defined would measure 20 cubits in the larger dimension and 10 cubits in the smaller dimension, however these are specified. The only thing we can be sure of is that the larger number will be given first and the smaller one second. Assuming that the dimensions given in the vision refer to a gigantic column of text (measuring 20 cubits x 10 cubits) we can hypothetically deduce the dimensions of the rest of the scroll. The dimensions of the Qumran Isaiah scroll, where the height of a column is roughly 25 cm. (exactly 26.2 cm./ 10 5/6 inches including the margins) and its width is 12.5 cm./5 inches (the average of the 54 extant columns is 12.6 cm.) will be used as a guide. Assuming a cubit is about half a meter this means that the columns are 1/4 of a meter high and 1/8 of a meter wide (ca. 10 inches by 5 inches), or 1/2 cubit by 1/4 cubit-which is a 1:40 ratio to the flying scroll i.e., the dimensions of the flying scroll are 40 times those of the Isaiah scroll. Since the Isaiah scroll is about 7 meters long (7.34 meters/ 24 5/16 feet), the flying scroll in Zechariah would be proportionally 280 meters long or 560 cubits and the letters correspondingly large. Taking the size of a letter to be between .50 and .75 cm. (actually they vary quite a bit depending on which letter of the alphabet is measured), this would make a letter on a scroll with columns of 20 by 10 cubits about 20-30 cm. high (1/4 of a meter/ 10 inches). This means that a letter on the flying scroll would be about the same height as an entire column of text in the Qumran Isaiah scroll. Continuing with this hypothetical reconstruction of the nature and size of this heavenly scroll we can further speculate on the possible maximum distance at which the prophet saw the scroll so as to be able to read the writing on it. The standard measure of a 20/20 vision is the formula "5 minutes of arc at 20 feet," which means that an 8 mm. letter can be seen (in ideal lighting of course) by a person with 20/20 vision at 20 feet. Applied 46 The Flying Scroll to the letters of the flying scroll this means that a letter of 1/4 meter could be seen at up to 600 feet.5 The prophet apparently is trying to make out the writing on a column of a huge scroll that was flying several hundred feet above the earth and in a night vision possibly illuminated by the moon or some other means. In any case he seems to have had difficulty making it out, whether because it was far away, moving rapidly, or wasn't very well illuminated. In any case he estimates its size in round numbers that represent the 2:1 ratio of the specific column that is open to his view. As to what was written on the scroll Zechariah was able to make out two catch phrases: "every thief on this side has been acquitted" and "everyone who swears (falsely) on that side like it has been acquitted" (Zech 5:3). Is this scroll possibly written on both sides like the stone tablets of the Decalogue? Or perhaps it is like the scroll of Ezekiel which is said to have had "writing on the front and on the back" (Ezek 2:10)6 and which as it flies through the air is turning from side to side so that Zechariah only caught a glimpse of what was written on each side about stealing and false swearing? These indictments are immediately recognizable as similar to the terms of the Mosaic covenant found in the Decalogue and suggest a serious breach of this covenant. Rather than the terminology of the Decalogue found in Exodus 20, Deuteronomy 27:15-26, or Hosea 4:1-2, the specific language of these two indictments is more reminiscent of the first and the fourth terms of the Decalogue stated in Jeremiah 7:9 where Jeremiah enumerates the violations of the covenant as: "stealing, murder, adultery, swearing falsely, burning incense to Baal and going after other gods whom you did not know." The Book of Jeremiah was known to have been written on a scroll even before the destruction of Jerusalem (Jer 36) and must have been finished and in circulation by 560 B.C.E.7 Therefore it would have been available to, and may even have been known by, the prophet Zechariah. Confirming or at least supporting evidence is to be found in the Book of Zechariah. Note especially the "seventy years" of exile predicted by Jeremiah in Jer 25:11 and 29:10 recalled by the later prophet in the accounts of his visions in Zech 1:12 and 7:5. We conclude therefore that what Zechariah saw in this vision was indeed a scroll, flying in the sky, but more particularly a scroll opened so that a single column was exposed to view. This column was written on both sides, the writing being of sufficient size to be read by the prophet who was presumably on the ground, the distance being approximately 500 feet or more. This column itself had the normal ratio of height to width: 2:1, a ratio that is very common among the Qumran scrolls generally and David Noel Freedman 47 particularly uniform or constant among biblical scrolls. The overall dimen- sions, however, were enormous as befits a heavenly as opposed to an earthly scroll. In each particular the scroll in the vision is 40 times the size of stan- dard or ordinary scrolls. We may suggest further that the scroll seen by the prophet belonged to the collection of such sacred writings of the heavenly palace itself-which provides a clue as to the dimensions of the palace and the members of the heavenly court. The ratio of 1:40 could be understood to apply to all the corresponding elements: i.e., the heavenly temple would be 40 times the size of the earthly replica whether tabernacle or temple (which were of different sizes but related by a simple ratio to each other) and presumably the heavenly personnel-or at least some of them. Notes The author wishes to thank David R. Seely for help with the final revisions of this article. 1 D. Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1-8: A Commentary (Philadelphia: West- minster, 1984) pp. 245-46. 2 "Papyrus pieces datable to the eighth-seventh centuries have been found at Wadi Murabbacit, and some of the Dead Sea Scrolls were written on leather. M. Haran argues that the transition from papyrus to leather took place earlier in the postexilic period as part of a more general Aramaization of the ancient Near East ('Bible Scrolls in the Early Second Temple Period-The Transition from Papyrus to Skins,' Eretz Israel 19, (1982, 86-92)," Petersen 1984: p. 246. 3 See for example the description proposed by H. Mitchell et al. Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi, Jonah. International Critical Commentary (New York: Charles Scribner's, 1912). He describes it as "a flying roll . . . it was open . . . presenting as it passed through the air, the appearance of a great sheet of leather." (p. 168). 4 This interpretation apparently was already known in the Rabbinic tradition by Rashi and others who noting the correspondence of the dimensions of the scroll with those of the porch of the Temple of Solomno "suggested that this scroll came from the Sanctuary to execute judgment upon sinners," A. Cohen, The Twelve Prophets, Soncino Books of the Bible series (London: Soncino Press, 1948), p. 287 n. 2. See Petersen p. 247 n. 5 for a list of some of the modern commentators who have proposed such a relationship between the dimensions of the scroll and the temple porch. Probably the most comprehensive and convincing assessment of the importance of the temple in the interpretation of the "night visions" in Zechariah 1-6 is B. Halpern, "The Ritual Background of Zechariah's Temple Song," CBQ 40, 1978, pp. 167-190. The section dealing with the flying scroll is found on pp. 178-179 where Halpern concludes that the "covenant oath" written on the scroll "may depict, impressionistically, the dispensation of justice at the foundation of the new temple." s I was able to confirm the visibility of words on road signs at a distance of between .1 mile (=ca. 520 ft.) and .2 mile when travelling by car on an Interstate highway. The letters on directional signs e.g. EXIT, etc. are perhap 8-10 inches high, or approximately 48 The Flying Scroll the same as those on the flying scroll, and are dearly legible at the distances suggested in this study. 6 This depends on the interpretation of the difficult mizzeh kdmoha "on this side like it ... on that side like it" (Zech 5:3) which is rendered in the RSV as "henceforth according to it." That it indeed refers to a scroll that is written on both sides is confirmed by Jewish tradition (See A. Cohen p. 287 n. 3,4) as well as some modern commentators- especially S. Amsler Aggde, Zacharie, Malachie. Commentaire de 'Ancien Testament XIc (Neuchatel-Paris: Delachaux & Niestle, 1981) p. 97. 7 The last chapter of Jeremiah contains essentially the same postscript as 2 Kings 25 which gives the final date of the Primary History (Gen-2 Kings) as 561/0 B.C.E. This date and the lack of post-exilic changes and additions to the Primary History as well as the prophetic books such as Jeremiah and Ezekiel has led me to view that 561/0 actually represents the terminus ad quem for the compilation of these books. Jeremiah may well have been published as early as 582/1. See D.N. Freedman, "The Law and the Prophets," Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 9 (1963) pp. 250-65 and "The Earliest Bible," Michigan Quarterly Review 22:3 (1983) pp. 167-75 for a more complete discussion of this proposal as well as for further references. Brief Observations on the Syntax of RS 1957.702* CHARLES KRAHMALKOV University of Michigan ACOMMON feature of classical Phoenician syntax is the anticipatory clause serving to emphasize the subject or predicate of a sentence. In Ugaritic this same feature is thrice attested in RS1957.702, the adden- dum to a lease guaranteeing the return of a fifty silver-shekel deposit to a men's sodality (mrzh) by its landlord in the event of an illegal eviction. This unique legal document, first published by P. D. Miller in 1971,1 has been the subject of considerable scholarly discussion in recent years,2 but the meaning of the text remains in dispute. The principal obstacle to trans- lation, as I shall attempt to demonstrate in this study, is syntax, in specific, the failure to perceive the several instances of anticipatory clauses and, in one instance, the presence of a temporal sentence with anticipatory clause. The syntactic structures in question have all direct parallels in Phoenician and, once these are recognized, the text may be seen to be logically and co- herently presented. My immediate purpose is therefore to focus on syntax as it pertains to the meaning and intent of RS 1957.702. Preliminary to an examination of the text itself, a word is in order concerning the legal background. A certain men's sodality had rented space for its periodic meetings in a building belonging to a landlord named Shamumdnu. As a formal token of its good faith, in accordance with Ugaritic law, the sodality had deposited fifty shekels silver with the land- lord. This transaction, together with the general terms of the lease, were set down in a document (not extant) and placed in the legal archives of the city. Subsequently, an addendum to the master lease (the present docu- ment) was filed in which the rights of the tenants were addressed, perhaps by reason of their suspicion that the landlord might evict them without due cause and seek to claim the deposit. The addendum to the lease is written in three logically sequenced legal clauses. In the first, the landlord is quoted to have stipulated to his tenants before witnesses that he will 50 The Syntax of RS 1957.702 repay their deposit in the event of an illegal eviction. The second clause requires the landlord to waive the right to contest this agreement in a court of law. In the final clause, which sums up the intent of the document, the tenants are assured repayment of their deposit upon demand. We are to understand that Shamumanu, as any landlord, reserved the right to evict tenants for due cause and, if such cause could be demon- strated, was entitled to retain their deposit. The matter addressed in the present document involves the disposition of this deposit when due cause cannot be shown. A second preliminary matter need be addressed. Peculiar to the or- thography of RS 1957.702 is the bivalence of the grapheme W. In lines 5, 11, 14, 20 the grapheme is employed to represent the phoneme /w/ in the writing of the conjunction W-. However, this same grapheme is thrice used to represent the phoneme /h/: BTH (4), LHM (6), HM (6). This is purely a graphemic matter, not one entailing phonology, morphology or lexicon. The Text Obverse MRZH DQNY SMMN B. BTH 5 WST. IBSA LHM. HM. AG- RSKM. B. BTY KSP IsMSM 10 []Sc Reverse WSM {.} MN RB. AL. YDD MT. MRZH WYRGM. L- 15 SMMN. TN. KSP. TQL DcMNK TQLM . YSc YPH. IIJIRSP BN . UDRNN W. cBDN BN. SGLD As for the sodality which Shamumanu has acquired (as tenants) in the house belonging to him, he has fixed (the following) indemnity (to be paid) to them: "If I (illegally) evict you from the house belonging to me, the fifty (pieces) of silver shall I repay?' As for Shamumdnu, he shall not undertake a lawsuit. As for the members of the sodality, when they say to Shamumanu "Give (back) the weighed silver which is (deposited) with you!", he shall repay the pieces. The witness(es) are Ibrlp son of Udrnn and cbdn son of Sgld. Charles Krahmalkov 51 Comments In the first legal clause (1-10) lines 1-4 stand in anticipation of the main sentence (5-10). We may compare the syntax of Kilamuwa 11-13 (KAI 24) WMJ. BL HZ . PN . S. STY . BL . cDR .WMY . BL HZ. PN. ,LP . STY . BcL BQR. WBcL. KSP. WBcL . HRS. WMY . BL . HZ . KTN . LMNcRY . WBYMY . KSY . BS. "As for whomever did not see the face of a sheep, I made him the owner of a flock. And as for whomever did not see the face of an ox, I made him the owner of cattle and the owner of silver and the owner of gold. And as for whomever did not see a tunic since his youth, in my days they dressed him in fine linen." In Punic the anticipatory clause is very common, as illustrated by the two following examples: CIS i 3787.5-7 WKL ,DM 'S GNB T MTNT Z NKST TNT [P]N BcL " As for anyone who shall steal this presentation, Thinnith- Phanebal shall kill him"; CIS i 4945.4-6 W'S YRGZ T MTNT Z QBT TNT PN BcL "As for him who shall disturb this presentation, Thinnith- Phanebal shall curse him."3 Other examples of this usage will be discussed below in connection with the third legal clause (13-18). The fifty pieces of silver mentioned in this legal clause were the deposit placed by the sodality in the keeping of the landlord as is clear from line 16, in which the money is said to be "with," that is, in the possession of Shamumanu. We may compare the parallel use of the preposition in 1 Samuel 9:23: WY'MR SMW'L LTBH TNH 'T-HMNH 'SR NTTY LK 'SR 'MRTY' LYK SYM 'TH cMK "And Samuel said to the cook, 'Give (back) the portion which I gave you, which I told you "Set it aside by you" "'. Here it should be observed that Samuel requests the return of the portion with the imperative of the verb /n-t-n/ in precisely the same manner as the sodality demands the return of its deposit in TN . KSP . TQL DcMNK (15-16). In 6, the term IBSA, as Halpern argues,4 is surely the Akkadian ibissu (ibissa'u) "damages (indemnified); financial loss," that is, the amount of the deposit to be forfeited by the landlord to his tenants upon an illegal eviction. In the second legal clause (11-12) line 11 is in anticipation.5 The precise meaning of the verb YDD is uncertain. However, the verb surely governs the substantive RB, which must be understood as riba (accusative) "lawsuit." Contextual inference suggests, then, that RB YDD must denote the undertaking of a suit in a court of law, here for the specific purpose of contesting the terms of the lease requiring the return of the deposit. In the third legal clause (13-17) line 13 is in anticipation. What follows is a virtual temporal sentence, lines 14-16 its subordinate clause and line 17 52 The Syntax of RS 1957.702 the main clause. Comparable syntactically are two examples in Phoenician of virtual conditional sentences with anticipatory clause: Kilamuwa 13-15 (KAI24) WMY. BBNY ,S. YSB . THTN. WYZQ. BSPR Z. MSKBM. 'L YKBD . LBcRRM "As for whichever of my sons shall sit in my place, if he damages this inscription, let not the mskbm respect the bcrrm"; Ahiram 2 (KAI 1) WL . MLK. BMLKM . WSKN . BSNM . WTM'. MHNT . cLY. GBL. WYGL . 'RN . ZN. THTSP . HTR. MSPTH . THTPK . KS'. MLKH . WNHT . TBRH. cL . GBL . "As for any king or any governor or any commander of the army in charge of Byblos, if he reveals this coffin, his sceptre of authority shall be stripped, his royal throne shall be overturned and peace shall depart from Byblos." Recognition of the presence in the text of the anticipatory clause per- mits rational translation, as does also the recognition in 14-17 of a virtual temporal sentence. In earlier interpretations of the document these syntac- tic structures are not observed, hence the abstruse character of the trans- lations. This may be illustrated by the translations of lines 1-17 heretofore proposed. Miller The marzih which Samumanu established in his house. Now I have provided a storeroom (ibsn) for you; (1km.0) and if (wm) I drive you out from my house, fifty (shekels) of silver I will pay. And Samumdnu is chief. Let not arise a man of the marzih and say to Samumdnu: "Give money, a shekel, which is in your possession." Two shekels he will pay. Dahood The club which Samumanu owned/set up in his house. "And I will make a stall (ibsn) for you (lkm.0, and I will drive you out from my house." Fifty (shekels) of silver had been removed, so Samumanu brought suit lest the club members should begin to say to Samumanu: "Give the silver, the shekels that are with you, the shekels (that) have been removed." Fenton The mrzh-society which Samumdnu has established in his house assigning it (lit. "and he assigned") as dining-quarters (ibsn) for you (lkm.o. In the event that I expel you from my house I shall forfeit a sum of fifty (shekels). Further, (as regards) Samumdnu the President, let no member of the marzih arise Charles Krahmalkov 53 and say to Samumdnu, "Give up the fund, pay over what you have," he will forfeit two shekels. Halpern RE: The funerary society that Shamumanu established/acquired in/from btw (for a btw?). The assessment of expenses/damages (ibsa) he demanded (lwm): "(or?) I shall evict you from my house." Fifty pieces of silver they paid over. Shamumanu pleaded; "Let not the funerary society depart." But it was decreed to Shamumanu: "Give back the silver, the pieces that you have!" He has paid over the pieces. Friedman The mrzh which Shamumdnu established in his house: "I have provided our storeroom for them (lwm). If I drive you out, in my house fifty (shekels) of silver I shall pay. And Shamumdnu is chief. Let not rise a man of the mrzh and say to Shamumanu, "Give money, a shekel which is in your possession." They paid the shekels. Notes * The author wishes to express his appreciation to Mr. Morris Lieberman, former president of the Long Beach-Los Altos (California) Board of Realtors for his help in establishing the character of RS 1957.702 as an addendum to a lease. 1 "The MRZH Text" in Claremont Ras Shamra Tablets. L. R. Fisher, ed. (Rome, 1971), 37-49. 2 M. Dahood, "Additional Notes on the MRZH Text" in The Claremont Ras Shamra Tablets, ibid., 52-54. T. L. Fenton, "The Claremont 'MRZII' Tablet, Its Text and Meaning," Ugarit Forschungen 9 (1977), 71-76. B. Halpern, "A Landlord-Tenant Dis- pute at Ugarit," Maarav 2/1 (1979), 121-140. R. E. Friedman, "The MRZH Tablet from Ugarit," Maarav 2/2 (1979-80), 187-206. 3 The syntax of these and numerous other Punic examples is discussed in detail in my article "The Qatal with Future Tense Reference in Phoenician and Punic" in Journal of Semitic Studies, 31 (1986), pp.5-10. 4 Halpern, op. cit., 137, 139 n. 54. The reading of the final letter of this word is not dear, but IBSA is dearly preferable to IBSN, which makes no sense in the context. 5 We may compare the syntax of UT 2059.26-27 (PRU V 81) W . AI JY . MHK B SLBH . AL . YST "As for my brother, let him play no care in his mind!" A Palestinian Journalist Looks Back TREVOR LEGASSICK University of Michigan T HE writing of books of biography or autobiography is rarely undertaken in Arabic. There has always been a sense in Arab-Muslim society that it is inappropriate to write anything potentially embarrassing or critical about the dead; it has been felt that they should be left in peace, and that God, not man, should judge them. Consequently, works of biographies tend to be highly selective in their content and to lack that sense of intimacy and close understanding that commonly characterizes those written in other languages. For the same reason, Arabic autobiographies for Arab public figures prominent in the arts, culture or even political life have been rare. This seems to stem from a sense of personal privacy as well as a desire not to offend or even comment upon those who have had influence upon the course of the writer's life. This caution is easily understood in a society where the revelation of personal details might result in dishonor and even danger to oneself or to others. This paucity of works of either biography or autobiography limits, of course, the understanding of Arab society at any period that one may acquire from reading, and it is therefore, refreshing and exciting to come upon a work by a contemporary figure, still alive, who reveals important details of the contacts he has had with many of the most prominent figures of his society throughout a long lifetime. The work is al-HIibr Aswad, Aswad (The Ink is Very Black), a recent memoir by the prominent Palestinian journalist Nasir al-Din al-Nashdshibi, born in 1924 to one of Jerusalem's elite families. His entree to public affairs was, as he freely acknowledges, facilitated by his family connections; his uncle Raghib Bey al-Nashashibi was a rival of Hajj Amin al-Husaini and his clan for leadership of the Arab Muslim community in Palestine during the Mandate period. At times this rivalry was strenuous and even violent, with each family representing a Trevor LeGassick 55 different viewpoint concerning how best to serve the interests of the Arab community in its struggle with the Zionists for supremacy over Palestine. In al-Hibr Aswad, Aswad (Beirut, no date but from internal evidence written in 1975), we gain much insight into the conflicts over personality and policy that have been significant in determining the course of events in Palestine and the Arab world in the past half century. The book contains an appendix of photographs depicting the author in close company with Arab leaders of the period. Their range is remarkable and the text of the book relates the author's impressions of meetings with and in some cases the personality of major figures of the revolutionary regime of Egypt, including Abdel Nasser and Anwar al-Sadat, as well as leaders of the Arab monarchies, King Abdullah of Jordan, Kings Faisal and Fahad of Saudi Arabia, King Faysal II of Iraq and his uncle Abdul Ilah, and King Hasan of Morocco. Along with these impressions there are also references to the prime ministers and other governmental leaders who served these heads of state. In addition, as a working journalist, al-Nashashibi had personal contact with a range of literary figures and political commentators perhaps unrivalled in its breadth. Al-Nashdshibi does not engage in mere "name dropping;" he does not hesitate to draw out the nature of the policy issues these figures confronted and to comment on the errors of judgement he considers them to have made. For the mistakes that have been made by Arab leaders in these years are clearly many; and the tenour of the book is one of regret for the parlous nature of the Arab world in the 1970's. The tale al-Nasha-shibi tells is one of lost opportunities and failed policies, and he gives the impression of seeing them all in an unusually clear and critical perspective from his retirement home in Geneva. The following passage in translation is the entirety of the second chap- ter of his book. In it he takes us back to the 1940's and beyond, telling us of his own experiences as a journalist and a member of a prominent Palestinian family, giving valuable impressions of the Arab dilemma of the period and of the personalities of the leaders responsible for decision mak- ing. From this account we are reminded of various aspects of this ongoing struggle, and we gain new insight into why and how Arab Palestine became transformed into the Jewish state of Israel. A Journalist in Their Homes "No man born of woman, no matter who, can escape his destiniy." Homer, The Iliad. The Summer of 1945. 56 A Palestinian Journalist The Palestinian leader Miisa al-cAlamfl asked me to join him in work in the "makatib al-carabiyya," the "Arab Offices," an organization he planned to establish with funding from Iraq and from the Arab League- large-scale funding from the former, minimal from the latter. When we met in the old Shepheards Hotel in Cairo, al-cAlamI! told me, "The Palestine struggle, due to circumstances arising from the ending of World War II, is now entering a new, crucial stage. People everywhere know that the Jews suffered severe persecution from the Nazis and today they are demanding Palestine as compensation for their suffering. But people are not aware that Palestine has its own population and cause. What we lack is a forceful, intelligent voice with which to direct our point of view to the world. I have therefore decided to create "the Arab Office." We will be joined by a group of young Palestinians who will be the nucleus of this organization in Jerusalem, London and Washington. How would you like to be a member in its headquarters, first in Jerusalem and then later abroad?" I immediately accepted what my great friend offered. I well knew that he had not invited me to join because of his admi- ration for me as a person or as a journalist; he had done so to please my since-deceased uncle, Raghib Pasha al-Nashashibi,2 to win his friendship at a time when al-cAlam! would be engaging in fierce political warfare against Hajj Amin al-Husain3 and his group. I returned to Jerusalem to begin my work with al-cAlari in his old house in the Misrara quarter, close by the city walls. Thus I found myself cut off from the world of journalism in which I had begun to live in Cairo. However, a letter from there arrived from Muhammad al-Tabii, telling me he was undertaking a complete reorganization of the magazine Akhir Sdca, planning to double the number of pages, and to change its content matter, print format and color. Moreover he wanted me to write a weekly article for his magazine for which I could set the fee. How could I do this now? I telegraphed al-TdbicT apologising for my inability to accept the offer because of my having joined the "Arab Offices," the contractual obligation for which prevented me from undertaking any work other than my official duties. Next, al-Tabic telegraphed me an unexpected suggestion: he would publish my articles under the pseudonym of "Nur al-DTn." And, he told me, he would accept no excuse. Consequently, on the insistence of this old friend of mine, I soon found myself sending him my first article. Less than a week later the Jews blew up an entire wing of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem.4 Al-Tdbici telegraphed, asking me to wire him a Trevor LeGassick 57 full account of the bombing of the hotel. I well know of al-Tdbic!'s affection for the King David. It was there he used to go to visit Asmahan, his life- long friend. In that same hotel al-Tabic! used to get news of Queen Nazli and her daughters, of Mustafd al-Nahhs, Zaynab al-Wakil, Ahmad Salim, King Zog, Amiffna al-Brfidl, some of the top leaders of Egypt, and also those of Britain who had resided in that hotel during the Second World War .5 The King David Hotel represents an integral part of the history of the Middle East. The walls of its rooms hold the most sensitive of secrets and those plots and plans that have delineated the future of the Arabs, the Jews, the British and others in the region. It had been my habit to visit this hotel at all times of the day and night, meeting foreign journalists or Arab friends in its rooms, buying the foreign newspapers, and always seeking the latest news and secrets. At noon on that black day I was inside the hotel enjoying the friendship of that immortal actress Asmahan when the bomb went off in the right wing. So I witnessed death and destruction. The Regency Room, where the world's elite would dance and spend their evenings, was transformed into a mass of rubble and bodies, flying champagne bottles mingling with screams of terror, shouts for help and wailing sirens. Some guests in the hotel came down from their rooms wearing sleep attire, some undressed. More than a hundred employees of the general secretariat of the government of Palestine were buried beneath the rubble. A pall of death and destruction hung over all of Jerusalem. I sent off a wire to al-Tabici describing in detail what I had witnessed, and the article was published in Akhir Sdca under my new name of "Nur al-Dln." Mustafa Amin learned, through his own information sources, that I had associated with Al-Tabici; wishing to confirm this, he wired, asking me to provide Akhbdr al-Yawm with a weekly article. And despite my connection with Akhir Saca, my weakness for Mustafa's friendship was such that I did not hesitate to accept, after my friend and boss Miisa al-cAlani had agreed. I well knew that the readers of Akhbdr al-Yawm would not stomach long or heavy articles; they wanted news that was scandalous, tragic or funny, "sandwich" pieces quickly eaten and digested. Such readers would be scared away by articles delineating the history of the Palestine cause, for example, or Zionist policy in the Middle East, or Britain's imperialist games against the Arabs. However, at the same time, I was not and could never be a scandal monger or tattle-tale writer or merely a news reporter. My concern in my profession as a journalist was first and last, to serve my 58 A Palestinian Journalist country's cause and my people's tragedy. This was a recurring problem for me every week when I would take a deep breath and set about finding some topic about my homeland that could satisfy my conscience and at the same time ensure its publication and acceptance by the Egyptian readers. The world was still recovering from the war, and people still spoke in terms of export licenses; I wrote an article in Akhbdr al-Yawm under the title "Export License Request" in which I sought permission to export ten of Egypt's leaders to Palestine so that they could participate in supporting and giving better expression to its cause and in opposing its enemies. I stated that Palestine was in need of "the eloquence of Makram cUbayd, the subtlety of Ismacil SidqT, the energy of Ahmad cAbbfid, the devoted mysticism of Hasan al-Bannd, the competence of Ahmad IHasanayn, the determination of cAhl Mahir, the culture of Dr. Muhammad Husain Haykal, Pasha, the engineering skills of Husain Sirrl, the revolutionary fervor of Ibrahim cAbd al-HadT, and the law of NajYb al-Hilali."' I went on to analyze the special qualities of each of these in light of the various aspects of my country's cause, giving quick passing contrast to what existed and what was needed, to the qualities of Egypt and to the struggles of Palestine. My purpose was to sneak my country's cause into the minds of the millions in Egypt. And that was something neither easy nor popular. I wanted to extend my nation's fight beyond its borders to where there were the resources of men, money, weapons, army and state. And so I did write a number of articles for Akhbdr al- Yawm. I also told al-TabicT that I wanted from him no salary for providing news for Akhir Sdca so long as he would permit me to continue providing what I wanted to Akhbdr al- Yawm. Thus months passed with me writing for the two greatest journals in Egypt; and this in the Arab world, too! I asked Mustafa Amin for no salary and similarly expected none from al-Tabic. I lived off my wages from the "Arab Offices," satisfying my hobby of journalism in those two papers. This went on till a member of the Husaini family in Jerusalem came to see me one day and said he had a permit to publish a weekly magazine and asked me to participate. This magazine, called al- Wahda, had in the past been devoted espe- cially to the party of H-jj Amin al-Husaini, acting as its voice and defender. But its current owner wished to issue it as an independent magazine serv- ing the Palestinian-Arab cause in that present critical stage of the history of Palestine that followed the end of the Second World War. I did cooperate with al-Husaini in producing this journal. And my friend Ihsdn cAbd al-Quddisi came to Jerusalem for his first visit there as a journalist; I accommodated him in my own home and invited him to Trevor LeGassick 59 write several articles for al- Wahda. Ihsdn wanted to come to grips with all aspects of the Palestine problem. He therefore met all the Arab leaders and later, without my knowledge, went and met some of the Jewish leaders, including David Ben-Gurion and Moshe Shertock,8 who were at that time leading members of the Jewish Agency. Ihsan went to Tel Aviv, Jaffa and Haifa, and wrote a lengthy story in Rose al- Yisuf magazine under the title "A Girl from Tel Aviv." And although the story, like most of those he wrote, was purely fictional and despite the fact that his meetings with the Jewish leaders had occurred only on the basis of his work as a journalist, certain leading Palestinian writers launched an attack upon Ihsan just as he was about to depart for Beirut. Ihsdn read those attacks and determined to respond. I placed the pages of al- Wahda at his disposal and published for him several articles in which he explained in detail the motives and circumstances of his visits. Al- Wahda proliferated and became the preferred newspaper in every home. But one day, to my surprise, there on the front page of the paper was an editorial written by the Palestinian leader, the now late Dr. Husain Fawzi al-Khalidi,9 in which he attacked Muisa al-cAlami and also the "Arab Office" of which I myself was a member. I dropped the paper in surprise! I clearly could do nothing but choose between remaining in the "Arab Office" and stopping work for Al- Wahda, or vice versa. So I chose the "Arab Office" and broke my relationship with Al- Wahda and its director. I also decided to cease writing temporarily for the Cairo papers, confining my journalistic activities to my constant contacts with the foreign correspondents who were coming to Jerusalem to cover the ongoing developments of the Palestine problem. In 1946 the Palestinian leadership decided to delegate Misa al-cAlarm to travel to Cairo to represent Palestine at the signing of the Arab League pact. Al-cAlarr then announced to me, "The delegation will be under my leadership, and you will be its secretary!" Jerusalem radio broadcast news of the official formation of this dele- gation as having al-cAlamff as its leader and myself as its secretary. So we reached Cairo and the Egyptian papers announced news of the Palestinian delegation as consisting of a variety of men, whose names were given. Al-cAlamn was visited by a senior British officer whom I later learned to be General Clayton1io; he was accompanied by a young Arab in military dress and bearing the rank of a British officer, a lieutenant, Wasff al-Tall by name.11 Al-cAlamiff subsequently got to know al-Tall and decided to add him to membership in the "Arab Office," after his release from the British army. Then we went to Bustan Palace, on the New Cairo road, where the 60 A Palestinian Journalist sessions were held for the signing of the Arab League pact. I looked through the documents searching for a reference to Palestine and what it would gain and ultimately found in its final pages a separate addendum consisting of a few lines which defined the relationship of Palestine with the Arab League. This referred to it as being a country under British mandate which would, after becoming independent seek membership in the Arab League. I was flabbergasted. I asked al-cAlami what this meant, and he replied, "That's our lot from the Arab League!" "And will you accept the situation and put your signature on the pact?" I asked. Even more sadly, he replied, "But they don't need my signature." Angrily, I commented, "This is a conspiracy against our country. The People of Palestine will not accept its relationship with the Arab nation to be this way. If the Arabs, I mean the leaders and kings of the Arab countries, were serious in their view of Palestine and its future, they would immediately announce its independence and at the same time its member- ship in the Arab League, so presenting the British, the world and the Jews with a fait accompli." Al-cAlamin replied, "There is nothing we can do now." He then lapsed into pained silence. I scrutinized the faces of the heads and members of the delegations, looking for anyone else who shared my pain and regret at what we were seeing, but I found no one. That was how the British wanted it. This was their "League," the inspiration of Eden.12 And such was indeed Palestine's lot in that pitiful League. When the assembly was over, I left al-cAlamr in Shepheards Hotel and went over to the offices of the newspaper al-Misri-, in whose management I had a close friend, Husain AbMi al-Fath, a man whom I had known ever since his first visits to Jerusalem in the early forties. I told him, "I want to write an article for al-Misrf about the Arab League pact that was born several hours ago." Abfi al-Fath replied, "I am ready to publish it at once." He gave me his office and I set about writing the article, entitled, "Palestine in the Arab League." Soon I handed to him the finished article which I had concluded with the words, "It is not Palestine I mourn in the Arab League. I mourn for the Arab League itself." This was the very first article in the history of the Arab League which attacked it, exposed it and predicted its pitiful fate. I never had any faith in this Arab League. As I said to cAbd al- Trevor LeGassick 61 Rahmdn cAzzaml3 when we met in Geneva and were discussing its future after the June 1967 defeat, "Would it not have been better for the Arabs if they had not had such a league?" cAzzdm replied, and in the presence of Prince Nawaf cAbd al-cAzz,14 "The League is fine and its name is fine. Were it not, it would not have been able to hold up and remain in existence after all that has befallen the Arabs. But I do believe that the future of the League is better than its present state, and its present better than its past." I interrupted him with the question, "But what about this 'present state' ?" "Well," he replied, "it's as you see it!" The former Secretary-General of the League made no further comment concerning this "as you see it." When the subject of conversation moved off to various other topics, I asked him, "In light of all that has befallen us since the end of the Second World War up to now, do you consider us to blame or is it all the result of the strength of our enemies against which we are simply powerless?" cAzzam replied, "We really were badly treated, all of us, victimized. We did try, as national leaders, kings, and the Arab League, to be realistic regarding a settlement of the Palestine question-King Farouk in Egypt, King cAbd Allah in Jordan, and even myself too." cAzzam Pasha paused before continuing, "Yes, even myself. Ever since 1938 when we were in London attending the round-table conference. There in the delegation with us were cAll Mdhir Pasha and Prince cAbd al-Muncim. The British brought us together with Chaim Weizmann15 and we began discussing solutions to the Palestine problem. I said on that occasion to Chaim Weizmann, "If you-I mean the Jews-need a state in the heart of the Arab world, that could be under joint international protection. Its government and its people would be yours, perhaps one, two or three hundred thousand people . .." But Weizmann interrupted me, saying, "cAbd al-Rahman wants to create a new 'ghetto' for the Jews!" At that point I replied, "Well, praise be to God! You have saved my head from being beaten by every Arab for what I suggested to you. I withdraw herewith my proposal." The conversation with cAzzdm reminded me of the latest proposals put forward as a solution to the Palestine problem. When the heroic freedom- fighters raised the slogan, "A Democratic State of Palestine," my mind went back over the history of my country. Palestine's history does not begin with 1967, when the Palestine resistance movement took practical shape. Its history began long ago, ever since the hated British occupation, 62 A Palestinian Journalist since Herbert Samuel16 and the formulation of the mandate, the Balfour declaration,17 and the plans to solve the Palestine problem. Throughout those years there were successive British suggestions made to Palestinian leaders seeking a political solution that would, on the one hand, respond to the hopes of the Jews to live on the land of Palestine, and, on the other hand, meet the aspirations of the Arabs to create a Palestine that was free, independent and Arab. In 1920 they proposed to the Arabs establishment of a "legislative assembly" and some leaders did accept this, while others rejected it. Then later they came back with a proposal to create an "Arab Agency," on the model of the "Jewish Agency," to represent the Arabs, speak in their name and unite their voice. Some leaders accepted this establishment, while others rejected it. Next came their White Paper proposing an end to immigration after a specific time interval, preventing the transfer of land, and suggesting the creation of an independent Palestinian state with a democratic, constitu- tional form with representation of Arabs and Jews proportional to their population. The Arabs were then the majority, while the Jews numbered less than half a million. Some leaders accepted this document, while others opposed it. Those who were practical, realistic and patriotic, believing that their duty demanded that as much as possible be saved, those men were labelled "moderates," i.e., traitors. As for the radicals, the idealists who lived by the word "no," they were spoken of as "nationalists." I am not trying to defend certain leaders of my country-not to men- tion my own relatives and uncles-against the charge of treason; I am merely trying to set down the facts before history for it alone to judge. It was not our fault. I will go back to the point I reached after pub- lication of my article about the Arab League in the Egyptian newspaper al-Misri Misa al-cAlamif told me that our mission in Egypt as far as the Arab League was concerned was now over, and that he had one further urgent matter to conclude, after which we could return to Jerusalem. He took me with him to the Iraqi embassy where we met the charge d'affaires, Hikmat al-Jadirj. From him we received-in accord with prior instructions from Baghdad-an Iraqi passport in the name of Jamdl al- Husaini' who was at that time in the British islands of Seychelles. The passport was sent to this gentleman at his address on the island so he could use it to return to Palestine. I understood that al-cAlamif had volunteered to facilitate al-Husaini's arrival in the country not merely Trevor LeGassick 63 because he was his brother-in-law, but because he wanted him to play the role of the country's sole leader now that Ha-jj Anmin al-Husaini's leadership had lapsed following the end of the Second World War and the fall of Nazi Germany. As we were returning to Shepheards Hotel, al-cAlariff told me, "Keep between us what you have just seen. I don't want anyone to know of it." So we got our luggage together and took the Lydda train back to our own land. I pause here briefly to recall certain memories. ,Abd al-Rahmdn cAzza-m disliked Misd al-cAlan i and could not stand his presence as Pales- tine's representative in the League. cAzzam favored the Husainis, while al-cAlarf was subservient to the Hashimites19 in Baghdad. Nfirl al-Sacid20 shared cAzzdm's dislike for al-cAlami but tolerated him and responded to his requests both to please the palace, fearing that oth- erwise his political rival Salih Jabr21 would become separately allied with it-and also to spite their mutual enemy, Hajj Amin al-Husaini. Dr. Husain Fakhr al-KhalidT, a member of the Higher Arab Associ- ation and one of Palestine's leaders, was one of al-cAlanrIi's closest allies. He, however, turned against al-cAlarrm when al-cAlam! escaped from the control of Palestine's leaders and began acting freely and alone on his own account. The faction of Hajj Amin disliked Misa- al-cAlamn but refrained from attacking him to mollify the majority of young and educated Palestinians who found in al-cAlami someone cultured and positive, a new-style leader. It was in this heated atmosphere that Mfiisa al-cAlami had to work, serving and representing the Arabs of Palestine and opposing international Zion- ism. The Anglo-American fact-finding commission came to Jerusalem early in 1946 and representatives for the "Arab Office" testified before it. Ahmad al-Shuqair22 and Albert Hourani23 were in their forefront and the afore- mentioned "office" itself presented to the commission a detailed reported about the history of the Palestine problem. That report was in the view of all the fullest and most precise political report ever made up to then about that history since its beginnings. Nevertheless, the forward movement of the "Office" then began to falter and its productivity to deteriorate, its members one after the other offering their resignations. When al-cAlami7 found that this "Office" had gained him only the enmity of his colleagues in the leadership, the envy of his rivals and criticism from everyone, and that his sole consolation was in easing his own conscience before God and history, he decided, being 64 A Palestinian Journalist temperamental and sensitive by disposition, to close it down and end its activities. I left my work in the "Arab Office," having resigned with a two-line note, and took a train to Cairo. It was then early in 1947, and all the talk was of the arrival of an inter- national commission to examine the Palestine problem "for the umpteenth time." I was sitting alone on the balcony of the old Shepheards Hotel when I was approached by Haydar al-HusainT, the brother-in-law of His Excellency the Mufti. He told me that Hjj AmIn wanted me to see him. So I went to meet His Excellency in his house in the Zaitun district of Cairo. When we were alone in a room enveloped by red velvet curtains behind which were hidden, as was always the case with him, guards or observers listening in and watching the visitors to protect the gentleman from any aggressive act, he said, "I have invited you to talk to you about the interna- tional commission coming to us from the United Nations. I have received reports concerning the biases of the commission members and their polit- ical orientations. Most of them are supporters of Zionism. This is what brother Emile al-GhiirT and my nephew Raja'T al-Husainf, who are both in New York, have asserted. I have decided to boycott this commission when it comes to us and to address our brothers in the Arab countries as well as the Arab leaders in Palestine on the essentiality of a boycott. I would like to ask you to contact 'uncle' Rdghib Bey al-Nashdshibi in his home in Jerusalem to ask his opinion and tell him mine as you have heard it concerning this commission." Controlling my temper, I replied, "Would it not be more appropriate for the circumstances and for yourself to propose convening a meeting with the Palestinian leadership to discuss the matter?" "We don't have enough time for that," he replied. "But I'm afraid your colleagues in Palestine will have a different opin- ion than yours with a resulting schism in the Palestinian front," I objected. "To have contacts with this commission would, in my opinion, be treason," he insisted. "But some of your colleagues in Jerusalem may hold the opposite view. The arrival of this commission might give the Arabs a valuable opportunity to express their position and effectively publicise their viewpoint, counter- ing Zionist claims with documents and arguments of their own. There could well be danger in boycotting it and leaving it to the mercy of the Jews alone." The Hajj shook as he stated bluntly, "I have told you what I want. Trevor LeGassick 65 And in anticipation of the views of others, I will announce that anyone giving testimony before this international commission is to be considered a traitor to this country and to his nation!" I replied, "In light of such a viewpoint, the Arab states which strived to join the San Francisco charter and to achieve membership in the United Nations should withdraw from all international organizations because of the Zionist influence of which you speak." "Why discuss details before receiving the views of our brothers, the leaders in Palestine?" he demanded. Gesturing my dissatisfaction, I then said, "I do hope your Excellency will excuse me from undertaking this task; I know that the condition of Raghib Bey's health is such as to prevent him from performing any political task at present." With that I rose and took my leave. Returning to Shepheards I met with the now late Mahmfid Abfti al- Fath, owner of al-Misri, seated on the hotel balcony amidst a group of Egypt's leaders and journalists. I told him what I had heard from Hajj Amin, and he commented, "What are you doing here in Egypt? Your place now is in Jerusalem. Hundreds of members of the international press corps-many of whom I know personally-have left for Palestine to follow news and developments there. Why don't you leave, as they have, and send news and articles back to al-Misr-? The paper will be able to pay whatever salary you require, on the condition that you provide us information that the news magazines can't get. Al-Misrf currently has the biggest circulation of any of the Egyptian or Arab papers; our correspondent in Lebanon gets his news directly from Riyad al-Sulh, just as our man in Damascus gets us into all the secrets there. We want to know what the future hides for Palestine. If you are ready to cooperate with us, I will expect you in my office at al-Misrf to conclude the formalities." A few hours later I was signing a contract as a journalist for al-Misr. Next day I took the first train home for Jerusalem. Then I presented my papers to the Palestinian Press Administration and received my very first official card as a journalist. Thereafter I began living in the corridors of the Press Administration, waiting for official announcements, meeting scores of world-class journal- ists, people who later became chief editors of papers like The New York Times, Time magazine and The London Times, personalities like Wynd- ham, Clifton Daniel, Teddy Hodgkin and many others. Here I would like to comment on the contrast between my role as an Arab journalist allied to the Arab side in a critical cause like that of Palestine, and that of the foreign journalists, most of whom were allied to 66 A Palestinian Journalist others, whether that be London, Washington or Tel Aviv. The Jewish Agency was the official organization on which the Jews of Palestine relied; it spoke for them. World journalism received news of the Jews, opinions of their leaders and information on their policy directions specifically from the headquarters building of this agency. Foreign journalists, sitting at their desks in the Press Administration, could connect directly by telephone with the Jewish Agency and speak to Ben Gurion, Shertock, or others and they received news of the latest developments from them. The Agency secretariat took care of all foreign journalists, inviting them to their receptions, providing them with their publications, and giving them the access they wanted for their journalistic "scoops." The Jews had emerged from the Second World War with their minds filled with images of the ovens and the concentration camps and Hitler's war of extermination. Having defeated Hitler they decided to make their struggle in Palestine a matter of destiny, survival, blood and victory. They therefore set about organizing themselves, uniting their voices and directing their battle against both the Arabs and the British mandate, bringing to bear every element of their material and moral power and potential. It is not surprising, therefore, that the voice of falsehood should over- come the voice of right, with the pages of the world's newspapers being filled exclusively with the Zionist viewpoint. This is not the place for discussion of the Jewish front during the years that preceded the establishment of the state of Israel. But the honest writer cannot discuss the Arab front-the opposing side in the battle-in any other terms than those of pain, sadness and regret. And what did happen to that Arab front? Arab journalists- and even foreign ones too-sought hard but in vain for one Arab voice able to claim that it represented the Arab side, capable of understanding events, comprehending developments, interpreting the situation and responding to the opposing claims. The Palestinian Arab leaders present in Palestine did not speak up. If ever they did, it was to engage in invective criticism of one another. A "leader" in Cairo or Beirut would adopt positions quite divorced from the actuality of the circumstances, merely in accord with his whim or temperament. There was the "Higher Organization" which spoke for factions while representing no one. Then there was the "High Front," fragmented, internecine and bankrupt. And there was journalism trying to serve the cause as best it could, without direction, plan or preparation. Indeed so, whereas the Jewish Brigade had come back from its bases in Europe fully armed and prepared, uniformed and flagged. It returned having participated with the Allies in a number of battles against the Nazis; Trevor LeGassick 67 these had earned it the capabilities as required as a military force ready to engage in new battles on the land of Palestine. To them must be added the forces of the secret guerilla groups, the kibbutzim militia and the volunteers, along with a large variety of others, all aware that they were shortly going to engage in a military confrontation with the Arabs. And were the Arab leaders aware of all these facts about the enemy when they proceeded to insist on Britain's withdrawal and departure from Palestine, as a number of them did in public testimony before the Anglo- American fact-finding commission in Jerusalem in 1946? Did the Pales- tinian leaders comprehend all these facts about their enemy when they insisted on rejecting all the British proposals advanced to them by the La- bor government, headed by the Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin, the Arab's friend, just before Britain's decision to abandon Palestine and leave the entire problem up to the United Nations? And what did an Arab journalist like myself have to write under such circumstances? "cAntar-like"'23 heroic statements, mindless, meaningless and ignorant, from certain Arab leaders threatening the very direst of con- sequences. Communiques full of confusion and exaggeration about specific military activities that were, in reality, non-existent. Muddled meetings in Arab capitals aiming for surrender with tactical maneuvrings, then accep- tance of partition and acquiescence in the status quo. Deals for defective arms24 and neighboring military preparations char- acterized by improvisation. "Secret" meetings in local cities attended by British officers claiming friendship for the Arabs who got to review the confidential decisions made, as in Bludan25 and other towns. Farces and disgraceful performances which would cause a storm or scandal, confusion and condemnation if one were to write about them can- didly or give one a painful conscience, self-doubt and guilt if one were to remain silent about them. I decided to relieve myself from such bitter experience and so travelled to Cairo, where I informed my great friend AbM- al-Fataih of my resolve to resign from al-Misri. Then I returned to Jerusalem to observe developments with the heart of a citizen rather than the pen of a journalist. I said good-bye to journal- ism, thinking I would never return to it, no, never again. 68 A Palestinian Journalist Notes 1 Mis5 al-,Alaml was born in May, 1897, the only son to one of Jerusalem's wealth- iest Muslim families. His father held important provincial posts under the Ottoman administration including that of mayor of Jerusalem, a post his father had earlier held, and later he also served as a deputy representing that city in the central parliament in Istanbul. After schooling in Jerusalem and service as a clerk in the Turkish army during World War I, Mfisa went to Cambridge where he took a law degree. During the British mandate over Palestine he served as a crown Counsel under several of the High Com- missioners and as a Private Secretary and ultimately as Government Advocate under Sir Arthur Wauchope. A Royal Commission sent to Palestine in 1937 to analyse the growing disorder there between Arabs, Jews and the British Administration suggested the appointment of a British Senior Government Advocate, and in October al-cAlaml was informed of his compulsory retirement from government service and exile to Beirut. He was allowed to return to Palestine only in 1941. Previously an occasional participant in official discussions in London and the Middle East with the British authorities over resolution of the Palestine problem, al-cAlami attended as chief Palestine delegate both the Preparatory Conference in Alexandria in the summer of 1944 and the Arab League ratification conference in Cairo, 1945. Thereafter al-cAlami secured funding for the Arab Development Society, designed to assist Palestinian villagers, and himself directed the 'Arab Office' he established to promulgate the Palestinian-Arab viewpoint in Western capitals. Rival activities by the Higher Arab Committee under HTjj Amin al-Husaini, the long-time exiled Mufti of Jerusalem, eventually undercut funding for the Arab Of- fice, which dclosed in late 1947. Dispossessed of his considerable real estate holdings in Palestine following the establishment of the Jewish State of Israel in 1948, al-,Alami thereafter devoted himself to creating an orphanage for Palestinian refugee boys and a model farm on land he reclaimed from desert near Jericho. He died in 1984. See: Furlonge, Geoffrey: Palestine is my country-the story of Musa Alami, London, 1969. 2 Righib al-Nashishibi (1880-1951) was appointed by Sir Ronald Storrs, British Governor of Jerusalem, in 1921 to be Mayor of Jerusalem in place of Mfisa Kizim al- Husaini who had adopted the position of leader and spokesman of the Arab opposition to the mandate and was therefore viewed negatively by the British authorities. Storrs refers to al-Nashishlbi as "an able and determined ex-Deputy of the Ottoman Parliament." (Orientations, London, 2nd edition 1945, p. 334). Later al-NashishibT founded and led the "al-Difa," ("Defence") party which favored some kind of accommodation with the British authorities and the Jewish settlers and was opposed by the more radical nationalist groups led by the Mufti, Hjj Amin al-Husainl. 3 HIIjj Amin al-Husaini (1893-1974) received his initial schooling in Jerusalem, where he was born to a prominent, long-established Muslim family. Following a period of study at al-Azhar in Cairo, he made the pilgrimage to Mecca and returned to Jerusalem. He served as a clerk in the Turkish army during World War I and as a translator, bureau- crat, teacher and journalist thereafter. Convicted in absentia by a British military court of incitement to violence in journal articles published prior to Arab-Jewish disturbances in April, 1920, al-Husaini took refuge in Transjordan. Later that same year Sir Herbert Samuel, the first British High Commissioner for Palestine, responded to Arab petitions and included al-Iusaini in the general amnesty he had announced for all those convicted by military courts. Following the death in April, 1921 of Kamgl al-Husaini, the Mufti of Jerusalem and Amin's half-brother, the High Commissioner engineered the appointment of Amin to the post and soon thereafter made him president of a newly-formed Supreme Trevor LeGassick 69 Muslim Council which was to control all waqf (religious trusts) and sharia (Muslim religious) courts in Palestine. His dual appointments thus gave him great financial as well as moral power throughout the twenties and thirties, a period of frequent conflict between the newly-arriving Jewish settlers, the indigenous Arab population and the British administration. In 1936 he became president of the Arab Higher Committee, an organization combining representation of all Arab religious and political groups. Re- sponding to appeals from the kings of Saudi Arabia, Transjordan, Iraq and Yemen, in October, 1936 he called off the general strike and civil disturbances that had gripped the country for several years past. The conclusions reached and recommendations made the following year by a British Royal Commission, known as the Peel commission after its chairman, failed to calm the unrest and in September, 1937, the Palestine administra- tion removed him from leadership of the Supreme Muslim Council, proscribed the Arab Higher Committee and deported five of its leaders to the Seychelles Islands. HIajj Amin, after a brief period of seclusion in the Haram al-Sharif Muslim sanctuary of Jerusalem, made his way secretly to Beirut and so into an exile from Palestine from which he was never to return. He continued, however, to enjoy great inter-Arab support as a leader of Palestine. After periods in Iraq and French-occupied Syria, he spent much of the World War II years in Germany. He advocated Arab support for the Nazis and received their support for Arab views on the Palestine problem and Arab independence. He was briefly held by the Allies in France after the war until, in June, 1946, he made his way to Egypt, where he was given asylum and recognised as the head of the Arab Higher Committee of Palestine. He remained an influential figure in the Arab world, residing mainly in Egypt and Lebanon, until his death in 1974. For a biased but well-documented account, see Joseph B. Schechtman: The Mufti and the Fuehrer, London and New York, 1965. 4 The bombing of the King David hotel in Jerusalem occurred on July 22, 1946; a total of ninety-one British, Arab and Jewish employees of the Palestine administration and the hotel were killed. 5 The "King Zog" mentioned in this list of elite visitors to Jerusalem refers to Ahmad Bey Zogl who was his country's Prime Minister before becoming the second king of modern Albania, from 1928 to 1939. Following the communist takeover of Albania, he lived in exile in the Middle East, chiefly in Cairo, where he was a welcome member of the court circle of King Farouk. He died in 1961. 6 The list includes, of course, many of the most prominent intellectual and political figures of Cairo of the time. 7 Ihsin ,Abd al-Quddiis (b. 1919) continues to be one of the Arab world's most popular and influential novelists and political commentators. 8 David Ben Gurion (1886-1973) and Moshe Shertock (also known as Moshe Sharett) (1895-1965) were founding leaders of Israel's Labor Party, and each served as Israel's prime minister. 9 Husain Fawzi al-Khilidi, a member of the prominent al-Khilidi family of Jeru- salem, was leader of the Palestinian al-Shabdb (Youth) party, and a member of the Arab Higher Committee. 10 Presumably Brig. I.N. Clayton is referred to here. A brother of General Gilbert Clayton who had been General Allenby's Chief Political Officer after the British conquest of Palestine in 1919, Brig. Clayton was the chief contact in Cairo between the British Middle East Office and the Arab League. 11 Wasfi al-Tall (1921-1971) later served as Prime Minister of Jordan. 12 Sir Anthony Eden, later Lord Avon, (1897-1977) was a prominent figure in British politics for several decades. An elected Member of Parliament for the Conservative Party, he served as Britain's Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister. His confrontational 70 A Palestinian Journalist policies during the Suez Canal nationalization crisis of 1955 led to the "Suez War" of the following year in which Britain and France colluded with Israel in a disastrous attempt to regain control over the canal. See his memoirs, Full Circle, London, 1960. 13 'Abd al-Rahm in Azzim was born in Egypt in 1893 and educated at London University. He served as ambassador for Egypt before becoming the first secretary- general of the Arab League. 14 Prince Nawf ibn cAbdel cAzlz was born in Riyadh in 1933. He studied in the United States and was Chief of the Royal Cabinet under King SacTid and King Faisal. 1 Chaim Weizmann (1874-1952) was born in Poland. A chemist, he taught at the universities of Geneva and Manchester, and was director of the British Admiralty laboratories during World War I. A dedicated Zionist, he is credited with having been instrumental in persuading the British government to issue the Balfour Declaration (see note 17 below). He was president of the World Zionist organization, of the Jewish Agency for Palestine and of Israel after its establishment. See his memoirs, Trial and Error, New York, 1949. 16 Sir Herbert Samuel (later Viscount Samuel), a British Jew, was appointed first High Commissioner for Palestine on July 1, 1920. He served there until 1925, being replaced by Lord Plumer. 17 On 2 November, 1917, Arthur James Balfour (1848-1930), British Foreign Secre- tary serving under David Lloyd George as Prime Minister, issued a letter, since known as the "Balfour Declaration" to Baron de Rothschild, a prominent British Jew. The wording of this document had been formulated after lengthy negotiations with Zionist leaders in Britain, Europe and the United States. Its text read: "His Majesty's Govern- ment view with favor the establishment in Palestine of a National Home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavors to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of the existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country." This statement was interpreted by Zionists as giving formal legitimacy to their aspirations to establish a Jewish state in Palestine. 18 Jamal al-Husaini, a relative of the Mufti of Jerusalem and a brother-in-law of Mfisa al-cAlami, was a member of the Arab Higher Committee and a leader of the Arab Palestinian Party. He escaped capture and fled to Syria after the September, 1937 arrests of Arab leaders charged with complicity in violent disorders in Palestine. Later resident with the Mufti's staff in Iraq, he was charged with involvement in the abortive pro-Nazi coup there led by Rashid 'AlI- al-Gailini in April, 1941, and he was subsequently exiled to the Seychelles Islands for the duration of the war. 19 The Hashimites: the dynastic Arabian family tracing its descent directly back to the Prophet Muhammad via his grandson Hasan. Family leaders have traditionally been entrusted by the Muslim community with guardianship of the Holy Places of Hejaz. Two sons of King Husain of the Hejaz, 'Abd Allah and Faisal, were ultimately awarded control, by the British authorities, over Transjordan and Iraq respectively. The line lives on in the continuing monarchy in Jordan; in Iraq it ended with the massacre by republican and army forces of the royal family in July, 1958. 20 Nir al-Sacid (1888-1958) was born in Baghdad and was trained for the Turkish army in which he became an officer. Exile by the Ottoman authorities to India for Arab nationalist activities was followed by his participation in the Arab Revolt of 1916- 1918 in which he served under its Hejaz Hashimite leaders. He became defense minister in Iraq under King Faisal from 1925 to 1930 and subsequently served there fourteen terms as prime minister. An architect of Iraq's modernization and prosperity based Trevor LeGassick 71 on oil revenues, he was criticised by his country's opposition factions for a too close association with Britain. He was killed following the July, 1958 army-led revolution under Colonel Kassem that assassinated King Faisal, his uncle cAbd al-Ilah and their families and abolished the Iraqi monarchy. 21 Silih Jabr was a leading Iraqi Shicite politician who often served in ministerial positions under N&ir al-Sacid and was himself prime minister from March, 1947 to Jan- uary, 1948. Later a personal antipathy developed between Niri and himself as he formed his own Umma socialist party. He died in May, 1957 shortly after delivering a vigorous attack in the Iraqi parliament against the government and its persistence in maintaining martial law. 22 Alhmad al-Shuqairfl (1908-1980) was born in Acre and trained as a lawyer; he served as Saudi Arabia's representative at the United Nations. In the early sixties al-Shuqairi received backing from the republican governments in Egypt and Iraq and recognition as Palestine's representative in the Arab League and at the United Nations. He advocated and began establishment of a Palestinian army of liberation but ultimately his leadership in it was subsumed by Yhsir cArafat. 23 The reference is to the heroic pre-Islamic poet cAntara b. Shaddad whose verses are famous for their expression of powerful bravado. 24 In the months preceding the July, 1952 overthrow of King Farouk, Egyptian army officers began distributing pamphlets maintaining that their poor performance in the fighting and the consequent loss of the 1948 Palestine war to the Israelis had occurred because their forces had been issued defective arms knowingly purchased. Their complaint was seized upon by the Egyptian popular press as a way of attacking the government, and the ensuing scandal is considered a major cause in the establishment of the Republican regime under Gamal Abdel Nasser. 25 The Syrian mountain resort town of Bludan near Damascus was the site of an im- portant inter-Arab conference in late 1937 which had expressed its unequivocal support for the Arab Higher Committee, and its rejection of partition of Palestine into Jewish, Arab and Mandated areas, as had been suggested by the Peel Commission report of July of that year. In June, 1946 Bludan was the site of an Arab League Council meeting to consider the Anglo-American Committee's report on the Palestine problem. Rules for Forming Noun Plurals in Modern Standard Arabic MARY M. LEVY Washington, D.C. NOUN plurals have always been a source of difficulty and confusion to students of Arabic. The standard textbook treatment of plurals is not very helpful, for it tends to emphasize the diversity of plural patterns asso- ciated with each singular pattern. Grammars have even advised students, in the words of the M.E. C.A.S. Grammar of Modern Literary Arabic (1965) to "learn the appropriate plural(s) of each word individually" (p. 16). Arabic noun plurals are complicated but not nearly as difficult and irregular as they appear on the surface. The rules that follow predict 90 to 95 percent of all noun plurals, as listed in Wehr's Dictionary of Mod- ern Written Arabic.1 Even setting aside the hundreds of nouns that take sound plurals or quadriliteral plurals, regularities long recognized, these rules overall predict about 80 percent of the broken plurals there listed. The exceptions, as with English verb forms, tend to occur among high frequency words and so seem more prominent and widespread than they really are. For teaching purposes it seems useful to focus less upon the undeniable complications and exceptions in Arabic plural formation and more upon the regularities. If I were teaching Arabic plurals, I would introduce the rules below, one by one, without the parts entitled "Refinements" and without the variations encountered in geminate and weak roots. In the most simplified form, the rules are: 1. Derived nouns take sound plurals. 2. Quadriliterals take quadriliteral plurals mafdcilor mafdcfl; non-human facila and fdcil(a) behave as quadriliterals, taking plurals facagil and Mary M. Levy 73 fawdcil respectively. 3. ficla and fucla take plurals fical and fucal respectively. 4. All other feminine nouns take the sound feminine plural. 5. facl take plural fuciil; while ficl, fucl and facal take plural af ci. 6. Non-human fV c V1 (any vowel combination) take plural af cila. 7. Human facfl take plural fucald; while human fdcil take plural fuccal. After the student had worked with geminate and weak verb forms, I would introduce the refinements and variations in similar noun plurals. I would turn to the "Refinements" of rules 4, 6 and 9 much later-when the relatively small increase in predictability they afford would not be offset by the substantial complication and potential confusion they entail. Meanwhile, when introducing individual vocabulary items in the plu- ral, I would state (by marking) which were rule-predicted and which ex- ceptional, trying where possible to concentrate on the former. In teaching each rule, I would forthrightly present exceptional plurals already encoun- tered as exceptions, but would point out the regularities that occur within groups of exceptions-the kind of information set forth under "Minority Plurals" following each rule below. In looking at the minority patterns and the percentages of nouns of a given class to which they apply, the reader should bear in mind that many nouns have two or more alternate plurals (so percentages within each class will add up to well over 100 percent). This presentation does not purport to cover every singular pattern or kind of noun, let alone every kind of exception. Nor does it cover the common biliteral nouns, where the plural is best memorized with the sin- gular. As is traditional, the term "noun" includes both substantives and adjectives. Transliteration is like that in Wehr's Dictionary except that: hamza is transliterated as D, ghayn as j, khd, as x, and alif maqsira as d(y). Rule 1: Nouns derived from other words, regardless of form, take the sound plural. * -iZn if they are masculine and human * -dt otherwise as do nouns of the form faccdl and faccla, foreign words and alphabet letters. 74 Forming Noun Plurals Derived nouns Others taking sound plurals -in (m. hum) -dt (other) participles verbal nouns, nouns of one time, nouns of unity nisbas abstract nouns of quality female nouns of variable gender nouns of profession other nouns of form faccl(a) form faccl foreign words, alph. letters Detail and examples 1 Participles Participles derived from Form I verbs, when functioning as participles, take the sound plural, e.g., from kataba 'to write' ketib 'writing' pl. kdtibin kdtiba (f.) pl. kdtibdt from hasala 'to collect' mahsil 'collected' pl. (m. hum.) mahs lirn mahsila (f.) pl. mahslat But when functioning as independent items these generally take a broken plural instead, e.g., kdtib 'clerk' pl. kuttib or kataba mahsiil 'crop' pl. mahdsifl Participles of the derived verb forms almost always take the sound plural, even when functioning as independent items, e. g., from ,arraxa 'to write the history of' (Form II) mularrix 'writing the history of' or 'historian' pl. muwarrixIn from ijtamaca 'to meet' (Form VIII) mujtamac 'gathered' (m. hum.) pl. mujtamairn, 'society' pl. muj- tamacdt 2 Verbal nouns Verbal nouns other than those derived from Form I take the sound feminine plural, e.g., Mary M. Levy 75 from ijtamaca 'to meet' (Form VIII) ijtimdc 'meeting' pl. ijtimdcdt from bahata 'to discuss' (Form III) mubdhata 'discussion' pl. mubdhatait 3 Nouns of one time Nouns of one time, which indicate a single occurrence of an action, are derived from the verbal noun by addition of the feminine suffix -a(h). In Form I, where the verbal noun takes various forms, the noun of one time is regularly of the form facla. Nouns of one time take the sound feminine plural, e.g., from daraba 'to hit' (Form I) VN darb darba 'blow' pl. darabdt2 from ibtasama 'to smile' VN ibtisdm ibtisdma 'smile' pl. ibtisdma-t 4 Nouns of unity Nouns of unity are derived from collective nouns by addition of the feminine suffix -a(h) and designate a single item of that which their base nouns designate collectively. Nouns of unity take the sound feminine plural, e.g., from Sajar 'trees' (coll.) sajara 'tree' pl. ajardt (individuated) 5 Female nouns of variable gender Female nouns of variable gender are derived from masculine base forms designating animate beings by suffixation of -a(h). Female nouns of variable gender take the sound feminine plural, e.g., from kalb 'dog' (m.) kalba 'bitch' pl. kalbat from xidim 'servant' (m.) xddima 'servant girl' pl. xdadimdt from samin 'fat' (m.) sami-na (f.) pl. samind3 76 Forming Noun Plurals 6 Nisba nouns of relation Nisbas are derived from other words, usually nouns, by suffixing -fy. They take the sound plural, e.g., from amrkd 'America' amrikiy 'American' (m.) pl. amrn-kyfin amrikiya (f.) pl. amikifydt 7 Abstract nouns of quality Abstract nouns of quality are derived from nisbas by suffixing -a(h). They take the sound feminine plural, e.g., from qawm 'people' and qawmfy 'national' qawmi-ya 'nationalism' pl. qawmi-ydt 8 Diminutives Diminutives are derived from other nouns by inserting u after the first radical, ai after the second, and i after the third (if the underlying noun is a. quadriliteral); the suffix -a(h) is frequently added. Diminutives take the sound feminine plural, e.g., from waraq 'paper' and waraqa 'piece of paper' wurayqa 'little piece of paper' pl. wurayqdt 9 Nouns of profession and others of the form faccl(a) Nouns of the form facql(a) frequently denote followers of an occupation, or devices or places where an activity is carried out. They generally take the sound plural, e.g., falldh 'peasant' pl. fallhin fallha (f.) pl. falldhdit raffts 'propeller' pl. raffdsdt hammdm 'bath' pl. hammdmdt darraja 'bicycle' pl. darrajIt 10 Nouns of foreign or unfamiliar origin Nouns of foreign or unfamiliar origin, including nonsense words, take the sound feminine plural, e.g., Mary M. Levy 77 tilifin pl. tilifindt lard 'lord' pl. lirddt 11 Alphabet letter names Names of letters of the alphabet take the sound feminine plural, e.g., lIm pl. Idmdt cayn pl. cayndt Rule 2: Masculine triliteral nouns with short vowels take plurals: * fucil for singular facl other than human, or radical w * afcal for all others. Detail and examples 1. facl regular plural (80%) fucil talj 'snow' pl. tulij ra's 'head' pl. rufs 2. facl human, regular plural (61%) afcdl saxs 'person' pl. aixzs rabb 'lord' pl. arbab 3. facl radical w, regular plural (82%) afcdl4 wazn 'pattern' pl. awzdn lawn 'kind' pl. alwdn nahw 'part' pl. anhi [im. Moreover, it is the regular plural for feminine non-human nouns of the form facila, see Rule 6 below. Except for the geminate roots, however, it is quite rare among the Rule 4 nouns. 7 Plurals of the form ficdl are very unusual among Rule 4 nouns. Note that as elsewhere this is a concrete noun. 8 af ild, corresponds to the general plural for non-human nouns of the same pattern (af cila), for the suffix - a, is a variant feminine suffix. Compare dalif 'evidence' pl. adilla, Mary M. Levy 89 and sarry 'little creek' pl. asriya. A few human nouns have the latter as a variant plural, e.g., jalil 'honorable' pl. ajilld, or ajilla. 9 These adjectives are not derived from the verb; the relationship is probably the other way around. 10 The suffix - (y), like -d', is a variant feminine suffix. Thus masculine nouns with a long vowel in the second syllable tend to have a plural with some feminine suffix. 11 Unlike most human nouns of this particular form, ,aqua is not derived, and so takes a broken plural. 12 The final (y) (alif maqiira) is unusual; final w roots as well as final y roots regularly have the broken plural as fa'cys, as baqdyd above. 13 The informant vocalized this singular with an a-hamfla; with this vocalization the broken plural would be predicted by the main rule, see Group 3 examples. 14 Note that this is a regular plural pattern for the masculine concrete fail. Is This is the regular plural for non-human nouns of this pattern and for female nouns of this pattern without the feminine suffix, e.g., hdmil 'pregnant' pl. hawdmil compare hI.mil 'porter' in Minority plural Group 1 above. 16 Except here, fucil and afcl are almost never associated with triliteral masculine nouns other than those with short vowels, see Rule 2 above. Islamic Rhetoric and the Persian Historians 1100-1300 A. D. K. ALLIN LUTHER University of Michigan PERSIAN historical texts of the later sixth/twelfth and seventh/thirteenth centuries, the source of much admiration in their own day because of their style, have often caused latter day readers to lament on account of this same style, especially because it seems to lack clarity and succinctness and to impede the search for information useful to the modern historian. Muhammad Iqbal, for example, said of Rdvandi's Rdhat al-Sudir, " . . . the beauty of the book is to a great extent marred by a large amount of extrane- ous matter-lengthy digressions, frequent citation. . .. and a large quantity of poetry."' Then there is Browne's gloss on what Rieu said about Vassaf who took this development far beyond Ravandi in the eighth/fourteenth century: " . . . as Rieu says . . . 'It was unfortunately set up as a model, and has exercised a baneful influence on the latter historical compositions in Persia.' That these criticisms are fully justified will be denied by no one who has had occasion to use the work, and indeed the author himself de- clares that to write in the grand style was his primary object, and that the historical events which he records served merely as the material on which he might embroider the fine flowers of his exuberant rhetoric."2 The purpose here is to suggest how Persian historical writing came to this figured style, as I shall call it, and to present an argument in which I attempt to account for the nature of the style in these works. In such a connection it seems clear that some discussion of rhetoric, as it applied to the scribes in this period is in order, for the histories are in many cases the work of scribes who were transferring the figured style they used in writing documents to the composition of histories. As one would expect, the use of rhetorical figures is very much the same. It can be shown fairly easily that the documents and histories from the hands of trained scribes often reveal the use of such devices as centering K. Allin Luther 91 and proportional arrangement, devices which, it now appears, they have in common with some classical, medieval and renaissance works of the West.3 In addition to these arrangement devices, further scrutiny of the texts, as well as more attention to what the scribes themselves say about their work, indicate that they followed principles of a figured style which resembled the use of figures in the West, although the devices they made use of were naturally adapted to their own purposes and described in Islamic, chiefly Arabic, terms. It is possible to apply the Latin names for the parts of a document to certain classes of Islamic documents with a fair degree of success, as Busse did.4 Even those documents or letters which do not match the Western model as well often have parts which can be called exordium, narration, exposition, etc. This much applies to many documents from the entire period, from the Ghaznavids to the Ilkhanids. Helmut Ritter, in his introduction to his edition of Jurjani's Asrdr al-Balghah,5 points out that the Arabs had little use for the first two of the three branches (genera) of Aristotle's Rhetoric, the deliberative and the judicial, since they ". . . . had hardly occasion in their public meetings to influence the decisions of those present by political speeches; nor were there courts in which the jury could be worked upon by eloquence." Ritter's view seems to me to oversimplify the Islamic tradition, for there is at least a literary convention of disputes before rulers, in which it was supposedly very much a question of exhorting or dissuading, and there are certain indications in the texts that spoken eloquence, including the ability to convince, was much admired. It is hard to see how there could have been a literary tradition which existed entirely in the absence of a parallel, oral one. In any case, there is no doubt that the Iranian scribes made conscious use of a rhetoric, even if it was not one derived directly from Western mod- els. This cultivation of rhetoric requires the attention of the researcher who makes use of their work, in the form of either documents or histories. The task of describing the particular rhetorics used in various places at various times, as well as the consequences of their use for the modern historian, is a lengthy one which will not be attempted here. In this discussion I shall confine myself to the question of the figured style. The use of figured style in a text will inevitably affect the work of any researcher who wishes to use it, even one who claims to be interested only in the "facts" which can be distilled from it. The precise way in which the figured style modifies the "factual content" of a text, however, is difficult to spell out, since it involves such knotty issues as the meaning of meaning and the nature of metaphor. Suffice it to say that, from a variety of points 92 Islamic Rhetoric of view, the use of a figured style is considered to move us away from the meaning that might be communicated in plain style or one closer to the "degree zero" writing in a particular culture.6 The arguments over such matters tend to become very involved, but it may be useful to include a couple of simple examples. In the first place, the use of such devices as rhyming, parallel periods, in which there is no modification of the basic meaning, or only a slight modification, takes up space which in "plain style" might be used for the inclusion of more detailed information, that is, a given length of running text in figured style will contain less "factual detail" than an equivalent length of plain text. But this is in fact a tricky question. One might say that a text containing more factual detail is one which deals with more external referents with a given number of characters, but such a definition depends on the resolution of difficult issues. Here, more or less following Eco,7 one might say that a certain historical situation may have been necessary for the production of the "historical" text, but it is not a part of the text's later "semiotic functioning" in other environments. In addition, the use of figures which involve some type of metaphor- ical substitution, for example, will involve the substitution for a "degree zero" of another which carries only some of the semes, or basic units of meaning, of the expression it replaces, plus others which interfere with the "plain understanding" of the text and may be considered "noise" by re- searchers. It will be seen in the discussion which follows that it is also possible to understand the "excess" semic content elements as supplying useful information. But there is no doubt that the metaphors affect the meaning, however one chooses to deal with them. According to Group Mu, " .... metaphor is not, properly speaking, a substitution of meaning, but a modification of the semantic content of a term. This modification is the result of the conjunction of two basic operations: addition and suppression of semes."s To turn to the appearance of this figured style in the Iranian chanceries, there are indications that the interest in it must go back to the late fifth/eleventh century, in the case of the Saljuq bureaucracy. Radiiyani's Tarjumdn al-Baldghah, which was written about this time, recommends the use of figures to both poets and scribes, although the examples themselves are entirely from poetry.9 This seems to be an Eastern Iranian work, per- haps from a place like Mary. It was later read by the famous poet-scribe of the Khvarazmshdhs, Rashid al-Din Vatvdt, who decided to write his own treatise, since he did not like Radiiyani's examples.10 Both Radiiyani's rec- ommendations to the scribes and Rashtd al-Din's use of his work suggest an interest on the part of the scribes of the Eastern chanceries in treatises K. Allin Luther 93 on the rhetorical figures. The difficulty in being more precise about the date, or period, is a result of our inability to find chancery documents from the Earlier Saljuq period. We do not get documents until the early part of the sixth/twelfth century. Rddiiydnl's text actually precedes any certain examples from the chanceries. The connection is made in this fashion, rather than citing Rashid al-Din's own epistles and poetry, in order to suggest the possibility that Jurjdni's treatises in Arabic rhetoric, especially Asrdr al-Baldghah, may have helped spark this interest in the figured style. JurjAnT, of course, was all his life at the Ziyarid capital, the seat of that small Eastern court which seems to have been so influential in the development of Arabic letters in the Iranian world. As Ritter says of Jurjdni's works on rhetoric, "These two books revolutionized the study of rhetoric in the East.""11 The examples of influence which Ritter cites (beginning in 606/1209-10) are too late for our concerns. We would have to assume a more immediate impact on the scribes of the later fifth/eleventh century, and this is something I have not been able to verify up to this time. It does seem as if some such influence from the Arabic was at work in the Saljuq chancery by the early sixth/twelfth century. Muntajab al-Din Badic, the man who served as chief of Sanjar's chancery for some twenty years (ca.528/1133-1134 to 548/1153-1154) says in the introduction to his collection of compositions, the cAtabat al-Katabah,12 that the Persian- writing scribes of the East were forced to learn Arabic and Arabic style in order to deal with the Caliphate and "Arab kings." I assume that the move of many Khurasanian scribes, who belonged to the Samanid- Ghaznavid chancery tradition, to the West with the Saljuqs helped force their attention on Arabic. It is also interesting to note that Muntajab al- Din tells us that he was inspired to begin his career as a scribe in Mary after seeing some of the Arabic letters of one of his grandfathers who served with the Ziyarids. In any case, we can assume that the figured style was already in favor at Mary in 516/1122-23 when the author began his career, for that is the style in which he was trained and for which he became famous. Thus it looks as if it will be possible to trace the development of a figured style in Persian chancery prose under the influence of Arabic. One pathway of this influence may have been the general interest taken in the work of JurjdnT. Another must have been the move of the Khurasanian scribes west into an Arabic-using area-travelling along in the wake of the Saljuq conquests. I am going to leave this question in what cannot be called more than a suggestive stage and turn to the textual evidence which the scribes themselves offer us about their craft and the way in which it was 94 Islamic Rhetoric employed, in hopes of beginning to understand the place of ornament in the figured style. I will state the case first, then give some examples of the evidence. It will seem obvious after a little reflection, but it is important to note that the scribes were acutely conscious that their work was always subject to the most critical scrutiny by other scribes, including superiors, envious peers and sworn enemies. Their work was always on display. And the notion of display of skill, even virtuosity, is important for understand- ing how they came upon the figured style, since one of the purposes of an official letter or document was just that, the display of elegance and fine workmanship. The documents were tokens in a system of exchange among members of the ruling elite. The most important ones were read aloud in solemn assembly and were expected to be among the most perfect examples of the craft. The rhetorical figures must have seemed a welcome addition to the repertoire of stylistic devices by scribes who were called upon to produce displays of skill. It gave the craft a new dimension and allowes the practitioners to develop an ornate, artful Persian prose which came to be regarded as the only appropriate style for this type of inter- change among members of the ruling class. In the same way that the rulers vied in exchanging gifts, or in having the best qasidahs dedicated to themselves, they hired the best scribal talent and vied in the exchange of correspondence. There are indications in the texts, the cAtabat al-Katabah, for example,13 that an elegant response to such an epistle was regarded as a matter of great importance. Detailed communication among the elite on matters of mutual interest could be handled by emissaries themselves who might speak from written instructions.14 Evidence for the scribes' view of their work can be found in Muntajab al-Din's introduction to the cAtabat al-Katabah, already referred to, and in the introduction to Baha al-Din Baghdddi's collection.'5 Aside from numerous specific remarks about what might be regarded as a lapse in performance, the whole tenor of Mayhani's manual, Dasthir-i Dabi-r." supports this view. Mayhani's information allows us to go even further. He explains how a letter should have an overall purpose (maqsifd) which relates to the char- acter of the exchange between the communicating parties.1' The maqsid might be, for example, tahniyat (congratulations), and it was to be or- ganized and ornamented to serve that purpose. The use of headings in some of the inshd, collections tends to support the idea of the maqsid as the dominant organizing concept, in that there are headings for some of the letters and documents which indicate the particular maqsid, such as diplomas for investing people with various posts, letters of congratulation K. Allin Luther 95 or condolence, requests for moeny, invitations, etc. All the usual situations are covered, along with appropriate answers. Mayhani treats in detail the matter of organizing the flow of discourse (in the tashbib, for example) and the ornament, especially the use of metaphorical constructions, so as to carefully serve the maqsid. The ideas stated above about excellence in the scribal craft and its function in elite society can also be applied to the histories. They were also regarded as displays of skill, and they are sometimes clearly written for a purpose which involved some kind of social or economic transaction, as tokens to be appropriately ornamented. I shall review briefly some examples. Stephen Fairbanks believes that Najm al-Din Qumml, the author of the T-rikh al- Vuzara,, the earliest of my examples (548/1188-89), did not want to be known,1" but he certainly wanted his work to be known and regarded his rather peculiar ornate style as a display. His way of treating ornament in relation to his subject makes it obvious that he considered the figures at least as important as the history of the bureaucrats he mentions. His maqsiid, as Fairbanks points out, is perhaps an attempt to make the reader aware of the nature of Fate (rizgdr). Ravandi's Rdhat al-Sudir (ca. 599/1202) is not full of extraneous mat- ter, as Iqbal would have it, at least not from the author's point of view. It is all of a piece, a package of what he must have regarded as elegant and entertaining matter, a display of his eloquence and learning which was designed (here is his maqsid) to get him a position with the Rum Saljiiq Sultan, Ghiyas al-Din Kay Khusraw. Doubtless, in his view, the elaborate exordium, which must have cost him so much effort, was worth far more than the skeletal history of the Saljuqs which he took mostly from the work of Zahir al-Din Nishapiirlf's Saljiq Ndmah. The Nafsat al-Masditr of Nasavi (ca. 632/1234-35) is obviously a dis- play of the author's scribal virtuosity, using as its theme the life of the last Khvarazmshah. It is dedicated to one Sacd al-Din, perhaps a notable of Nasavi's own home area. One might call its purpose (maqsid) that of "lament over the times." Nafsat al-Masduir means something like "pained breath," and the editor of the text, Amnir Hasan Yazdgardi,19 makes it clear that it is used in this case in the sense of "lament over the times, or fate, and comment on unhappy [lit. unwholesome] events." It is also possible to construe its purpose as "consolation," although it strikes us moderns as strange that such an unbelievably bloody series of events as the Mongol Invasion should be treated in this way. However, it was not unusual at all for scribes who were regularly called upon to deal with the death of the 96 Islamic Rhetoric great and the near great in condolence letters and who were trained to be ready for any sort of occasion which might call for their epistolary talents. By Nasavi's time the figured style had long been considered adaptable to any conceivable theme or occasion. Juvayni's Thrikh-i Jahdn Gushi (ca. 650/1252-3 to 658/1259-60) deals with the Mongol Conquest, the most terrible calamity in the history of Islam, and, again, the scribe turns his art to the purpose. He himself says, ".. .. the purpose (qharaz) of recounting these tales and declaring and delineating the shape of events (sirat-i vdqicdt) compriseth two objects, viz. the achievement of spiritual and temporal advantage."20 He goes on to ex- plain these in detail. He also begs to be excused for any lapses in style, indicating that he expects to come under expert scrutiny. The part of his work I have been able to examine in detail up to now show that his con- ception of the relation between the overall maqsid and what one might call the subordinate maqsids of smaller units in his work accords fairly closely with the ideas of Mayhani. Browne's reference to Vassaf's stated intentions21 will have to suffice for that ultimate work of stylistic complexity, as I have not yet been able to deal with it. Vassaf's intention, as paraphrased by Browne, accords well with my contention that, in these histories, as in the documents, the figured style was a very important part of the scribe's effort, an integral part of his art. In some cases, such as that of the Rihat al-Sudgr, the work fits precisely under one of the headings in the inshd, collections. In other cases the works seem to have been conceived and written as ornament and arrangement in the service of a maqsiid, even though the purpose was not one which received regular treatment in the manuals and collections of insha,. All of these works, whether they were tokens in some particular social or economic exchange or not, seem to have been thought of as ornate objects, to be presented to and, if the authors' ambitions were realized, admired by the members of the elite and the literary men of the age. They belonged to a larger class of works which included non-historical books like the Marzubin Ndmah. That they were classified this way is suggested by the "recommended reading list" which Varavinf, the author of this work, has in his introduction.22 There are collections of fables, maqimah litera- ture, insha, collections, and histories. They all somehow meet VardvinT's standards for skill in the use of the figured style. To conclude, it seems to follow from what has been said above that the modern researcher cannot use these histories by simply "extracting the facts." The nature of the whole work is important if we are to understand the entirety of the author's message. We must be aware of the writer's K. Allin Luther 97 purpose and of the way in which he arranged and ornamented his work to serve that purpose. Beyond the words themselves is the message of skill. How that message was sent, even how well it was sent, is part of the history of the system of relationships in which the work functioned. Moreover, this notion of purpose served by arrangement and ornament affects the smaller segments of these works, and it is important for us to understand these smaller-scale relationships in attempting to interpret correctly the meaning of a paragraph or a sentence. What does the author in fact say about a particular event or circumstance? What is the whole message he attempts to send regarding some particularity? To answer these questions we have to understand and appreciate his figured style, and this means that we have to pay much more attention to rhetorical matters than some of us have hitherto been accustomed to do. It is asking a great deal when we consider how remote these people are from us in time, space and outlook, but it is no more than they themselves would expect. Notes 1 Ravandi, Muhammad, The Rd.at-us-Sudir wa Ayat-us-Suriir, ed. Mul.ammad Iqb l, London: Luzac and Co. (G.M.S. n. s. Vol. II), 1921, p. XXII. 2 Browne, E. G. A Literary History of Persia, Vol. III, pp. 67-68. ' Peterson, R.G. "Critical Calculations: Measure and Symmetry in Literature," PMLA, Vol. 91. No. 3 (May 1976), pp. 367-375. 4 Busse, H. Untersuchungen zum Islamischen Kanzleiwesen, Abhandlungen des Deutschen Archiologischen Instituts Kairo, Islamische Reihe, Bd. I, Cairo, 1959. s cAbd al-Q~hir al-Jurj.ni, Asrdr al-Balaghdh: The Mysteries of Eloquence, ed. Helmut Ritter, Istanbul: Government Press, 1954, p. 4. 6 Group Mu, for example, on treating rhetorical figures as deviation from a norm: "While every concept of deviation calls for a norm, or degree zero, it is extremely difficult to give this norm an acceptable definition. We might be content with an intuitive definition, that is a 'naive' discourse without artifice, without connotations, in which 'a hole is a hole.' However, difficulties arise in judging whether a certain text is or is not figured. Every speech act, every word, in fact is the act of an addressor. No speech act can be presumed innocent without great caution." A General Rhetoric, tr. Burrell and Slotkin, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1981, p. 30. ' Eco, U., A Theory of Semiotics, Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1976, p. 58. 8 General Rhetoric, p. 106. 9 Al-R.dily7n1, Mul.ammad b. 'Umar, Kitdb Tarjumdn al-Baldghah, ed. Ahmet Ate§, Istanbul: Ibrahim Horoz Basimevi, 1949. See p. 7, for example. 10 Vatvat, Rashid al-Din, Haddyiq al-Sihr. ed. cAbbls Iqbil. Drvdn-i Rashfd al-Din Vatv@t, ed. Sa'id Nafisi. Tehran: B5r.n!, 1339 9. 11 Asrdr, "Introduction," p. 6. 12 Ed. ,Abbas Iqbil. Tehran: Shirkat-i Sihami-yi Chip, 1329 S. p. 2. 98 Islamic Rhetoric 13 P. 3. Muntajab al-Din relates how he was having difficulty satisfying his master in the chancery and how he finally overcame his problems: "I was in this state of lamentations and supplication until the end of the day when I came out and went to my master [Sharaf al-Din Zahir-i Bayhaqi]. He handed me a letter which one of the great ones among the learned of the age had written to him, containing eloquent phrases and expressions, and meanings which were both precise and charming, and said, 'Take a look at this and, if you know you can write an answer, write a suitable response to it.' What he said affected my heart, and the sense of resentment and loss left my mind. I rose and went to my room, and with vehemence of nature and a burning mind, wrote the answer to that letter and went back to him in haste and gave it to him. He considered it carefully, and the signs of ease and cheerfulness appeared in the lines of his face. Every few moments he would put it down and tell me how amazed he was, then pick it up again and read until he finally read it to the end. He folded it and said, 'Real correspondence is like this, and the art of the secretary is thus." 14 Some modern historians have used the letters and documents as evidence for the substance of an exchange, or the actual working details of a position for which we have a diploma of investiture. But many of the letters, at any rate, indicate that the accompanying emissary is to deal with matters of substance, and there are also examples of written instructions which were to guide the emissary in the conduct of his discussions. The use of emissaries also speaks to the question of deliberative rhetoric in Islamic settings, since an oral presentation or discussion presumes the use of some kind of discourse aimed at "exhorting or dissuading." is Baha al-Din Muhammad b. Mu'ayyid-i Baghd5di, Al- Tavvasul il al- Tarrasul, ed. Ahmad Bahmanykr. Tehran: Shirkat-i Sihim!-yi Chdp, 1315 S. pp. 9-12. 16 Muhammad b. 'Abd al-Khaliq al-Mayhani (Muhammad b. ,Abd al-5lik al- Mayhani), Dastir-i Dabri ed. Adnan Erzi, Ankara: Imprimerie de la Socite d'Histoire Turque, 1962. 17 Pp. 20-21, 31-32. 18 Stephen Charles Fairbanks, "THE TARIKH AL-VUZARk: A HISTORY OF THE SALJUQ BUREAUCRACY," diss., U of Michingan, 1980, pp. 7, 45. The text of this work has been edited and published by Muhammad Taqi Danish Pazhaih: Najm al-Din Abfa al-Raja, Qummi, Thrikh al- Vuzard,, Tehran: Mu'assisah-,i Mutlicat va Talqiqat-i Farhangi, 1363 S. 19 Shihab al-Din Muhammad Khurandizi Nasavi, Nafsat al-Masdir, ed. Yazdgardi, Tehran: Idirah-,i Kull-i Nigirish-i Viztrat-i Amfizish va Parvarish, 1343 S., pp. shast va do (62). 20 'Alau ,d-Din 'Ata Malik-i Juwayni, Ta, rikh-i-Jahdn-Gushd, ed. Muhammad Qazvin, Leyden: E. J. Brill, 1912 (G. M. S. XVI, 1.), Part I, p. 7. Tr. J. A. Boyle, The History of the World-Conqueror, Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1958, Vol. I, p. 11. 21 Above, p. 90. 22 Varavini, Sacd al-Din, Marzubdu Ndmah, ed. Muhammad Rawshan, Tehran: Intish5xat-i Bunyad-i Farhang-i Irn, Nr. 217, 2535 ShRhanshihi, pp. 5-6. A Case of Semantic Reconstruction: The Egyptian Arabic Verbal Prefix Bi- ERNEST N. MCCARUS University of Michigan NTERNAL reconstruction is defined by Wallace Chafe (1959:478) as "a procedure for inferring part of the history of a language from material avaliable for a synchronic description of the language, and from that alone." Such history has typically been the history of sound changes based on ir- regular morphological forms. Chafe (1959:483) adds "Indeed, some kind of change occurring at some time during the history of a language is inferable from any morphophonemic alternation." Whereas internal reconstruction has almost exclusively involved phonology in a morphemic envirnoment, Jeffers and Lehiste (1979:47) add that the phonological history of a lan- guage can be inferred from lacks of symmetry in the sound pattern alone, citing as an example that the lack of a phoneme /p/ in Old Irish, where /t/ and /k/ occur along with /b d g/, invites the inference that an early /p/ had been lost; this hypothesis is confirmed by comparative evidence from related Gaelic languages. The charts below show the actual lack of symmetry (left) and how a hypothetical /p/ restores the symmetry (right): tk p t k bd g bdk This principle can be illustrated with examples from Modern Standard Arabic (MSA); the chart below lists the stop consonants of MSA plus /f/ and /j/:' - tt k q b dd - - f 100 The Verbal Prefix Bi- The dashes indicate asymmetries, or gaps, in the pattern; since voicing distinguishes contrasting sets of consonants, such as /t d/, /t d/, /s z/ and /s z/, the lack of voiceless counterparts for /b/ and /j/ (i.e., /p/ and /c/ respectively) and of voiced counterparts for /k/, /q/ and /f/ (/g, G, v/ respectively) constitute such gaps. If we hypothesize that /f/ derives from an original /p/, both being voiceless labial consonants, and that /j/ likewise derives from an original /g/, a phonetic change attested in many other languages, then four loose ends are neatly tied up in place as shown in the chart below: p t t k q b d d g - Comparative evidence from other Semitic languages supports this hy- pothesis; where Akkadian and Hebrew, for example, show the reflex /p/ of Proto-Semitic */p/ Arabic shows /f/, and where Akkadian and Hebrew exhibit /g/ for Proto-Semitic */g/ Arabic has /j/:2 Proto-Semitic Akkadian Hebrew Arabic p pfti, patil pdtah fataha 'to open' *g gammalu gamal jamalun 'camel' There is no material to work with to find a voiced counterpart to /q/; indeed, there is some question about the voicing of the original *q itself.3 This illustration is strictly phonological; one that is morphophonemic in nature involves the Arabic definite article /1/, which assimilates to a following homorganic, i.e. coronal, consonant. The situation in MSA is illustrated below: Anterior Position Coronal Position Back Position al-baabu an-nuuru al-qamaru 'the door' 'the light' 'the moon' But: al-jabalu 'the mountain' /j/, being coronal, should assimilate the /1/ as does coronal /n/, but such is not the case. We can posit the following set of sound changes to explain this anomaly: 1. Original State: no assimilation; original /g/. al-baabu al-nuuru al-gabalu al-qamaru Ernest N. McCarus 101 2. Sound Change 1: Assimilation of Definite Article 1. 1 -- C / C [def. art.] [+cor] /n/, being coronal, assimilates coronal /1/, whereas /g/, which is [-coronal] (velar), does not assimilate it. 3. Sound Change 2: Affrication of /g/. All /g/'s become /j/'s. al-baabu an-nuuru al-fabalu al-qamaru Sound change 1 was complete and had become inoperative before sound change 2 took place, so that /1/ never assimilated to coronal /j/ in Standard Arabic, although that has happened in dialectal Arabic. This "explains" the non-application of the assimilation rule to /J/ in Classical and Modern Standard Arabic, and also establishes the relative chronology of the sound changes.4 We can say that in effect internal reconstruction is the explication of an irregular feature by reconstructing an earlier stage of the language where that feature is perfectly regular. It may be that any irregular feature is potentially a relic from an earlier regular structure-that is, that it is a possible clue to historical change in that language-and that this applies to all components of the language. What I propose to do here is to take a syntactic-semantic irregularity in the occurrence of the verbal prefix /bi-/ in Egyptian Arabic and reconstruct the stages of its evolution.5 Henceforth the term "Egyptian Arabic" will refer specifically to the Cairene variety of Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. The irregularity involves the moods of the Egyptian Arabic (EA) verb. The EA verb has three moods, the imperative, e.g. ruuh 'go!' (masc. sing.) The subjunctive mood is formed by prefixing a subject-marker prefix to the imperative: yiruuh '(that) he go' The subjunctive is usually required by some preceding expression de- noting necessity, hope, desire, permission, purpose, etc. as in laazim yiruuh 'he must go' necessary he go 102 The Verbal Prefix Bi- Since the imperative and the subjunctive never occur with /bi-/ they are not central to the topic of this paper and will be dealt with only pe- ripherally. The indicative is formed by prefixing the mood marker /bi-/ to the subjunctive, with proper adjustments for syllable structure: biyruuh 'he goes' Depending on the context the indicative may be construed with the following kinds of meaning: a. Habitual, with expressions signifying repetition or recurrence of action, such as "every day", "often", "sometimes", "never", etc.: (1) baruuh maktabt ilgamca kull kaam yoom.6 'I go regularly to the uni- versity library every few days.' (9) (2) batkallim macaahum carabi dayman. 'We speak Arabic together all the time.' (5) b. Progressive, with expressions denoting a point in time or where the time context of the sentence itself is present time ("now", "right now"): (3) wihaaliyyan hiyya btiatagal fibank min ilbunuuk hina. 'Now she's work- ing in a bank here.' (8) (4) inta btidris tariix masr? 'Are you studying Egyptian history?' (8) c. Generic or dispositional refers to action that the subject is predisposed to perform, whether by nature (generic) or by training or experience (dis- positional). These occur in contexts of general truth value, especially in proverbs, sayings, etc. I did not find a good example of a generic, but the following illustrates dispositional meaning: (5) bass inta btitkallim carabi kwayyis ,awi. 'But you speak Arabic very well!' (5) d. Stative verbs are characterized by the absence of any action; some English examples are "know, want, love, own".7 Illustration: (6) biyhibb masr ,awi. '[He] loves Egypt dearly.' (6) Stative meaning is of course not a function of context but is inherent in the verb. Since stative verbs are actionless they cannot denote progressive action, but can denote the other various contextual meanings. To summarize: In Egyptian Arabic the indicative mood with /bi-/ is imperfective in aspect; verbs denoting actions may have the contextually determined meaning of habitual action or progressive action. Ernest N. McCarus 103 The sentences below illustrate an irregularity in the use of the indica- tive prefix /bi-/, in that the verb forms in italics are indicative in meaning and function and yet occur without the indicative prefix: (7) ittilimiiz zayy magdi yidduulu wagibaat kull yoom fimasr. 'Students like Magdi are given homework every day in Egypt.' ["Students like Magdi they give him homework every day."] (28) (8) ahibb a>ullukum 'May I say. . . " ["I want that I say to you"] (16) (9) tic rafu? 'Do you know him?' (6) (10) ilmasriyyiin yihibbu aay sukkar ziyaada. 'Egyptians love tea with plenty of sugar.' (7) (11) macraft 'I don't know.' (29) If the meaning is habitual, as in sentence (7) above, the /bi-/ prefix is optional;8 in this illustration the verb /yidduulu/ 'they give to him' has habitual meaning and occurs without the prefix. The form with prefix, /biyidduulu/, would mean the same thing. Stative verbs, as in sentences (8, 9, 10), seem to occur in the indicative without the prefix more often than with. The prefix is especially rare with a negative stative, as in (11). On the other hand, the prefix /bi-/ is obligatory if the meaning is progressive, as in (3, 4) above. Thus we have a state of affairs where the indicative mood marker /bi-/ is obligatory if the meaning of the verb is progressive, optional but usual if the meaning is habitual, and usually deleted if the meaning is stative. On the basis of these data I will reconstruct the semantic development of this prefix for Egyptian Arabic. Phase I. Pre-Egyptian INDICATIVE SUBJUNCTIVE Progressive Habitual Stative Non-Stative Stative ,aktubu ,acrifu ,aktuba ,acrifa 'I'm writing' 'I write' 'I know' '(that) I write' '(that) I know' This pre-Egyptian phase is assumed to be equal to Classical Arabic: mood markers still existed in speech, with a distinction between indicative (-u) and subjunctive (-a) moods but not between statives and non-statives. Phase II. Proto-Egyptian INDICATIVE SUBJUNCTIVE Progressive Habitual Stative Non-Stative Stative ,aktub ,acrif 'aktub ,acrif 'I'm writing' 'I write' 'I know' '(that) I write' '(that) I know' 104 The Verbal Prefix Bi- In Phase II the phenomenon of pause, whereby word-final short vowels are deleted before silence, has been generalized to an unconditional dele- tion, resulting in permanent loss of suffixed mood markers. Thus a form like ,aktub, with no mood suffix at all, is used for all moods. This probably happened in the first centuries of the Islamic era, as Arabic came to be spoken by many substratum peoples. Phase III. Introduction of progressive marker /bi-/ INDICATIVE Progressive Habitual Stative baktib ,aktib acraf 'I'm writing' 'I write' 'I know' t SUBJUNCTIVE Non-Stative Stative ,aktib ,acraf '(that) I write' '(that) I know' In Phase III /bi-/ is introduced as a marker of progressive meaning, creating the opposition progressive/non-progressive. Phase IV. Stative - Non-Stative INDICATIVE Progressive Habitual baktib 'I'm writing' 'I write' - 'V-. Stative ,acrif 'I know' it SUBJUNCTIVE Non-Stative Stative ,aktib ,acraf '(that) I write' '(that) I know' -I I I I In this period the prefix is extended to include habitual meaning. It now indicates either progressive or habitual action, and its absence implies stativeness. Phase V. Indicative - Subjunctive INDICATIVE Progressive Habitual baktib 'I'm writing' 'I write' Stative bacraf 'I know' SUBJUNCTIVE Non-Stative Stative 2aktib ,acraf '(that) I write' '(that) I know' By Phase V, the present day, /bi-/ has spread to cover statives as well as non-statives; it is now the sign of the indicative as opposed to the subjunctive mood. This reconstruction of the spread of the use of /bi-/ correlates with its semantic usage in present-day Egypt: the prefix was introduced specifically to mark progressive meaning, and its use with verbs in progressive contexts today is obligatory. It then became well identified with habitual action as well, and usually occurs in such contexts today. Its spread to stative verbs was relatively recent,9 and is limited in this usage. Ernest N. McCarus 105 This would imply that the feature of habitualness is closer to stativ- ity than it is to progressiveness, or that it shares some dimensions with stativeness. In this paper I have not taken a morphological irregularity and recon- structed an earlier regular stage, but have traced the syntactic/semantic spread of a verbal prefix introduced a thousand years ago. Can this hy- pothesis be substantiated by evidence from literary sources? There seems to be general agreement (Cohen 1924:63, Blau 1981:121) that by the four- teenth century at the latest it was not unusual to find /bi-/ prefixed to imperfect tense verbs in writings by Christians and Jews, who were less con- strained than Muslims to maintain the purity of the written language. Blau (1981:121) gives as an illustration (in Hebrew script) the text FM' BcMLH 'I don't do it', which may be read as something like /fa-maa bacmaluh/, which contrasts with Classical /fa-maa ,acmaluhu/. It remains to go to the literary sources to examine all such cases of this Middle Arabic to validate or disprove the reconstruction. Finally, a word about the origin of /bi-/. The general consensus is that it is in origin the preposition /bi-/ 'in'.10 In Classical Arabic the preposition /bi-/ may introduce the predicate in an equational sentence, especially a negative one, as in 'a-lam yarawna 'anna-allaaha bi-qaadirin calaa 'an yuhyiya-l- mawtaa? 'Do they not see that God has the power ["is able"] to bring the dead to life?' (Wright 1951:159) maa hum bi-mu'miniina 'They are not believers.' (Wright 1951:158) maa 'anaa bi-daahibin'I am not one who goes, am not going'. It is then a logical step to transfer this preposition to the indicative verb to reinforce progressive meaning. It is reasonable to propose that the negative predicate with /bi-/ followed by active participles, which of- ten have progressive meaning, served as the model for the transfer of this preposition to the indicative verb with progressive meaning,11 and that the domain of the new prefix then spread to all uses of the indicative verb. 106 The Verbal Prefix Bi- References Abdel-Massih, Ernest T. and A. Fathy Bahig, in association with ElSaid Badawi and Carolyn G. Killean 1978 A Comprehensive Study of Egyptian Arabic. Volume One, Con- versations. Cultural Texts. Sociolinguistic Notes. Ann Arbor: Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies, Univer- sity of Michigan. Blanc, Haim 1969 "The Fronting of Semitic "g" and the qal-gal Dialect Split in Arabic," Proceedings of the International Congress of Semitic Studies, pp.7-37. Blau, Joshua 1981 The Emergence and Linguistic Background of Judaeo-Arabic. Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute for the Study of Jewish Com- munities in the East. Brame, Michael K. 1970 Arabic Phonology: Implications for Phonological Theory and Historical Semitic. Unpublished Dissertation, MIT. Chafe, Wallace L. 1959 "Internal Reconstruction in Seneca," Language 35, No.3, pp.377- 495. Cohen, Marcel 1924 Le Systime verbal Se'mitique et l'Expression du Temps Paris: Imprimerie Nationale. Comrie, Bernard 1976 Aspect. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gray, Louis H. 1934 Introduction to Semitic Comparative Linguistics. New York: Columbia University Press. Jeffers, Robert J. and Ilse Lehiste 1979 Principles and Methods for Historical Linguistics. Cambridge: MIT Press. Ernest N. McCarus 107 McCarus, Ernest N. 1976 "A Semantic Classification of Arabic Verbs," Michigan Oriental Studies in honor of George G. Cameron, ed. by Louis L. Orlin. Ann Arbor: Department of Near Eastern Studies, University of Michigna, pp.3-28. Wright, W. 1951 A Grammar of the Arabic Language. Volume II. Cambridge: Cambridge University press. Notes 1 Subscript dots are used in this paper to denote emphasis and the voiceless pharyn- geal fricative /h/. Other symbols are j, the voiced velar fricative /gayn/; c, the voiced pharyngeal fricative /cayn/; d, the voiced interdental fricative /daal/, and G, a voiced uvular stop. 2 These examples are from Gray 1934: 15, 16. 3 See Blanc (1969) "The Fronting of Semitic "g" and the qal-gal Dialect Split in Arabic." 4 See also Brame 1970, 19-20. s A verbal prefix /bi-/ occurs also in Syrian, Lebanese, Palestinian, Jordanian, Libyan and some Peninsular dialects of Arabic but with varying meanings; only Egyptian Arabic is considered here. 6 All Egyptian Arabic citations are taken from Abdel-Massih (1978) A Compre- hensive Study of Egyptian Arabic, which constitutes a body of natural sentences with ready-made contextual translations which were of course not made with the present semantic concerns in mind. Italics highlight the determining contextual expressions; page numbers where the original sentences are found are given in parenthesis. Since the translations tend to be free, literal translations are supplied in brackets when it is desirable to show the structure of the Arabic original. 7 English statives typically do not occur in the progressive form, like *"I am wanting to go." For Arabic statives see McCarus (1976) "A Semantic Classification of Arabic Verbs" 14-18, 22-24. 8 Mona Kamel of the American University in Cairo pointed out to me this feature of verbs with habitual meaning. 9 Hala Talaat of Cairo tells me that Egyptian movies of the nineteen-thirties show much less frequent use of the prefix /bi-/ than is the case today. 10 This agrees with Comrie's (1976:103) theorization that progressive constructions are locative in origin. For other theories on the origins of the Arabic verbal prefix /bi-/ see Cohen (1924:63). 11 I owe this suggestion to Dr. A. Gaber Asfour of Cairo University. Toward a Method for Historical Lexicography of Semitic Languages GEORGE E. MENDENHALL University of Michigan It is a good indication of the wisdom and experience of Ernest Abdel-Massih, that even his casual remarks were frequently stimulating and productive of insights into fields of academic research that lay far beyond his own area of specialization. It is especially appropriate that this essay is dedicated to his honored memory, for several key principles elaborated upon here derive from his observations. N spite of a couple of centuries of intensive academic exploration of the language of the Hebrew Bible, there still is little agreement on many matters of crucial historical import. A generation ago, for example, one scholar could assert confidently that almost none of the Psalms were post- Exilic in date, while another equally confidently asserted that none were pre-Exilic. Similar arguments have raged over many other Hebrew texts. The situation still today is analogous to an inability to distinguish between the language of the King James Bible and the New English Bible. A major reason for this anomaly is simply an unconcern for or even dismissal of "mere history," as one preacher put it. The concern to exploit the Sacred Book for the legitimation of modern social and cultural phenomena-the authority of the Bible religious drive-has driven out the concern to under- stand the historical process, to which the biblical faith was so extremely sensitive. Already in rabbinic Judaism the dictum that "there is nothing early and nothing late in Sacred Scripture" illustrates the anti-historical bias of the post-biblical religious traditions. We may add to this attitudinal complex the fact that the reconstruc- tion of the biblical history, and especially the pre-monarchic period is so difficult that there is relatively little on which scholars can agree. In turn, this inability to reach consensus is caused primarily by an inability to agree upon the dating and sources of the various parts of the text that purport to describe the early, formative period of ancient Israel. George E. Mendenhall 109 Modern attempts at the reconstruction of the biblical history began actually only about 50 years ago, and it is not surprising that much of this endeavor still remains naive historically. On the other hand, the discipline of historical linguistics is itself only a couple of decades old. It should not be surprising, then, to find that scholars seem to assume that the Hebrew language was let down from heaven at Mt. Sinai and remained unchanged to the present day. It is true that the present text of the Hebrew Bible has been homogenized by the process of transmission, so that it is difficult, though not impossible, to distinguish linguistic contrasts between various parts of the text and various ages. The present essay is a preliminary and still experimental proposal for a more sophisticated and historically based method for recovering the dialectic history of ancient Hebrew language. The method begins with a number of observations that are axiomatic: assumptions that can be relied upon in a more or less orderly universe. 1. Language is an extremely sensitive indicator of cultural conventions and cultural change. As culture changes, which it did repeatedly in the turbulent history of biblical times, language changes. Linguistic history must, therefore, be correlated with social and cultural history. This is both a working hypothesis and an observed fact, though only the gross changes that took place with the Exile have been much studied.1 2. The most constant, rapid, and observable of linguistic changes is the semantic: new meanings and usages are constantly being intro- duced in any language, and especially in times of accelerated cultural change. 3. In relatively simple pre-modern societies the total inventory of words in normal use in any given time and culture is not likely to be more than four or five thousand items.2 4. Ernest Abdel-Massih observed some years ago that the most impor- tant indicator of dialect is lexicon, not phonetics or morphology. This is the more important for ancient languages for which phonetic in- formation is minimal. Speakers of any language can make allowances for variations in pronunciation, grammar and syntax, but usage of an unknown word brings communication to a sudden halt.3 5. Today, as in antiquity, language is not homogeneous over any large social field. Above all, urban language contrasts sharply to that of villages, and the village dialects differ similarly among themselves. Village dialects are strongly conservative, and are usually looked upon 110 Historical Lexicography of Semitic as old-fashioned and crude. It is in villages that old traditions and speech patterns are preserved sometimes for incredibly long periods of time, while the city and its political establishments are character- istically the instigators of cultural and linguistic change.4 6. Etymological relationships are therefore extremely important histor- ical evidence. Etymology is actually preserved linguistic history, and therefore social history, since language is itself a social phenomenon. It is a powerful means for the recovery of forgotten social relationships and historical processes. I. Patterns of External Relationships Decades ago I noted with curiosity and puzzlement the fact that the Hebrew lexicons almost always cited cognates to the Hebrew words and roots, but why should a large number have cognates in Arabic, for example, while others had cognates only in Aramaic and Akkadian? Before the decipherment of the Byblos Syllabic texts5 it was virtually impossible to find any order in the seemingly random distribution of cognates. It was indeed fashionable in some circles to disregard them entirely as of no further significance.6 Now it seems quite clear that the distribution of lexical cognates falls into five classes that correlate extremely well with what we know of social and cultural history from the Early Bronze Age to the Persian Empire. The differentiation of different Semitic languages and dialects had already taken place in the Early Bronze Age, and if anyone wishes to posit a common socio-linguistic source for all of them, it is clear that he must look far beyond the Early Bronze Age to the Chalcolithic at least, if not the pre- pottery Neolithic. Several years ago, I began examining the voluntary vocabulary of a number of biblical passages, to find out whether or not there were iden- tifiable patterns in the occurrences of cognates to the roots in Hebrew. A secondary purpose was to discover whether there were chronologically bound changes in the distribution of those patterns. Because the problem was such a complex one the procedure was simply to take the first 52 'vol- untary' roots in a given passage, and by examining the attested cognates assign them to different classes. This statistical sampling is of course sub- ject to a considerable margin of error, but the purpose was primarily a heuristic one that could easily be expanded to cover larger text segments as time and the accumulation of data progressed. By 'voluntary' roots, I mean non-obligatory words, which then excludes proper names, necessary George E. Mendenhall 111 grammatical particles, and other such items in which a speaker or writer has no choice of vocabulary. To test chronological variation, a series of texts the dating of which is generally agreed upon, such as Judg 5, Deut 2, Lam 1, Gen 17, was chosen for controls, and a number of texts the dating of which is very uncertain or controversial such as Gen 14 and 15, Exod 15 and 21, Deut 32 and Prv 22. Preliminary studies have been devoted to yet other segments of text, but the results are not yet fully tabulated. The present conclusions are intended as an indication of possibilities-and indeed probabilities that may become highly important in the near future. II. Classification of External Relationships First, for the classification of roots. They fall quite neatly into five different groups. It is, of course, an enterprise fraught with uncertainties, in view of the sparseness of documentation especially for the Inland Class, but as the old saying goes, 'you don't have to drink the whole ocean to know that it is salty.' The absence of a root is crucial to the method, which of course could lead to wrong conclusions, but there are in most cases means by which to reduce this kind of uncertainty-which will be discussed below. With a very few exceptions the vast majority of Hebrew vocabulary items fall into one of the following five classes: 1. Class S: Common Semitic. These roots are attested in Old Akkadian as well as Arabic, pre-Islamic Arabic and Ethiopic, and usually in the West Semitic dialects as well. In any given passage, the Class S roots vary between a low of 21.1% (Exo 15) to a high of 48% (Gen 17). The average is roughly 30%. This low figure is a dramatic illustration of the long existent differentiation of vocabulary among the various regional languages and dialects. 2. Class W: Common West Semitic. Attested in several of the tongues between the Tigris and the Mediterranean, and including Arabic. Not in Akkadian before the Amorite dynasties of the 19th Century. 3. Class C: Old Coastal Semitic. This includes the Byblos Syllabic, of course, the remnants preserved in those Ugaritic lexical items that have cognates only in Arabic, and in the Phoenician/Hebrew roots with cognates in Arabic/Ethiopic, but not in Aramaic, Amorite per- sonal names, and Akkadian.7 4. Class I: Inland Dialect. This includes primarily the various Aramaic dialects, the area of high population density from the Habur trian- gle to the Taurus Mountains to the North, and to Damascus to the 112 Historical Lexicography of Semitic South. Amorite should be included here also. The Western bor- der is the Amanus Mountain massif. The language must have been just as distinct from the Coastal region as the material culture is also. With no evidence for Aramaic before the 9th century, there is no way except through lexical distribution to determine how great that distinction was. The same is true of the differentiation between the Eastern (Amorite) dialects and the Western ones of the Aleppo- Hama-Damascus axis. The Semitic of the Ebla documents, when it becomes accessible and usable should throw a considerable light on both of these problems. This class shows perhaps the most important statistical variation, for it seems to be chronologically linked: with a notable exception, the later the text, the higher is the percentage of Inland Class roots. The lowest percentage is yielded by Deut 32 with only 7.7%, while the highest is found in Lamentations 1 with 30.7 5. Class L: Local Dialect. No convincing external cognates known so far. Statistics for this class range from a low of 2% in Gen 17 to a high of 9.6% in Deut 2. Average is 5.9%. III. Criteria for Class Assignments Verbal roots are, of course, abstractions, and languages do not operate on the basis of abstract but real lexical forms. However, whether we are dealing with internal or cross-linguistic phenomena it is obvious that it is only the root, not a concrete form that can furnish the evidence for a real- world relationship between two words. Those relationships are of great importance for social and linguistic history. A criterion of prime importance for determining the class of a partic- ular root is whether or not that root in a given language is productive. If the word is isolated-has no other cognate forms in the language, while it is highly productive in other Semitic languages, then it is most probable that the isolated word is a loan. Another criterion involves "parallel pairs." Frequently the first of such a pair is the word in common use, while the second may occur, for example, only in poetry. The probability is that the second word is foreign, but familiar (at least to the educated)? The phenomenon of "root doublets" is also of considerable importance. In this case, two roots with different forms but related semantically, are quite good proof of different histories. Quite often such root doublets are semantically specialized, e.g. the famous doublet nddar 'vow' and nazfr George E. Mendenhall 113 'one vowed: Nazirite'. Like English 'shirt' and 'skirt', they came into the language through different dialect routes. Another criterion of considerable value is that of "semantic distance." Virtually all vocabulary items are characterized in any language by a range of uses (meanings) in different contexts. It is normally not difficult to deter- mine a base meaning from a derived one, whether figurative, transferred, or other semantic process. If a word is used in one language only in a transferred meaning, the base meaning is frequently preserved in another language of source. A classical illustration involves the copula verb 'to be', root kwn. In Byblos Syllabic, Phoenician, and Arabic this is the normal verb. In Biblical Hebrew the Qal stem does not occur, and the root is used only in derived conjugations with the derived meaning 'make/cause to be'. The Inland dialect verb, attested at Zenjirli and Old Aramaic of Se- fire, and most certainly in Amorite personal names has replaced the base meaning of kwn, while the Divine Name YHWH probably has excluded causative/factitive meanings of the root hwy. A final observation is in order. Since this is a method for tracing the early history of Semitic roots, and therefore of Semitic languages, it is probably of little use from the period of the Persian Empire on, when Aramaic became the lingua franca of the entire Near East, and old lexical contrasts became enormously blurred. IV. Observations on Selected Segments of Biblical Language The statistics in Charts I and II derive from a sample of the first 52 roots of each text, except for Jud 5 and Gen 14, where the entire text has been examined. Small variations in each column have no significance. The dramatic gross contrasts in percentages of words stemming from each of the five classes are a fact of enormous potential significance, though it is clear that a much larger body of data will be necessary before firm conclusions may be reached. In the first column it will be noticed that there is a progressive reduc- tion in the number of OCS roots from the high of 52% in the 20th century syllabic texts from Byblos (the other 48% consists of Common West and Common Semitic, plus nearly 10% of roots otherwise unidentified), to a low of 13.5% in Gen 14A. However, there is an interesting and important exception to this observation: Deut 2, that dates at least five centuries after Jud 5, has a virtually identical percentage of OCS roots, while the other samples of the archaic poetry fall also well into the same range. The later poetry as well as prose shows a much diminished percentage of OCS roots. 114 Historical Lexicography of Semitic Chart I Comparative Statistical Distribution OCS % Inland % Com West % Com Sem % Local % * 52 0 25 13 9.6 Jud 5: 38.4 Lam 1: 30.7 Gen 15: 25 Genl7: 48 Gen 14A: 9.6 Deu 2: 36.5 Exo 21: 23 Gen 14A: 25 Gen 14B: 42.5 Deu 2: 9.6 Prv 22: 34.6 Gen 14A: 21.1 Exo 15: 21.1 Gen 15: 36.5 Exo 15: 7.6 Deu 32: 32.6 Exo 15: 19.2 Deu 32: 19.2 Deu 32: 36.5 Jud 5: 5.7 Exo 15: 30.7 Deu 2: 19.2 Exo 21: 17.3 Exo 21: 34.6 Prv 22: 5.7 Gen 14B: 27.6 Prv 22: 17.3 Gen 17: 15.3 Jud 5: 30.7 Lam 1: 5.7 Lam 1: 21.1 Gen 17: 17.3 Pry 22: 13.4 Gen 14A: 28.8 Gen 15: 4 Gen 15: 21 Gen 14B: 14.8 Lam 1: 13.4 Lam 1: 26.9 Exo 21: 3.8 Exo 21: 19.2 Jud 5: 13.4 Jud 5: 13.4 Deu 2: 25 Deu 32: 3.8 Gen 14A: 13.5 Gen 15: 9.6 Gen 14B: 10.6 Pry 22: 23 Gen 14B: 2.1 Gen 17: 13.5 Deu 32: 5.7 Deu 2: 7.6 Exo 15: 21.1 Gen 17: 2 * The first 52 roots of the Byblos Syllabic Glossary are provided for comparison. The phenomenon of Deut 2 constitutes a dramatic illustration of the thesis that language is an extremely sensitive indicator of cultural trends; the text itself stems from a time when there was a systematic, politically in- spired attempt to return to old tradition: the so-called "Reform of Josiah." The revival of the old Mosaic/Federation tradition inevitably brought back an increased usage of vocabulary that was relatively infrequent in the pre- ceding three centuries. The similarity between Deut 2 and Prv 22 is illusory. In the first place, there is only one root of OCS that these two passages have in common (the common verb cs'h 'to make'. Secondly, Prv 22 is probably among the earliest sections of Proverbs, and because of its close ties to the Egyptian wisdom tradition strongly reflects the old Canaanite wisdom tradition of urban Jerusalem. It has twice the percentage of the Common West vocabulary, but otherwise it is remarkable how closely parallel are the statistics for these two passages. Deut 2, on the other hand, is a reflection of archaic village dialect that became influential in the regime of Josiah because of the role of the cam hd-,dres in his restoration to the throne after the assassination of his father, Amon by the urban bureaucracy. Conversely, the percentage of Inland Dialect roots increases over the George E. Mendenhall 115 centuries from zero in Byblos Syllabic (for technical reasons)8 to 30.7% in Lamentations 1. It is important to note that here also we do not witness a neat gradual increase. The percentage of ID roots is a function of time, but not merely a function of time. The highest percentage of ID roots (30.7%) is found in Lamentations 1 which is securely dated to the sixth century B.C. How, then, can one explain the second highest percentage of ID roots (23%) in Exod 21, that antedates the reign of David? Again, the high sensitivity of language to cultural realities is illustrated; Exod 21 is the local adaptation of an age-old Amorite-therefore, Inland Dialect- legal tradition to the specific situation of a covenant-bound coalition of populations within the coastal region, where the two dialects had already been merged for more than a half millennium. The legal tradition, in other words, necessarily carried with it a spe- cialized vocabulary that derived from the Amorite social and cultural tra- dition. The close substantive parallels between the "Covenant Code" of Exodus 21-23 and the Code of Hammurapi have thus an important analog in comparative lexicography. A reciprocal observation is the fact that this sample of archaic legal language has also the next to lowest percentage of Old Coastal Semitic roots-just above Gen 14A. The statistics for Deuteronomy 32 are also interesting and important, for there is a most significant correlation with the other archaic poetic segments examined, Jud 5 and Exo 15. The extremely low percentage of ID vocabulary is entirely in keeping with the posited source of the poem in the central hill country villages of the mid-11th century B.C. (the prophet Samuel). It does not, however, reflect the relatively parochial language of Exo 15, for it has nearly twice the percentage of Common Semitic roots. It is therefore very difficult to place this poem into the period of the Divided Monarchy, as some scholars are now suggesting.9 Chart II arranges the texts in what I believe to be their rough chrono- logical order, illustrating the progressive diminution of the OCS vocabulary usage, and the increase in ID vocabulary. One should not expect a neat precision in such an undertaking as this, but as pointed out above, where there is a gross deviation from what otherwise is the normal pattern, there is abundant historical evidence that accounts for that deviation. Chart II requires relatively little comment other than to observe the astonishingly high percentage of Common Semitic vocabulary in the Abra- ham narratives except for Gen 14A. This fact correlates extremely well with the thesis I have argued elsewhere1o that the Abraham narrative came into the biblical tradition in the time of the United Monarchy as a device by which to affirm the common ancestry of all the populations under the rule 116 Historical Lexicography of Semitic Chart II Sample Contrasts in Chronological Order Century Text OCS % Inland % Corn West % Corn Sem % Local % xx BybSyl 52 0 25 13 9.6 xii Jud 5 38.4 13.4 13.4 30.7 5.7 xi Exo 15 30.7 19.2 21.1 21.1 7.6 xi Deu 32 32.6 7.7 19.2 36.5 3.8 xi Exo 21 19.2 23 17.3 34.6 3.8 x Gen 15 21 9.6 25 36.5 4 x Gen 14B 27.6 14.8 10.6 42.5 2.1 x Prv 22 34.6 17.3 13.4 23 5.7 vii Gen 14A 13.5 21.1 25 28.8 9.6 vi Deu 2 36.5 19.2 7.6 25 9.6 vi Lam 1 21.1 30.7 13.4 23 5.7 vi Gen 17 13.5 17.3 15.3 48 2 of David, and to legitimize his acquisition of the old pagan urban centers and their territories through the old device of the divine grant. These preliminary results are reassuring as a possible means by which to assign various sections of the Hebrew Bible to their appropriate historical and social context. Obviously much more work needs to be done in order to accumulate a larger and therefore more reliable sample of data. The correlation of vocabulary distribution with the various "sources" (JEDP) needs to be done, as well as the examination of passages that might give further evidence of the northern dialect (Hosea, Elijah/Elisha narratives?), and the contrast between the standard dialect of Jerusalem over against the Yahwistic villages of Amos and Micah. The possibility exists that the phenomena discovered are random, but it does not seem likely. The increase in preference for Inland Dialect vo- cabulary correlates too well with the fact that at the end of the eighth century the educated elite of Jerusalem could understand and speak Ara- maic. There can be no doubt that at that time Aramaic was a prestige language, otherwise the bureaucracy would not have bothered to learn it. Very probably they unconsciously began to prefer vocabulary items that were cognate to that language, and before long were actually writing it. George E. Mendenhall 117 Notes 1 For a recent updating of the evidence for rapid linguistic change in the time of the Exile, see Andrew E. Hill III, The Book of Malachi: Its Place in Post-Exilic Chronology Linguistically Reconsidered. University of Michigan dissertation, 1981. 2 According to Antonio Houaiss, a Brazilian linguist who has been studying world language trends for more than 40 years, it took modern languages about 1000 years to go from 4,000 to 9,000-word vocabularies by the mid-19th century, but it has taken only 100 years to expand to 400,000 or 500,000 words. Christian Science Monitor, Dec.7, 1981. 3 Note also the observation concerning a totally unrelated complex of dialects: "It was found that a comparison of lexical material provided the most reliable evidence." I.e. for a connection between New Guinea Pidgin and Samoan Plantation Pidgin. Peter Muhlhausler, "Samoan Plantation Pidgin English and the Origin of New Guinea Pidgin," p.50, in The Social Context of Creolization, Ellen Woolford & William Washabaugh, eds. (Karoma, Ann Arbor, 1983). 4 The same was true in ancient Rome: "Since surviving sources are of course mostly the work of men who valued literature, it is not surprising to find in them many con- temptuous references to yokel accents and lack of education. Country folk had read no books, their choice of words was out of date and uncouth, they dropped their aitches; in contrast urbanitas, meaning city fashions but above all those of the capital itself." Roman Social Relations, by Ramsay MacMullen (New Haven, 1974) p.30. 5 G.E. Mendenhall, The Syllabic Inscriptions From Byblos, Beirut, 1985. 6 Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament. By James Barr (Ox- ford, 1968), p.304: "The time is past, however, when the primary creative and positive contribution of comparative study was the production of individual philological solu- tions." 7 Marvin Pope, at the First International Symposium on the Antiquities of Pales- tine, Aleppo, 1981. The proceedings are in press. Cf. also a forthcoming dissertation by Fred Renfroe, Yale University, that will deal with Arabic cognates in Ugaritic. 8 Since at this date it is not possible to distinguish between CD and ID lexical items, any root that is attested also in ID sources would automatically be classified as Common West. 9 F.M. Cross, Jr., Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge, 1973), p.264, n.193. 10 "The Nature and Purpose of the Abraham Narratives," in Ancient Israelite Re- ligion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross. Ed. P. D. Miller, et al., (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), pp. 337-56. Baqillfnif's Critique of Imru, Al-Qays MUSTANSIR MIR University of Michigan Preliminary T HE Quran, claiming to be a book from God, challenged the Arabs to produce a work like it if they thought it was composed by Muhammad, and said that their attempts to match it would fail.1 Muslim thinkers later developed the Quranic claim into what is known as the doctrine of the "matchlessness" or "inimitability"-ijgz-of the Qur'an. Of the works written to argue the case for Quranic icjdz, the Icjdz al-Qurdn2 of Abfi Bakr al-Baqillani (950-1013) is usually accorded a very high place. This paper attempts to show that one of the lines of argument taken by Bdqilldni in establishing Qur3,nic icjdz is not only vulnerable, but also counterpro- ductive. Among the several arguments Baqillani adduces in support of Qura-nic icjdaz is that of Quranic nazm ("[ideal] relationship between words and meanings"; literally, "order, coherence, organization").3 In his attempt to demonstrate the superiority of the nazm found in the Quran to that found in human discourse, Baqilla-ni argues that the language of the Quran is, in respect of choice of words, beauty of construction, and nobility of thought, far superior to the language of Arabic poetry, which emerges from the comparison badly bruised. To drive his point home, Baqillani singles out Imru, al-Qays, generally considered the greatest of pre-Islamic Arab poets, for his critical favors.4 After making a scathing criticism of two-fifths of Imru, al-Qays' muacallaqah, Bdqillani pronounces the verdict:5 the Quran is beyond doubt mucjiz ("matchless, inimitable"), for, if a poet like Imru, al-Qays is weighed in the balance and found wanting, then, as the Persian saying has it, td ba dfgardn chih rasad? It is Baqillani's treatment of Imru, al-Qays that I propose to discuss in this article, and I shall try to show that (1) from a grammatical-literary Mustansir Mir 119 point of view, the treatment leaves much to be desired, and (2) if BaqillEni's reasoning is accepted, then some of his objections to Imru, al-Qays would apply to the Quran as well. Although I believe it is possible to answer point by point most of Baqilla-ni's criticisms of Imru, al-Qays, it would hardly be necessary to do so in this article, which will have achieved its purpose if it cites a sufficient number of representative examples as evidence for its thesis, and this evidence I shall try to present. Also, in order to limit the discussion to essentials, I shall concentraate on the views and comments of Baqillani hismelf, ignoring, generally, the opinions of other writers he cites on Imru, al-Qays' mucallaqah. Finally, I shall ignore the strictures that Baqilla-ni the moralist passes against Imru, al-Qays. Basic Flaw in Bdqillnt's Approach Bdqillani in his critique of Imru, al-Qays shows a hearty disregard for the difference between the nature of literary analysis and that of logi- cal analysis. Literary analysis calls for sympathy and involvement on the critic's part, makes an allowance for the subjective and imagistic aspects of the discourse, and takes into consideration the charged nature of the language used by the writer. Logical analysis, on the other hand, requires cold objectivity, looks for definitional clarity and consistency, and demands strict adherence to the rules of formal or material logic. If this distinction is correct, then to evaluate a metaphor by using tools of logic would be like taking a butterfly through a car wash. Unfortunately, that is the impres- sion one gets upon reading Bdqillani's remarks about Imru, al-Qays. As a result of his confusion of the literary with the logical, Baqillani, in his discussion of Imru, al-Qays' poetry, sees contradictions where none exists, fails to appreciate significant departures from normal usage and ordinary syntax, turns an unappreciative eye to subtle semantic shifts, picks holes in apposite metaphors, and brings unwarranted charges of redundancy. This is my basic criticism of Bdqillan-I have others, which I shall briefly men- tion at the end-and in the following pages I shall try to establish its validity. Under several headings, I will first state Baqillani's objections to Imru' al-Qays' poetry, and then offer my response. Contradictions (1) After requesting his friend to make a stop at his beloved's old dwelling-place, the poet in vs. 2 says that the traces of the abode are not yet effaced (lam yacfu rasmuhd). According to Baqillani, the words lam yacfu rasmuhd are contradicted by vs. 4, whose second hemistich reads: 120 BaqilldnT's Critique fa hal cinda rasmin ddrisin min mucawwal. This hemistich, according to Baqilldni, means: Is there a mucawwal (see below) by remains that have become obliterated? cAfd and darasa, Baqilldni argues, are synonymous, and the poet contradicts himself because he first says that the remains of the place exist, and then, that they do not.6 Bdqillani's point is difficult to appreciate. He peremptorily rejects the simple, and plausible, explanation7 that lam yacfu rasmuhd need not signify complete obliteration. It is a commonplace of language that words have a certain semantic range, and that the meaning of a word in one context may vary from its meaning in another, and that the precise meaning of a word, both in terms of intension and extension, will be determined by the context in which it occurs. In Imru, al-Qays' verse, it is not at all necessary that cafd mean total effacement. Let us look at two verses by Abiu Dhuayb al-Hudhal in which he uses the same word in the same sense in which it is used by Imru, al-Qays: li man talalun bi l-muntada ghayru hdilf cafd bacda cahdin min qitrin wa wibilf cafid bacda cahdi 1-hayyi minhum wa qad yurd bihi dacsu atherin wa mabraku jimiliA In these verses cafd is used twice, each time without the implication of total obliteration. In vs. 1 the poet first speaks of the remains, which exist and are visible, and then says of them: cafd. In the second verse, he first uses the word cafd, and then adds that certain marks and traces of the old dwelling-place can still be seen. I am sure Abili Dhu'ayb did not for a moment think he was contradicting himself, for clearly by caf6 he did not mean complete effacement. Let us now look at Q. 4:36: yd ayyuhi lladhfna dmanf 5min . . . ("0 those who have believed, believe. . . !") Is the verse contradicting itself? It must be, according to the rule Baqillhni seems to be setting up, but it is not; it is simply enjoining the weak of faith to become strong in faith. In other words, the first imana denotes faith that is less than complete, whereas the second amana denotes complete faith. Or take Q. 12:99, in which Joseph welcomes in these words the members of his family upon their arrival from Canaan into Egypt: udkhulf misra dminfna ("Enter Egypt in peace.") A critic might say that udkhuli ("Enter!") contradicts the fa lammd dakhali cald yifsufa ("When they entered into the presence of Joseph") in the same verse, for how could Joseph tell them to "enter into Egypt" when they had already done so? Obviously the second dakhala in the verse has a slightly different meaning-it is a formal expression of welcome-than that of the first, which represents the physical Mustansir Mir 121 act of entering a place. Why is it not possible to say, with reference to Imru, al-Qays' verse, that lam yacfu rasmuhd in vs. 2 does not signify complete effacement, so that there will be no contradiction between vs. 2 and vs. 4? There is another point which Bdqillanm7 seems to have completely missed. Grammatically, lam yacfu rasmuhd is a verbal sentence, whereas rasm dris occurs in a nominal sentence. A nominal sentence has no tense (ghayr muqtaran bi zamin). In other words, the tense of a nominal sentence will be determined by the context in which it occurs. In the present case the context is supplied by lam yacfu rasmuh. Accordingly, rasm ddris does not mean "remains that have been obliterated," but "remains that are in the process of being obliterated." Thus once again there is no contradiction between vs. 2 and vs. 4. (2) Vs. 4 of Imru, al-Qaysmucallaqah reads as follows: wa inna shifi' cabratun muhardqatun fa hal cinda rasmin drisin min mucawwah.l9 Baqilldni says that the two hemistichs of the verse contradict each other: if the poet's tears are his remedy (first hemistich), then why does he need another mucawwal?1o Ba-qillani takes mucawwal to mean an "object upon which one might rely." But it is possible to take the word to mean mawdic cawil or mabkd"11 ("weeping-place"), in which case the verse would mean, not that the poet's cure lies in tears shed and yet he needs something else to console him, but that he would like to cry and is therefore looking for a proper place to cry in. But even if mucawwal is interpreted as an "object upon which reliance may be placed," the verse would only mean that the poet wants to cry and needs a shoulder to cry on. In either case the relationship between the two hemistichs is not that of antithesis but that of complementarity. Constraints of Meter and Rhyme In several places Baqilldni accuses Imru, al-Qays of using a certain expression or construction for no better reason than that of maintaining meter or rhyme. Irrespective of how cogent, in this regard, Bdqilldni's criticisms are, it may be asked whether deference to meter and rhyme necessarily makes for inferior discourse. The Quran, Baqillani would say, is not poetry. And yet it employs the device of saj, ("rhymed prose"), and often caters to the needs of rhyme (ricayat al-fawds.iO. Here are a few examples. When the Quran mentions Moses and Aaron, it regularly mentions them in that order-first Moses and then Aaron (6:84; 7:122; 122 Baqilla-ni's Critique 10:75; 21:48; 23:45; 25:35; 26:48; 37:114, 120; also 2:248)-except in 20:70, where Aaron is mentioned first. Can it be denied that the construction hdirna wa misd is at least in part determined by the need to maintain the rhyme in the sfirah? Q. 78:28 uses kidhdhaban as a masdar instead of takdhiban. Is not the need to rhyme part of the reason why this is done? Fulk ("ship") is used in Arabic both as a masculine and as a feminine word. In several Qur'anic verses, e.g. 2:164 and 14:32, it is used as a feminine, but in 26:119, 36:41, and 37:140 it is used as a masculine, partly, if not exclusively, for reasons of rhyme. The regular plural of macdhirah is macadhirah, but 75:15 has macadhirah, which is certainly in accord with the rules of the language but at the same time makes the verse rhyme with the preceding verse. The assumption that a discourse should be free from all constraints of meter and rhyme is thus a faulty one. We shall now look at some of Baqilldni's specific criticisms of Imru, al-Qays. (1) The first hemistich of vs. 11 runs: wa yawma dakhaltu 1- khidra khidra cunayzatin ("And the day I entered the litter-the litter of cUnayzah"). Bdqilldni says: the repetition of khidra cunayzatin is necessi- tated by the meter, otherwise it is redundant. In reply to this it would suffice to cite a parallel from the Quran (48:26): idh jacala lladhina ka- far ff qulifbihimu 1-hamiyyata hamiyyata l-jahiliyyati ("When the disbe- lievers developed in their hearts fierce prejudice-the fierce prejudice of the Jdhiliyyah"). Is it meter that obliged the Quran to repeat the words hamiyyata l-jdhiliyyati? Obviously neither the Quran nor Imru, al-Qays is guilty of needless repetition. Both make apt use of the rhetorical device of tawdih bacd al-ibhim ("explication after obscurity") or tafsil bacd al-ijmdl ("detail after a concise statement"). In the Quranic verse, the word al- hamiyyah, with its definite article, raises in the reader's mind the question, What kind of hamiyyah? The reader's curiosity aroused, the answer is provided: hamiyyata l-jahiliyyati. In Imru, al-Qays' verse, similarly, al- khidr raises in the listener's mind the question, What litter? "The litter of cUnayzah," comes as the answer. From the point of view of baldghah, more- over, a construction of this kind achieves a certain dramatic effect. Imru, al-Qays himself is in no doubt what khidr he is talking about-cUnayzah's- and so he "smugly" uses the word with the definite article. As soon as he uses it, however, he realizes that the listener would require more detail, and so he quickly adds that he is speaking of cUnayzah's litter.12 (2) The second hemistich in vs. 2 of Imru, al-Qays' mucallaqah reads: li ma nasajatha min janibin wa sham'al 13 Bqilla-ni objects to the use of the word nasajat. The occasion demands the masculine form, nasaja, he says, but meter forced the poet to use the feminine form, which he does, Mustansir Mir 123 making ri-h ("wind"), which is feminine but has not occurred in the text, the antecedent of the pronoun contained in nasajat.14 Baqillani's objection is not a strong one, for it is based on a simplistic view of the use of pronouns and pronominal particles. I do not doubt that Baqillani was aware of the complex ways in which pronouns and pronominal particles are used in Classical Arabic. But it is surprising that he forgot that the objection he is making against Imru'al-Qays can be made against the Quran as well. Before we present evidence from the Qurdn, we shall note another, similar objection Bdqillani raises with regard to the second hemistich of vs. 2 of the mucallaqah. In this hemistich Imru, al-Qays says that the traces of the beloved's abode have not disappeared (lam yacfu rasmuhd). While the hemistich does not admit of an objection on grounds of meter, Baqillani does say that Imru' al-Qays should have said rasmuhi instead of rasmuha, for the reference is to manzil ("abode"; feminine) in vs. 1, and manzil, being masculine, requires a masculine pronoun; and if the antecedent of the pronoun in rasmuhd is the implied ddr ("abode"; masculine), then this, too, says Baqillani, is a flaw (khalal).15 The following examples from the Quran would cover this objection of Baqilln7l's as well. (a) In Q. 6:57 we read: qul inni cal bayyinatin min rabbi wa kadhd- habtum bihi16 The masculine pronoun in bihihas the feminine bayyinah as its antecedent. The explanation is that bayyinah here stands for Quran, which, being masculine, justifies the use of the masculine pronoun.17 (b) Q. 77:31-32 are as follows: la zalilin wa Id yughn- mina -lahabi innaha tarmi bi shararin ka l-qasri.18 The feminine pronoun innahd in vs. 32 should have a feminine antecedent. But the antecedent, occurring in vs. 31, is masculine: lahab. The explanation is as follows. Lahab ("flame") implies fire (which is feminine in Arabic), and it is this fire that justifies the use of the feminine pronoun.19 (c) Q. 7:4 reads: wa kam min qaryatin ahlakndha fa jdaha ba'sund bayditan aw hum qd'ilna ("Many a town there is that We have destroyed, Our punishment coming upon it at night or in broad daylight when they were taking rest"). Note the italiziced they, which, strictly speaking, has no antecedent, but for which qaryah ("town"), interpreted (as in 12:82) as "people of the town," serves as the antecedent. (d) The use of the demonstrative pronoun hddhd ("this") in Q. 3:191 is quite appropriate, even though its antecedent is "the heavens and the earth." The antecedent, obviously, is the heavenly bodies taken as a single collectivity and not individually or separately, for otherwise the appropriate pronoun would be huma (as in 2:255) or hunna. In vs. 2, then, Imru, al-Qays is perfectly justified in using nasajat 124 Baqilla-ni's Critique (the subject of the verb being (rih) instead of nasaja, and rasmuhd (the feminine pronoun making reference to the implied ddr) instead of rasmuhi. One wonders why Baqillan7i would criticize Imru, al-Qays for making use of a linguistic convention that is well attested in the Qur'an. (3) Describing his trysts, Imru, al-Qays says (vs. 22) that he used to steal past guards who would have liked nothing better than to lay their hands on him-law yusirrina maqtali ("only if they could kill me in a sneak attack"). Baqillani says that meter compelled Imru, al-Qays to use the imperfect law yusirrina instead of the expected perfect, law asarri20 BaqillanT is not entirely right, for the use of the imperfect instead of the perfect yields, as a rhetorician would say, the meaning of hikayat al-hdl ("depiction of the present situation"; cf. enallage). Consider Q. 2:214: am hasibtum an tadkhuli 1-jannata wa lammi ya'tikum mathalu lladhi-na khalaw min qablikum massathumu l-ba'sdju wa d-darradu wa zulzili hattd yaqila r-rasilu wa lladhina imanu macahu mata nasru lldhi.21 Note the word yaqila in the verse. By using the imperfect form of the verb instead of the perfect (qdla), which the reader expects, the Quran enlarges the scope of the application of the verse: not only the prophets and their followers in the past, but also Muhammad and his followers today face trials and tribulations so that they call out, "When will the aid of God come?" The use of the imperfect in the verse, it cannot be denied, is quite strategic and constitutes one aspect of the ijaz ("terseness, succinctness") of the Quran. Imru, al-Qays, too, by saying yusirrin instead of asarr, indicates that not only in the past but also in the present he is on the wanted list. Condition as Emphasis In vs. 6 Imru, al-Qays, speaking of his two lady-loves, says that when they get up, the aroma of musk from their bodies spreads all around (idhd qdmatd tadawwaca l-misku minhumd). Baqillani asks: Why should the aroma spread only when the women get up? Why not at all times?22 The objection is amusing, but is made by Baqillanf in all seriousness. It is misplaced because a conditional expression does not always give the meaning of condition; it may be used simply to lend emphasis, as the words idha qmatd have been in Imrnru, al-Qays's verse. Consider Q. 24:33: wa ld tukrihi fatayitikum cald l-bighaii in aradna tahassunan ("And do not force your female slaves to prostitution if they want to remaih chaste"). What if they do not want to remain chaste? Could they be forced to engage in prostitution? The words in aradna tahassunan, though formally conditional, are obviously not meant to be conditional; they only signify that the act of forcing slaves to prostitution, a heinous Mustansir Mir 125 act in itself, would become more heinous if done against their will. In Imru, al-Qays' verse, similarly, the words idhi qmatd are not conditional, but only imply that the aroma spreads far and wide when the women get up and move about.23 Definite and Indefinite Vs. 10 of Imru, al-Qays' mucallaqah reads as follows: fa zalla 1-cadhari yartamina bi lahmihdA wa shahmin ka hudddbi d-dimaqsi l-mufattali24 BdqilldnT says: . . it [verse] is considered beautiful, and the simile [in it] is con- sidered to be elegant [malih.] and appealing to the heart [wdqic]. But there is a flaw in it: he [poet] makes lahm ["flesh"] definite but [leaves] shahm ["fat"] indefinite, so that it is not known that it is her [she-camel's] fat that he is describing. Moreover, he offers a simile for one of the two things [fat] . . . but fails to offer one for the first part, which, as a result, hangs loose.25 To this criticism a three-fold answer may be given. (a) Bdqillan-i is probably the only reader of Imru al-Qays ever to have thought that the "fat" in question, simply because shahm is grammatically indefinite, may not belong to the slaughtered beast. Only a blatant dis- regard of the context can make one conjecture that it was, or could have been, the fat of another animal. Baqillani's logic, if accepted, would pro- duce some odd results. Think, for example, of the fate the following verse of Farazdaq would meet at BaqilldnT's hands: a lam tarani cdhadtu rabbi- wa innani- la bayna ritdjin qaiimun wa maqdmi26 What do the words ritdj ("door") and maqdm ("spot") in the verse stand for? The context provides the answer: ritaj stands for ritdj al-kacbah ("the door of the Kacbah") and maqdm for maqam ibrdhirm ("Abraham's spot"; see Q. 2:125). If BaqillanT's argument were accepted, ritdj and maqam, being idefinite, could never be properly identified, and the second hemistich of the verse would be meaningless. Now let us take an example from the Qur'n. Q. 47:24 says: a fa lI yatadabbarina l-qur' ana am calj qulhitbin aqfdluhd ("Do they not reflect on the Qur'an, or do hearts have their locks on them?") The word for "hearts," qulbib, is indefinite. Does this mean 126 Bdqilldni's Critique that the hearts in question belong, or might belong, to people other than those criticized in the verse? Consistency on his part requires that Baqillani reply in the affirmative. (b) Although shah m has a tanwi-n and is thus indefinite, it is definite insofar as it is qualified by the phrase, ka huddibi d-dimaqsi l-mufattali According to a well-known rule of Arabic grammar, an indefinite noun, when qualified by a word or phrase, loses its indefiniteness and for all practical purposes becomes definite. That is why, for example, qawlun macffrfun in Q. 2:263 is fit to be a subject, or, in Q. 96:15-16, nsiyatin kddhibatin khdtiatin (vs. 16) can be in apposition to an-ndsiyah (vs. 15). If shahm thus becomes definite, Bdqilldni's criticism would not apply. (c) Bdqillani objects that Imru, al-Qays fails to offer a simile for lahm. But, first of all, why should it be necessary for Imru, al-Qays to offer one, so that his failure to do so should be held against him? Second, it is evi- dent that it was the pieces of fat which, for their silky whiteness, appeared remarkable to the poet, who then likened them to raw silk. If so, then the indefiniteness of shahm, far from being a flaw, becomes highly significant, for it represents tafkhim ("magnification"): by making the word indefinite, the poet indicates that there was something special about the fat; and the qualifying phrase, ka hudddbi d-dimaqsi 1-mufattalh, explains what was special about it. Incidentally, in the above-cited Q. 2:263, too, the indefi- niteness of quhib is for tafkhim, the only difference being that the tafkhim in the Quranic verse is of a negative kind (tasghir ["diminution, humil- iation"]), whereas in Imru, al-Qays' verse it is of a positive kind (taczm ["exaltation"]). In the above-cited verse of Farazdaq also, the indefinite- ness of ritaj and maqam is for taczirm. Taqdim and Ta khir In vss. 21-25 Imru, al-Qays speaks of his amorous adventures. Vss. 21-23 describe scenes of love-making, vss. 24-25 his arrival at the women's quarters. Baqilla-ni remarks that Imru, al-Qays reverses the proper sequence since the "arrival" verses (24-25) should have preceded the "love- making" verses (21-23). What ought to have come first has been postposed (takhir) and what ought to have followed has been preposed (taqdm).27 Bdqilldnl's objection is understandable, but not necessarily valid. From the point of view of baldghah, the normal order of two things may be re- versed if that will produce a heightened effect.28 Take Q. 7:77-79. Vs. 77 says that the people of Thamild killed the she-camel which Salih, their prophet, had forbidden them to harm; vs. 78 says that punishment over- took them for the transgression; and vs. 79 says that S alih departed from Mustansir Mir 127 his people, criticizing them for not heeding his words. It is obvious that Salih criticized his people and emigrated from the land before the meting out of the punishment, and that vs. 79 should therefore have preceded vs. 78. The Qurdn alters the chronological sequence of crime-emigration- punishment to that of crime-punishment-emigration in order to emphasize that the punishment was the direct and immediate result of the killing of the camel.29 I suspect that Imru, al-Qays deliberately positioned vss. 21-23 of his mucallaqah where he did because he wanted to emphasize to Fatimah (the coy beloved of whom he speaks in vs. 16 and whom he addresses in vss. 17-20) that women find him irresistible, and that Fdtimah would do well to yield to him. If this analysis is correct, then vss. 24-25, if put after vss. 19-20, would mar the effect the poet wants to achieve. Miscellaneous (1) Imru' al-Qays begins his mucallaqah by asking his traveling com- panion30 to stop with him at the site where his beloved once dwelt, so that they might weep in remembrance of the days the poet spent in the beloved's company. Here is the opening line: "Halt! Let us weep in remembrance of a [certain] beloved and a [certain] dwelling-place." Against this beautiful and touching line of poetry Bdqillan raises objections whose puerility is matched only by the seriousness with which they are made. Baqillani's first objection is that the companion might have been asked to weep at the plight of the poet, but not in remembrance of the poet's beloved-for, after all, "What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba/That he should weep for her?"31 His second objection is that if the poet really wants his companion to shed tears of a lover, then he should be ashamed of the very thought, for what lover would allow his friend to flirt with his beloved?32 Baqilldni is again off the mark. The poet is neither inviting his companion to start shedding tears simply at the mention of the beloved nor asking him to play the lover. He is only asking him to commiserate with him and share in the nostalgic mood generated by the occasion. For there must be some truth to the fact that, to borrow the words of Mutammim ibn Nuwayrah, "one sorrow gives rise to another" (inna sh-shajd yabcathu sh-shajd),33 though Baqilldni appears to be unwilling to grant that tears might well up in one's eyes at the sight of a friend's haplessness. Baqillani, it seems, feels uncomfortable at the use of the plural nabki ("let us weep"), and would perhaps withdraw his objection if the poet were to say abki ("let me weep"). But imagine the ruinous effect this alteration would have on the line, for the line would then mean something like this: Friend, be so good as to stop here for a few minutes so that I might cry in 128 Bdqillni's Critique remembrance of my beloved, and after I am done crying, we shall resume our journey. The change from the emotional plenitude and natural warmth of nabki to the emotional anemia and cold artificiality of abki is too obvious to need any comment. (2) In vs. 18 Imru, al-Qays asks his beloved whether she thinks his heart will do whatever she commands it to do? The metaphor of the heart receiving the command is criticized by Bdqilldn on the ground that the heart is not something to which orders may be issued.34 I am sure that a similar expression occurring in the Qurn would be explained by Bdqillani as an instance of majaz mursal (synechdoche), though evidently he is un- willing to extend the same courtesy to Imru, al-Qays. He forgets that, in the same vein in which he criticizes Imnru, al-Qays one may criticize Q. 7:179, lahum qulibun laI yafqahina biha, for hearts do not have the ca- pacity to understand, or Q. 22:46, wa ldkin tacmd l-qulibu llatifis-sudri,35 for hearts are not possessed of vision, or Q. 47:24, am cald qulhibin aqfaluha (cited above), for hearts are not placed under lock and key, or Q. 79:8-9, qulibun yawma'idhin wajifatun absaruha khashicatun,36 for hearts do not have eyes. And what would Baqilldini say about Q. 18:77, jiddran yuridu an yanqadda,37 for walls, of course, are not possessed of will? (3) Describing the dwelling-place of his beloved, Imru, al-Qays in vss. 1-2 mentions the names of several places that lie in its vicinity. Bdqillani remarks that the list of names is too long and serves no pur- pose, and that it would have sufficed to mention some of the names.38 The list is not at all irrelevant. First of all, it helps locate the dwelling- place with exactness; the names give solidity and authenticity to the de- scription. Second, to the poet, if not to Baqillani, the names are not simply words, but are associated with the dwelling-place of the beloved and evoke fond memories; upon sighting them, the heart of the journeying poet beats faster, for the abode of his beloved is next. Third, the conjunction Imru, al-Qays uses in giving the series of names is fa, and not wiw. Baqillandi cannot, of course, accuse the poet of using fd, because of metrical reasons. I think the use of f83 is significant because, unlike wiw, fd, denotes order or sequence. The poet, then, is indicating the order in which the said places ought to be mentioned, either from the point of view of their proximity to the beloved's residence or from the point of view of approaching it (as the poet and his companion are) from afar. Fourth, I wonder whether Bdqilldni would agree that the list of pagan deities given in Q. 71:23 is too long and should have been cut down to one or two names. Mustansir Mir 129 Conclusion BdqillanT bends over backwards to prove that Imru' al-Qays' poetry is riddled with defects. In the foregoing I have tried to show that quite a few of his criticisms would not stand the test of scrutiny. More important, I have tried to show that some of his criticisms, if accepted, will have to be taken to be applicable to the Quran as well, a thought that would be unpalatable to Bdqilln. Not only is Bdqilldni less than cogent in his critique of Imru, al-Qays, he is also unfair. This can be seen from the fact that when he praises Imru al-Qays, he damns him with faint praise.39 Also, on occasions Imru, al-Qays finds himself between the devil and the deep blue sea: if he talks about something which, in BdqilldnT's view,40 another poet has already talked about, he is accused by BdqilldnT of lack of originality;41 and if he appears to have innovated, he is criticized by Baqillani for not speaking in the style of such-and-such a poet.42 Another curious remark Bdqillani makes about Imru, al-Qays is that even if the latter's poetry were not subject to his criticisms, some of the poets of later ages would in any case be regarded as superior to him,43 and that Imru, al-Qays excels neither ancient nor modern poets.4 This remark is hardly relevant in a book on Quranic icjaz. For, if there are better poets than Imru, al-Qays, then, since BdqilldnT's ultimate aim is not to criticize Imru, al-Qays but to establish Qurdnic icjdz, it would remain for Bdqillani to prove the Qurdn's superiority to the work of those poets. And I wonder how Bdqilldni would react if the work of those poets were presented as a challenge to the Quran. I suspect that he would pick as many holes in their poetry as he does in the poetry of Imru, al-Qays. In a word, Bdqilldni's critique of Imru, al-Qays is negative in character, and, since it has the effect of exposing the Quran to the same criticism to which he subjects Imru, al-Qays, Baqilla-ni cannot be said to have provided solid grounds for the vindication of Quranic icjgz. Notes 1 See Qur'n 2:23; 11:13; 17:88; 52:33-34. 2 Abfi Bakr Muhammad ibn at-Tayyib al-B qillini, Icjdz al-Qurcn, ed. Alhmad Saqr (Egypt: D.r al-Mac rif, 1954?) Dhakh5,ir al-cArab, 13. References to Imru, al- Qays' verses are from this edition. The translation of the Qur'nic verses cited is my own. 130 BdqillnT's Critique 3 For a brief statement and discussion of the arguments see my Coherence in the Qurdn (Indianapolis: American Trust Publications, 1986)), pp. 12-14. 4 Biqillinl also offers a critical treatment of a poem by the 9th-century poet Abfi 'Ubidah al-Walid ibn 'Ubayd (Allah) al-Buhturi. For our purposes, however, it will be sufficient to look at Baqillini's critique of Imru, al-Qays. s Biqillani, pp. 328-329. 6 Ibid., pp. 245-246. 7 Attributed to Asmaci. See Abfl Zakariyya Yahyi ibn ,All ash-Shaybani, known as at-Tibrizi, Sharh al-Qas?id al-cAshr, ed. Muhammad Muhyliy d-Din cAbd al-Hamid (Egypt: Muh.ammad cAll SabTh wa Awladuhai, 2nd printing, 1384/1964), p. 59. 8 Dfwdn al-Hudhaliyyfn (Cairo: Ad-Dir al-Qawmiyyah li t-Tibaiah wa n-Nashr, 1385/1965), 1:140. The translation is as follows: "To whom do the remains at Muntad belong? They have been, subsequent to [the tribe's] stay [in the place], effaced by drizzles and heavy rains-[even though] a year has not passed over them. They have been effaced after their tribe's stay there, though marks of heavy treading and a resting- place for camels can still be seen in them." 9 "Indeed my cure lies in tears shed. Is there, then, a mucawwal [see text below] by remains that are becoming obliterated?" 10 Biqillinl, pp. 247-248. 11 See Tibrlzi, p. 58. 12 Two more examples, one from the Qurvin and one from poetry, may be noted. The Qur'nic example is 85:18: hal atdka hadithu 1-juniidi fircawna wa thamida ("Has the news of the troops reached you--[the troops] of Pharaoh and Thamfid?"). Qays al- cAmiri says (Drwdn Majniin Layla, ed. 'Abd as-Sattir Ah.mad Farrij [Egypt: Dir Misr, 1963?], p. 170): amurru cald d-diyiri diydri layl&/ uqabbilu dha 1-jiddra wa dhd l-jiddrd ("I visit the dwelling-places-the dwelling-places of Layla-kissing this wall and that." It does not require an extraordinary keenness of mind to appreciate the simple beauty of such constructions, though it is surprising that Biqillain should have missed it. 13 "[The traces of the dwelling-place are not obliterated] on account of the [dust- depositing and dust-clearing] patterns that the southern and northern winds have woven over them." 14 Biqillinl, p. 246. 15 Ibid., p. 247. 16 "Say: I am [speaking] on [the strength of] a manifest proof from my Lord, but you have denied it." 17 Islhli, Tadabbur-i Qurvin, 8 vols. (Lahore, 1967-1980), 2:443. 18 "It will provide no shade and will offer no protection against flames; it will be shooting castle-like flames." 19 Isl5h, 8:143. 20 Bqillinl, p. 262. 21 "Do you think that you will enter paradise, when you have not experienced the like of what people who lived before you experienced. They were stricken by misfortune and adversity and were shaken up, until, finally, the prophet and those with him who had believed say: When will the aid of God come?" 22 Baqillin l, p. 248. 23 Biqillqin (p. 248) has another criticism of the verse: it is anticlimactic to mention clover after musk. He means that the natural progression would be from less to more (from dclover to musk), and not from more to less (musk to dclover). But, first of all, this rhetorical principle--if one were to grant that this is one-is not inviolable. The Qurin itself violates it; 35:27 has ghardbibu sidun, whereas the "normal" order would be sidun Mustansir Mir 131 ghardbibu. Obviously, the Quran says gharibfb, makes a pause, and then, for the sake of emphasis (ta'kid), adds siid. Second, Imru, al-Qays' verse is not anticlimactic for the simple reason that it contains two distinct images which are not necessarily arranged in a more-to-less or less-to-more sequence. 24 "The virgins then began to pelt one another with her [she-camel's] flesh, and [with] fat that was like fringes of twisted raw silk." 2s Biqillin!, p. 252. 26 Drwan al-Farazdaq, 2 vols. (Beirut: Dir Scidir and DXir Bayrfit, 1380/1960), 1:212. The translation is: "Did you not see that I made a pledge to my Lord, standing as I was between a door and a spot?"). 27 Biqillin1, p. 267. 28 Cf. the literary device of beginning a narrative in medias res. 29 Isliih, 2:681. Another example of this type is to be found in Q. 71:25-28. See ibid., 7:604. 30 The imperative used in the verse is the dual qifc. Strictly, it means "Stop, the two of you." It is, however, grammatically possible to interpret the dual to mean the singular. s31 William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, scene ii. 32 Baqillini, p. 244. 3 Abfi 'All Ahmad ibn Muhammad ibn al-IHjasan al-Marzflqi, Sharh Dfwn al- Hamdsah, 4 vols., ed. Ahmad Amin and 'Abd as-Salim H ixiin (Cairo: Matbacat Lajnat at-Talif wa t-Tarjamah wa n-Nashr, 1371-1373/1951-1953), 2:797. 34 Baqillini, p. 257. 35 "It is, rather, the hearts inside the breasts that become blind." 36 "On that day, hearts shall be trembling, their eyes downcast." 37 "[They found in the town] a wall which was about to collapse [literally, intended to collapse]." 38 Baqillini, p. 245. 39 See, for example, ibid., pp. 259, 261, 264, 270, 271, 272, 276-277. In his discussion of badf' ("novel/innovative expression"), Baqillin i does cite a number of verses by Imru, al-Qays to illustrate aspects of badfc (see, for example, pp. 106 ff.) But even there Baqilli hardly exhibits any enthusiasm for the poetry of Imru, al-Qays. 4o I say "in Baqillini's view" because in some cases at least (e.g. on vss. 1-2 [p. 144]) B iqillini would appear to be wrong in denying Imru, al-Qays the distinction of being the first to have sung of certain subjects. 41 For example, Biqillini, p. 252. 42 For example, ibid., p. 272. 43 For example, ibid., pp. 247, 256. 44 Ibid., 260. Reflexes of Classical Arabic ayun 'thing' in the Modern Dialects: Synthetic Forms in Language Change LORAINE K. OBLER City University of New York Graduate School L. Introduction ARABIC is a fertile field for research in language change. Several di- mensions make it particularly attractive: we have over a millennium of written records in the language; its geographical spread is historically documented; it evidences a score of provocative sociological variables; and there are clear-cut linguistic contrasts both among the various dialects and between the dialects and the classical language. Moreover, we can place it in a rich linguistic background including both the older Semitic languages attested only in written form (Ugaritic, Akkadian, South Arabian) and the still-living sister languages (Hebrew, Aramaic, and the Semitic languages of Ethiopia) which can, like Arabic, be documented through a long literary history; any models we postulate for Arabic can be tested in light of evidence from this "family situation." In addition to the wealth of literature in Arabic dating from the seventh century C.E. to the present, from as early as the eighth century we have detailed grammars of the classical language; they sometimes make reference to divergent dialectal forms. The geographic spread of the language is a matter of historical knowl- edge since its mechanism was the seventh-century expansion of Islam, which originated in Saudi Arabia and eventually extended as far as Morocco and Spain in the west, and Turkestan and India in the east. Today Arabic is no longer spoken in Spain; and in other non-Arab areas-Cyprus, Turkey, Iran, and Turkestan-the language survives only in small communities. The sit- uation of Malta is anomalous: the island is not part of the Arab world, and Loraine K. Obler 133 yet Maltese, an Arabic dialect, is its native language. The political and cultural unity of the Islamic empires at their height, extensive trade and travel, especially on the Mediterranean Sea, and the pan-Arabism of today: all these must be considered factors encouraging dialect convergence, de- spite the fact that the wide geographic spread might be expected to induce only dialect divergence. The geographic spread of Arabic speakers has entailed a variety of bilingual situations, and any bilingual situation encourages language change. Some of the languages Arabic has co-existed with are from its Semitic family (e.g., Aramaic); others, though related, are genetically more distant (e.g., in Egypt, Coptic; in Ethiopia, many of the Cushitic and Omotic languages; and in North Africa, Berber). In the east, early Islam co-existed with Byzantine Greek and Sassanian Persian. With the Turkic invasions of the Middle Ages and the eventual Ottoman rule, much of the area was exposed to Turkish and congeners. With the European colonial- ism of this and the previous century, French, English, and Italian have served variously as superstrata in the Arab world. Thus there has always been the stimulus to language change which bilingualism offers. More integral to the language itself is the diglossia brought about by the coexistence of the "literary" language and the spoken colloquials. From the eighth century, when grammarians first formalized rules accounting for the Arabic of the Qurdn, down to the present, their prescriptions have been followed most scrupulously by educated Muslims and by other Ara- bic scholars. Classical Arabic has been the language not only of almost all writing, but also of much preaching, teaching, and other formal spoken interchange. The end-product of the development of Classical grammar through a rich and busy era of modernization and rising literacy is com- monly called Modern Standard Arabic (MSA). This is used in all media in the Arab world in addition to writing and formal speech; the rare exceptions occur in the Egyptian-dominated cinema and local theater. It is likely, as Abdel-Massih suggested to me, that there are differences beyond those of vocabulary between MSA and eighth-century Classical Arabic; nonetheless it has changed much less than the dialects. Indeed, the notion of change is alien to native-speaker understandings of written Arabic; the dialects, by contrast, present no such conservative resistance to change. The differences between the dialects and Classical Arabic/MSA are manifest at phonolog- ical, morphological, and syntactic levels. At the syntactic level, scholars (e.g., Blau, 1969) have noted that the direction of language change is from synthetic-type structure in Classical Arabic (in brief, obligatory inflectional endings on nouns and verbs) to analytic structure in the dialects (without 134 Reflexes of Classical Arabic ay'un inflectional endings). Other social factors affect language changes in Arabic. The life-style split between bedouin and settled people is reflected in the more conser- vative language of the former (especially as indicated by the retention of such features as gender inflection for the plural forms of verbs, a full range of dual forms, even nunation, etc.). Settled people may be divided further into urban and rural; there are surprisingly substantial differences between the language each group speaks, as I found out in comparing the Arabic speech of the village of Bet Safafa to that of nearby Jerusalem (Obler, 1975). Such differences obtain particularly at the phonological and lexical levels. The great cities of the Arab world exhibit religious diversity, and this too has linguistic consequences; the Muslims, Christians, and Jews of Baghdad, for example, use distinct forms of the spoken language. Additional factors such as political and cultural leadership may enter into language change, by presenting "high status" forms to be imitated. Damascus and Baghdad were Arab centers in medieval times, sponsoring much intellectual activity. Today Cairo produces the bulk of Arabic films, and Cairene Arabic is understood throughout the Arabic-speaking world best of all non-local dialects (Abdel-Massih, 1975). Arab leaders and schol- ars are aware of linguistic diversity, and there is discussion of a resolution of the diglossia "problem" by imposition of language academy fiat or by standardization of a given dialect. (See Altoma, 1969, Kaye, 1970, Blanc, 1960.) The final magnet attracting the student of language change to work in this field is the body of work already done: within the last century a sizable corpus of Arabic-dialect texts has been gathered and transcribed. Many field workers have gone further to give descriptive grammars of their texts (e.g., the eight-volume "dictionary" based on ninety pages of text given in Margais-Abderrahman, 1959) or to produce textbooks. These materials fa- cilitate the study of any particular phenomenon across the dialects. Major study has been devoted to three particular problems: the theoretical issue of the functional status of Classical Arabic across time (e.g., Rabin, 1955), the interference between dialect and MSA in various sociolinguistic situ- ations (Blanc, 1960, Harrell, 1960, Bishai, 1966), and the reconstruction of phonological change in Arabic using synchronic dialectal evidence (e.g., Cowan, 1960, Birkeland, 1972, Janssens, 1972). There are, it should be noted, some difficulties with choosing Arabic as a field for language-change research. A minor one is the limitation of the above-mentioned dialect texts to relatively standardized narrative. The folktale is a highly conventionalized form in Arabic culture, and the conven- Loraine K. Obler 135 tionality could easily influence the language forms chosen; the language of such texts must not be confused with that of everyday conversation. Only rarely do scholars provide conversational texts (e.g., Johnstone, 1967) or in- termix personal narrative with folktales (Abdel-Massih, 1974, and Schmidt and Kahle, 1918, 1936). A second difficulty arises from the fact that the various European and American linguists treating Arabic over the last century have chosen diverse systems for their analyses. This is most evident at the level of phonologic transcription; at the syntactic level the problems are often subtle-certain features may simply not be discussed. The absence in a given dialect of undiscussed features cannot be assumed unless explicit mention to that effect is made. For our purposes it is distressing that various types of morphological boundaries are marked or left unmarked with no justifying explanation. Thus some affixes within a dialect may be treated as separate morphs (this is suspicious since it may result from thoughtless adherence to graphemic conventions of the written language), others may be conjoined, and still others separated by hyphens, with no key to explain whether the morphs are productively bound morphemes in the dialect in question. For long-range historical study of the dialects, the prospects are not good: the wealth of literature is preserved in the literary language. To re- trieve information about the dialects in pre-modern times we must rely on the unsystematic observations of the early grammarians and on interpreta- tion of deviations from the classical language in what texts we have. The most fruitful investigations of such deviations have focused on the litera- ture of non-Muslim authors, who had less motivation to keep to Quranic conventions. (Blau has contributed to such investigation in his analysis of hypo- and hypercorrections, see especially 1965, 1970.) In our discussion so far, it has been tacitly assumed that just as the modern dialects come after the earliest stages of the Classical language, so they may be thought to follow from the Classical. This is a problem- atic assumption, however, since the debate about the relative natures of the Classical language and the dialects is unresolved. In fact the Classical may NOT be representative of any particular dialect spoken in the Ara- bian peninsula in the seventh century, not even that of Muhammad's tribe, the Quraish (except perhaps phonologically, e.g., with respect to hamza- deletion) (Rabin, 1951). Rather, it is probably a composite based on the cross-dialectal poetic koine common to the Arabian peninsula. Observa- tions of the nature of oral poetry have led some scholars (like Monroe 1972) to view Classical Arabic as based on an artificial structure spoken by no one. Other scholars have hypothesized as the source for the Classical lan- 136 Reflexes of Classical Arabic ay'un guage a (complex of) "military" koine(s) that would underlie the dialects as well. This paper assumes that Classical Arabic, whatever its status, can in any case be taken as representative of a form of Arabic earlier than that of the modern dialects. This assumption is validated in part by observation that its phonological system, its irregular verbs, and its general pattern of flexion are closer to those of the earlier attested (Semitic) languages than are those of the dialects. The assumption is problematic, however: it is important to assume only those items that do occur both in the Classi- cal language and in a convincing number of the other Semitic languages to have obtained in Proto-Arabic (the ultimate antecedent of all forms of Arabic), and at the same time not to argue for non-existence of items from the mere fact that they do not happen to occur in the finite Qur2,nic cor- pus. At the same time, the use of this working assumption is not overly confining since one need not rely entirely on diachronic reconstruction to discover principles of language change in Arabic: some more modern lin- guistic techniques can supplement diachronic study with conclusions drawn from careful synchronic analysis. The relevance of the Classical-dialect relation to notions of language change in Arabic needs to be specified. The dialects can be considered ei- ther lineal descendents of the Classical language or of a koine resulting, for example, from the mixing of pre-Islamic tribes in the military forces which carried Islam (see Ferguson, 1959, Cohen, 1962, Blau, 1969). (The hypoth- esis that each dialect could be traced back to a pre-Islamic dialect in the peninsula is historically far-fetched.) The melting-pot koine would account for a number of commonalities among the dialects without necessarily call- ing upon the somewhat romantic notion of "language drift," which would be required by the postulate of common descent. Cohen (1967) and Blau (1969) point out that the notion of drift can also be avoided by supposing that change was transmitted in waves: forms would have converged due to frequent interactions among diverse speakers after the Islamic expansion. In any case, inasmuch as phonological elements and syntactic forms in the dialects taken together can be judged to be relatively more distant than those of the Classical language from the common source (be it the Classical itself or some antecedent), it is justifiable to assume that dialectal Arabic is representative of a later form of Arabic than the Classical language and do contrastive work on this basis. Finally I must note there has been little cross-dialect descriptive work in the field of Arabic (e.g., Singer 1958 and Cowan 1960) and more is obviously necessary to undergird and extend work in historical linguis- Loraine K. Obler 137 tics. In this paper I propose to demonstrate two substantially different patterns of language change, both associated with the single Classical mor- pheme lay'un. One pattern, the i question forms, shows an east/west split, whereas the other, negative 5, evidences a coastal/non-coastal split. A cross-dialectal review of the range of variation should make my point. II. The Problem The Classical lexeme lay'un is limited to meaning 'thing, something, anything' and has no special syntactic status. The word has, however, many frequently used reflexes in the dialects with functions which are hardly intimated in the literary language. These reflexes are often not simple lexical items but function words and grammatical morphemes. They range from markers of negation and interrogation, to markers of indefiniteness and possession. This class of reflexes is spread to greater or lesser extent throughout the dialects and is often represented at more than one point in the grammar of a single dialect. This paper discusses the range and variation of iS-forms interdialectically in order to gain insight into principles underlying language change in Arabic. This problem is of particular interest inasmuch as the spread of i-forms represents a synthetic process at work in a stage of Arabic generally labelled "analytic" (in contrast to the "synthetic" nature of the Classical language). This typology of language opposes reliance on inflection (synthetic) to re- liance on word order and separate function words (analytic) to mark the semantic/syntactic role of any word in a sentence. Blau (1969) particularly elaborates the difference between synthetic Classical Arabic and the ana- lytic dialects. It is my contention (contra, e.g., Hodge 1970) that synthetic and analytic are not states of a language but rather of language-processes; both synthetic and analytic developments are at play at any given point in the evolution of a language. III. The Forms Under Consideration A. Dialectal -ay 'thing, ' ~i the indefinite marker, and swayya The Classical word Sayun 'thing, anything, something and somewhat' (Lane, 1863) seems to possess the highly unstable root structure s-y-,. It has among its historically attested plurals asiyaiu, ,aiyawditun, ,asaway, ,asiya, and ,agiwihu; these forms clearly evidence the instability of the root, with its final hamza in combination with a medial semi-vowel. 138 Reflexes of Classical Arabic say'un The meaning of the Classical lexeme is associated in the dialects with cognate words which show a diphthong in the singular, e.g., Say or &ey (even if shorter forms such as &i or 8 obtain in the same dialect in various grammatical functions); some dialects have .i or igi as a word for 'thing.' In Jewish Baghdadi the form is gen, likely taking on pseudo-nunation for a more stable final consonant. (Comparable Maltese ieyn is a negative form, 'nothing.') Cognates of both the singular and first-cited plural form (e.g., asyd) are common throughout the dialects; liydt is preferred as the plural form in Southeastern Anatolia and in Central Asia. There are synonyms for say used in many of the dialects (e.g., haja/hawdyij in North Africa, gharad in Palestinian, -agli in Lebanese), but say appears to be a common term except perhaps in Egypt and Tunisia. Interestingly, Say and other dialect cognates encroach on the function of some Classical lexemes (especially mi the indefinite and relative pronoun with which it is close to synonymous). Thus we get a number of pairs which might be considered semantic reduplications: i kam 'some' Lebanon gi hdja 'something' Malta and North Africa fardi 'something' Baghdad hadsi 'one' Oman and Zanzibar wahadli 'one' Bukharia iuma, ama 'whatever' Palestinian gima 'as soon as' Greater Syria Also closely linked to the Classical lexeme say'un is the quantitative or partitive particle gi, related to the Classical meaning 'somewhat.' gi serves as an indefinite particle along the Mediterranean coast, in Malta (but apparently not on Cyprus), and in Yemen; it marks a specific indefinite noun in Moroccan (cf. Peterson, 1974). In both usages it precedes a noun unmodified by the definite article prefix ,al; the noun can be singular (concrete or abstract), plural, or collective. The English translation of the particle varies, since English categorizes its indefinites in ways different from the Arabic dialects. Some examples are: gi sigdriya 'a cigarette, any cigarette, some cigarettes' gi fsha 'a certain elegance (of language)' gi kutub 'some books, any books' gi xubz 'some bread, any bread' The diminutive of say, wayya (cf. Altoma, 1969, 103) can serve a similar function, as it apparently can in Classical Arabic. Marqais and Loraine K. Obler 139 Abderrahman (1959, 2128) give the example: egrili &waiya caneb 'Buy me some grapes.' The diminutive used in the Classical is uway'un or iuwayy'un (Lane 1863, 1626, 7). In the Classical, lay'an fasay'an is used for 'piecemeal, little by little, gradually,' and in the dialects a comparable reduplicated use of swayya is frequent: swayy swayy! 'Do it slowly; don't be impatient.' Palestinian The same sense can occur even without the full reduplication: fatah elbdb bigwi 'He opened the door carefully.' Egyptian Table 1 Q-forms with i-prefix Approx. Meaning Mahgreb E. Arabia Syria- Iraq Anatolia Turkestan forms Palestine §kun who x x §waqt when x x 9hal how x §l~n1 how x parts §gayyil how x sgadd how much parts x x itur2 how x S taba3 how x asma how x alyol how x §ini why x igait4 which x igzaylis which x Notes: 1 See Bergstrisser 1915, map 29 2 taur Persian 'condition', note the similar Persian i in detowr 'how, what way?' 3 tb Arabic 'good' 4 ,ahad or wahad Arabic 'one' 5 zay Arabic 'like' (If is a Turkish adjectiviser) B. Interrogative The adverbial use of iwayya just discussed is structurally close though sematically distant from the first of the two classes of forms I wish to focus C' 0 Map 1. LEXEMES FOR 'what' 1 Note: 1. FI occurs throughout where no other major form is noted. 2. Circled forms are rare. 1 This information comes largely from the conclusion of Singer's 1958 dissertation 251 ff. and from Bergstrasser's 1919 map 16. Loraine K. Obler 141 142 Reflexes of Classical Arabic say'un on in this paper, question-word formative $- or -as. The forms and their distribution can be seen in Tables 1 and 2. In the dialects east of Palestine the prefix forms predominate, whereas in the North African dialects the suffix forms predominate. Particularly interesting is the east/west split between Iwaqt and waqta- 'when?' and between iqadd and qadde§ 'how much?' respectively. Palestine is a transitional area, at least for the 'when?' forms, since both obtain. Also to be noted is the productive potential of § in Turkestan; even Persian and Turkish morphs can be joined to s-. The & form for 'what?' coexists with mi, the equivalent Classical form, in many dialects (see Map 1). The pattern of differential usage of these two forms has not been discussed in the literature. Question forms in s must be seen to develop from the Classical phrase ayyu ay'in 'which thing?' or the sentence ayyu Say'in huwa 'Which thing is it?' (the use of huwa 'he' at the end is not infrequent in equational sentences). Note that all three words are defective in terms of the tricon- sonantal root system; the 9 is the strongest consonant of the lot. From the three-word phrase, we can posit the development of *eiu or *enu, which would further reduce to e& or nu or hi. Such forms as these are still quite defective since they contain only one or two consonants. Defective struc- ture and brevity make these forms particularly susceptible to compounding with the word they question. The result is the series of lexical s- question words shown in the tables, as well as the productive questioning prefix in Iraqi, e.g., amilt? 'what did you do?'. A conservative explanation for the development of these forms would see them in the light of Zipf's hypothesis (1935) that frequently used forms tend to be phonologically short in a language, the end products of reduction from longer forms, a type of "synthetization." Such an argument holds equally well for the negative marker -9 which we consider next. C. Negative & Nowhere in Classical Arabic does §ay'un complement a negative par- ticle. ay'an 'thing, something' may be the direct object of a negated transitive verb: mi ,akaltu ayan 'I didn't eat anything.' In the non-coastal dialects only this strict usage, where Say retains its full lexical value, is permitted (see Map 2). In the Arabic-speaking areas most distant from the Mediterranean (with the exception of Omar, Zanzibar and the Yemen), negation is marked by 1, md, or mi preceding the verb. Loraine K. Obler 143 Table 2 Q-forms with -suffix Approx. forms Meaning Mahgreb Syr.-Pales. Iraq Anatolia qadd8 how much x waqtag when x 1 x x 1a, lag why x 2 bZ, bag in what x x ,ale on what, why x x fuqag3 when x kifag4 how x limags why x Notes: 1 See Bergstrisser, 1915, map 26. 2 Note Palmyra form lel F with the reduplicated preposition la 'to'. 3 lit. 'on what'. 4 In Algeria this form ranges from kifai through kihad and kiai to ka. Cohen 1912, 375, doesn't believe informants who assert that the more contracted form may be more general 'how,' the other 'in what way.' Likewise lei is sometimes distinguished from la , j which would signify a more concrete 'to what.' See Barthblemy, 1955, 771. 5 Note the double questioning of md and j. In other dialects, however, there has been a new development apparently related to say'un: a &(i) is suffixed to the verb, regardless of its transitive- ness, to negate. The unqualified negation rule, maximally distant from the Classical rule, would read: Neg X => (ma)Xs(i), but there are both a wide range of restrictions on X in the various dialects and great variety in the extent to which the several elements of the rule are obligatory or optional. In the coastal Maghreb, an s suffix is obligatory to negate all verbs and pronouns. Its use with md and congeners can be seen as parallel to the French ne # V# pas: md j&J 'He didn't come' matmgiJ tncs 'Don't go to sleep.' Moroccan However there are exceptions even in these dialects to obligatory negative S. Harrell (1965, 154-205) points out that in Moroccan one does not need an s negator for "whole category" negation: maibert flus 'I didn't find (any) money.' makayen sqid 'There aren't any matches.' 144 Reflexes of Classical Arabic say'un Likewise, when a further negating item is used in the sentence, - does not occur regularly. This too can be paralleled in the French system; pas obtains as the negative marker only when no other marker (rien, jamais, personne, etc.) occurs. In Arabic the inhibiting items differ somewhat from dialect to dialect (Obler, 1975). Thus in Moroccan, both ammer and hadd 'one' can inhibit use of k. ammerni markanexdem 'I never work.' ma-ia hetta hadd 'Nobody came.' Negative - is also obligatory in some non-Maghrebene dialects when the full negative verb frame does not obtain. 1. In Malta this form is common for all verb forms but the imperative, for which adding - to Id + verb would be acceptable but pompous (Alex Borg, personal communication). 2. In Oman/Zanzibar all non-finite verbs must take the gi suffix, the ma prefix is not used for non-finites but only for finites. Thus - and ma are complementary parts of the negation system. 3. Khalafallah (1969, 101) contends that the negative rule for Sacidi Arabic (that of the area of the Nile Valley between Cairo and Aswan) demands a iey suffix, while permitting an optional md prefix. It is unclear why this area should diverge from the surrounding Egyptian dialects. The option of dropping negative md when § is suffixed is similar to an option available in Palestine and southern Lebanon, but there it does not apply to past-tense verbs like the one Khalafallah cited: Sacidi fhimey alternates with mafhimsey 'He didn't understand.' 4. In rural Lebanon and parts of Palestine ma may reduce to 'a before verbs or it may delete entirely. In such cases § must be suffixed in order to indicate negation: ,at(i)hutti -yata 'Don't put on a coverlet.' Driver (1925, 197) attributes the reduction of md to the fact that the verb begins with two consonants. This example shows that Blau's statement (1960, 134), that the reduction only occurs before preceding b-prefix imperfect verbs, is too limited. Negative - is not restricted to verbs; negative pronoun forms follow the verb pattern of obligatory md prefix and - suffix. huma mhumieJ minn Malta 'They are not from Malta.' Malta manr-g ferhdn 'I'm not happy.' Margais, 1902, 188, Algeria Similarly mis (or mug or mis) from ma + hiwa + iay is often used to negate noun pharases. Loraine K. Obler 145 masi fedddr 'not in the house' huwa masi hna 'He isn't here.' Various scholars have sought to simplify the available data, taking ma + predicate as the non-verbal negation frame and m + V + as the frame for verbs (Panetta, 1943, 308, Mitchell, 1962, 107). This is not correct. There are dialects where the m . . . - negation is used for nonverbal predicates: makbir ii 'not big' Moroccan and contrariwise in Egyptian, ha + Imperfect V is negated by mu. The Moroccan pattern just exemplified has a complex analogue in Sacidi. There the split negative can apply more generally to substantives: liktab ma jadid sey 'The book is not new.' and most surprisingly frames only the head of a noun phrase in ,irrajel ma nazir &i Imidrasi 'The man is not the headmaster.' (nazir Imidrasi 'headmaster', lit. 'master of the school' Kha- lafallah, 1965, 102, Sacidi) Other formulations of i negation rules reveal other complexities. Woidich says (1968, 30) that for Egyptian Arabic ma. . . I occurs when the sentence order of an equational sentence is Predicate-Subject, and that mu obtains when it is reversed. Blau (1969, 199) sees the mas series negat- ing independent words in Palestinian, while the ma. . . S morpheme op- erates on sentences. Driver notes (1925, 197) that in Palestine mus7() is used before verbs, but only by the uneducated. Willms (1972, 45) reports the following as equivalent forms (with the demonstrative included under the negation) in northeastern Algeria: masi-d-xfiyi and ma-d-xyi§ 'That is not my brother' These data suggest that no simple statement of the syntax of i negation patterns should be attempted. That negative -s is a suffix we learn from the phonological conse- quences it brings about. Whenever negative -s may obtain, it has the regular form /-S#/ and a rare fuller form /-ai#/ or /-gay#/. - is "stress attracting," which means that the syllable bearing it is stressed where it otherwise would not be; this may involve lengthening the vowel if the syl- lable is open prior to suffixation. Alternatively it may involve epenthesis, if the penultimate syllable ends in a consonant, or doubling (in certain dialects) if the syllable is a pronoun marker which ends in a consonant. 146 bistiglu 'They work.' (ma)biltigldi 'They don't work.' ifufnhin 'We saw them (f.).' maiufnahinnii 'We didn't see them (f.)'. Palestinian A curious extension of consonant doubling is in the Oman/Zanzibar neg- ative pronoun series, which Reinhard (1864) attributes to an original long vowel in the forms with doubling: ena-si not I hna-ii not we nta-i not you ntem-ii not you f. pl. huwa-ii not he hum-8i not they m. hiya-ii not she hin-ii not they f. but nti-fii not you f. sing. ntu--ifi not you m. pl. When negative - is suffixed, it is always the final suffix. This means that on a verb it can follow the subject marker, the direct-object pronoun marker, the indirect-object preposition, and the indirect-object pronoun marker: e.g., ma bacathalWif alternates with bacat-hd-I-i 'He didn't send me it (f.)' Egyptian. There is a phonological peculiarity of i negation apparently unrelated to stress attraction. The third-person masculine object pronoun deletes before I in some dialects: rdh 'He saw him.' ma ras 'He didn't see him.' Tunisian fih 'there is' md f~i 'there is not' Egyptian But the deletion is not universal. Note fih 'in it' mafihii 'not in it' Egyptian (Blanc, personal communication) and fahi 'he cannot = [it is] not in him' Lebanese (Kfeir) (McCarus, personal communication). Other features of the syntax are also noteworthy. Having considered the two extremes-obligatory - and impermissible --we are left with the interesting, more variable cases. In Tunisia and in Palmyra (Syria), ma or la must precede the verb; - or iU may follow. In Oman/Zanzibar negation Loraine K. Obler 147 is either marked by a Si suffix or by ma, Id or -yer preceding the word, but not both. And in parts of Palestine and southern Lebanon, either md or -S or both may negate, though -- alone cannot mark perfect verbs, which must be preceded by md or Id. -- alone can negate b-imperfect verbs and such pseudo-verbs as biddi 'to want' and fif 'there is': mc fihimtis 'I didn't understand.' mc bitsawwi iyyd e- mc bitsawwiJ iyya ,~ bitsawwiJ iyya 'You don't do it.' mc biddi sukkar ,.' mc biddfi sukkar ~- biddfi sukkar 'I don't want sugar.' Palestinian Although a negative of a predicate not bracketing a morpheme regularly includes an -form, i.e., mai or mi, it is my experience that the pronoun forms occur with or without the S suffix, i.e., mni - manf, in apparently free-variation in the speech of the same person. In summary: the rules for negation may vary across dialects, permit- ting, prohibiting, or demanding a negative -. i(i) is able to take on full responsibility for negation in a dialect, a position Classical lay'un never approached. Our strongest evidence is the Oman/Zanzibar negation of non-verbal items by i suffix, the Palestinian and Sacidi optionality of the md in a mc# V/#i frame, and the Maltese use of Jeyn for 'nothing.' The relevant conditioning parameters vary, however: in Palestinian tense is of consequence; in Moroccan existential statements are exempt from i; in Maltese, imperative verbs are exempt; in Oman/Zanzibar, and elsewhere to various lesser extents, word class is significant. One can, furthermore, make relative or implicational claims for the derived negator mci and the series of negated pronouns: 1. these do not obtain where negative -i cannot and 2. they are more likely to exist as frozen forms, even in dialects where negative -- marking a verb is optional. As to speculations on the historical development of negative §, our clues are few: the absence of negative-J in Cyprus (settled by the end of the Crusades and under negligible Classical influence since) and in Spain might argue a late spread, as would the absence in medieval texts (Blau, personal communication), and the general limitation to the Mediterranean coast. The diversity of the syntactic rule possibilities might argue for an earlier spread, as might the curious miJ conditional marker in Cyprus (where we do not find negative -- or mas forms otherwise): ana miJ ruxt 'I would have gone' ana mi§ maruxt 'I would not have gone' 148 Reflexes of Classical Arabic sayun The fixity of the rules (i.e., the avoidance of optional features) in Malta, the Maghreb, Oman/Zanzibar, and the Yemen might point to fairly early spread from a single point (say, Palestine) where optional rules were al- lowed. By the time the forms reached more distant areas, they were treated with greater rigidity. IV. Conclusions The Si data could support a model of language change by drift (Sapir, 1921, R. Lakoff, 1972). In such a theory it is posited that a dynamic inter- nal to a language family brings about parallel changes in non-contiguous, genetically related languages, or in this case a dynamic internal to a dialect cluster leads to parallel changes in non-contiguous dialects. The indefinite si of Moroccan and Palestinian would be the most clearcut example; with no obvious historical connection, this gi has developed to fill a function which had been filled in an entirely different fashion in the Classical lan- guage. Likewise, the geographically isolated position of the Peninsular di- alects (Yemen, Oman) which boast negative 9 might be argued to support a theory of Sapirian drift within the Arabic language towards the direction of negative S. At the same time, however, the negation data are consistent with a theory of language change via geographical spread. The development of an - integral to the negation system is limited to coastal areas (the southern and eastern Mediterranean, Oman/Zanzibar, and the Sacidi region, if the banks of the Nile be counted as coastal). This is probably due to the influence of trade, a factor which in turn is related to the difference between rural and urban dialects in the Arabic-speaking world. The lack of the indefinite -in Bet Safafa texts (Obler, 1975) contrasts with its use in nearby Jerusalem, providing an example of rural/urban split. Further support for an explanation based on geographical spread with a distinctive split is given by the eastern versus western pattern of lexical compounding for s question words; prefix forms like waqt 'when?' are used in the eastern end of the Arabic-speaking world, while suffix forms like waqtai are used in North Africa. Palestine is a transitional area where both sorts of forms obtain. (See Bergstrisser's idiolect map, 1915, map 26). Ferguson's theory of point-source diffusion, derived from a military koine model (Ferguson, 1959) best explains the development of the 'what'- words e&, i~, and nu. As sketched above, these were synthesized from a three-word phrase. It is likely that some form of this phrase was in common use as early as the seventh century and that this form spread to the areas Loraine K. Obler 149 conquered by Islam. The variety of the reduced forms would then have come about either by drift or a Zipfian drive to synthesis. Zipf's (1935) theory predicts that the most frequent words in a lan- guage will be the shortest ones. This theory could suggest that in language change, the frequently used phrases would tend to synthesize to single units. The - situation certainly bears this theory out; as I-forms were used for highly common functions (negation, question words and structures, indef- initeness), the marker signaling these functions has often been reduced to a solitary S. In the context of the Semitic languages, where true lexemes regularly have a three-consonant root and only particles can be uniconso- nantal, we must see the leveling of aylun to i-i or gi or s as a good Semitic example of reduction. On the other hand, the Semitic tendency toward regularization at the morphological level, notably the tendency toward triconsonantalism is evidenced in those i-forms which build themselves up by adopting the /n/ of tanwiin, or by adding a /t/: sin, snu, etc., and sit. sit (not discussed in this paper) reflects the analytic tendency of the Arabic dialects; where Classical Arabic indicates possession through the syntactic structure of the idfa, the dialects in some cases prefer to use this distinct lexical item. (See Obler, 1975.) Thus the weight of synthetic evidence we have seen around the .i-forms does not eliminate the more usual hypothesis that change in Arabic is directed toward producing an analytic-type language; it rather supports my modification of this notion, that change in a single language may occur in both directions at the same time, in a pattern of more analysis in some areas and more synthesis in other (even closely related) areas. The theory that one factor in language change is the need to relieve an item overburdened, either semantically or syntactically, is supported in the continual interplay in Arabic between md and g-forms. Thus md and &u share the range of 'what' meanings, and ma and si dominate the negation systems. Since the negative ma was prior (as evidenced in its occurrence in other Semitic languages), we might assume that the synthetic g-forms arose to supplement it, to both complement it through dissimilation and to enhance it through redundancy. Models of language change, one must conclude, are not mutually ex- clusive. Furthermore, the tendency toward synthetic forms in a language does not exclude the tendency toward analytic constructions. The - phe- nomena for the most part represent synthetic developments in Arabic, yet there is no question that at some points in the grammar, analytic patterns have superceded synthetic ones. 150 Reflexes of Classical Arabic say'un This paper represents the core of my 1975 University of Michigan doc- toral dissertation; Ernest T. Abdel-Massih chaired the committee which guided me in writing it. His warm intelligence, his appreciation, his en- thusiasm, and his dedication to teaching inspired me throughout my study of Arabic and continue to serve as a model for my scholarly research and teaching. I am grateful to Dr. M. O'Connor for a thoughtful reading of this pa- per and numerous invaluable substantive and skillful editorial suggestions. Many others contributed to the work on which this paper is based; among them I must thank Dr. Ernest McCarus of the University of Michigan, and Dr. Haim Blanc and Mr. Omar Othman of the Hebrew University. Lorraine King, M. Arch., kindly sketched the idiolect maps. For financial support which made this research possible I thank the University of Michigan Cen- ter for Near Eastern and North African Studies. References Abdel-Massih, Ernest. An Introduction to Moroccan Arabic, Ann Arbor: Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies, University of Michigan, 1973. Abdel-Massih, Ernest. Advanced Moroccan Arabic, Ann Arbor: Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies, University of Michigan, 1974. Abdel-Massih, Ernest. A Sample Lexicon of Pan-Arabic, Ann Arbor: Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies, University of Michigan, 1975. Altoma, Salih. The Problem of Diglossia in Arabic, A Comparative Study of Classical and Iraqi Arabic, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969. Aquilina, Joseph. Teach Yourself Maltese, London: English Universities Press, 1966. Barthdlemy, Adrian. Dictionnaire Arabe-Frangais, Dialectes de Syrie: Alep, Damas, Liban, Jerusalem, Paris: Geuthner, 1955-1969. Bergstrisser, G. Sprachatlas von Syrien und Palastina, Leipzig: J. C. Hinrich'sche Buchhandlung, 1915. Birkeland, Harris. Growth and Structure of the Egyptian Arabic Dialect, Leuven: Peeters, 1972. Bishai, Wilson. "Modern Inter-Arabic", JAOS 86:1966, 319-23. Blanc, Haim. "Stylistic Variations in Spoken Arabic: A Sample of Inter-educated Conversation", Harvard Middle Eastern Monographs 3: 1960, 79-159. Blau, Joshua. Syntax des Paldstinenischen Bauerndialekts von Bir Zet. Auf Grund der "Volkserzdhlungen aus Paldstina" von Hans Schmidt und Paul Kahle, Walldorf-Hessen: Verlag fur Orientkunde Dr. H. Vordran, 1960. Blau, Joshua. The Emergence and Linguistic Background of Judaeo-Arabic, A Study in the Origins of Middle Arabic, Oxford: University Press, 1965. Loraine K. Obler 151 Blau, Joshua. "L'apparition du type linguistique n'o-arabe", REI 37: 1969, 191- 201. Blau, Joshua. On Pseudo-Corrections in Some Semitic Languages, Jerusalem, 1970. Cohen, David. "Koind, langue commune et dialectes arabes," Arabica 11: 1962, 119-44. Cohen, Marcel. Le parler arabe des juifs d'Alger, Paris: Librarie ancienne H. Champion, 1912. Cowan, William. A Reconstruction of Proto- Colloquial Arabic, Cornell Diss., 1960. Driver, G.R.A. A Grammar of the Colloquial Arabic of Syria and Palestine, Lon- don: Probsthain & Co., 1925. Ferguson, Charles. "The Arabic Koine" Language 35: 1959, 615-30. Frayha, Anis. A Dictionary of Non-Classical Vocables in the Spoken Arabic of Lebanon, Beirut: American University Press, 1947. (In Arabic). Harrell, Richard. "A Linguistic Analysis of Egyptian Radio Arabic", Harvard Middle Eastern Monographs, Washington D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1962. Harrell, Richard. A Short Reference Grammar of Moroccan Arabic, Washington D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1962. Harrell, Richard. A Basic Course in Moroccan Arabic, Washington D.C.: George- town University Press, 1965. Hodge, Carleton. "The Linguistic Cycle," Language Sciences, Dec. 1970, 537. Janssens, G. Stress in Arabic and Word Structure in the Modern Arabic Dialects, Leuven: Peeters, 1972. Johnstone, Thomas. Eastern Arabic Dialect Studies, London: Oxford University Press, 1967. Kaye, Alan. "Modern Standard Arabic and the Colloquials," Lingua 1970: 24, 374-91. Khalafallah, Abdelghany. A Descriptive Grammar of Safdi Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, The Hague: Mouton, 1969. Lakoff, Robin. "Another Look at Drift," eds. R. Stockwell and R. Macaulay, Lin- guistic Change and Generative Theory, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1972. Lane, Edward. An Arabic-English Lexicon, London: Williams & Norgate, 1863. Margais, William. Les Dialectes arabes parld & Tlemgen: Grammaire, textes et Glossaire. Paris: Laroux, 1902. Margais, William and Guiga Abderrahman, Textes Arabes de Takrouna, II Glos- saire, 8 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1959. Mitchell. T.F. An Introduction to Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, London: Oxford University Press, 1956. Mitchell, T.F. Colloquial Arabic, the Living Language of Egypt, London: The English Universities Press Ltd., 1962. Monroe, J. "Oral Composition in Pre-Islamic Poetry," Journal of Arabic Litera- ture, 1972: 3, 1-53. Obler, Loraine. Reflexes of Classical Arabic say'un in the Dialects: A Study in Patterns of Language Change, University of Michigan doctoral dissertation, 1975. Peterson, D.J. Noun Phrase Specificity, University of Michigan dissertation, 1974. Rabin, Chaim. Ancient West Arabian, London: Taylor, 1951. Rabin, Chaim. "The Beginning of Classical Arabic," Studia Islamica, 1955: 4, 19-38. Sapir, Edward. Language: an introduction to the study of speech. New York: Harcourt, Brace, and Co., 1921. 152 Reflexes of Classical Arabic iay'un Schmidt, Hans and Paul Kahle, Volkserzhlungen aus Pal itina, G5ttingen: Van- denhoek und Ruprecht, vol. I, 1918. Singer, H. Neuarabische Fragew8rter, Miinchen 1958, Dissertation. Spitta-Bey, Wilhelm. Grammatik des Arabischen Vulgardialectes von Aegyptien. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrich'sche Buchhandlung, 1880. Stumme, Hans. Grammatik des Tunisischen Arabisch, nebst Glossar, Leipzig: J.C. Hinrisch'sche Buchhandlung, 1896. Willms, Alfred, Einffihrung in das Vulgararabische von Nordwestafrika. Leiden: Brill, 1972. Woidich, M. Negation und negative Satze im Agyptisch-arabischen. Miinchen, 1968, dissertation der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universit it zu Miinchen. Zipf, George. The Psycho-Biology of Language. Boston: Houghton Miffin Co., 1935. The Ammonite Onomasticon: Syntactic and Morphological Considerations M. O'CONNOR Ann Arbor, Michigan T HE small body of South Canaanite inscriptions has been most notably increased in recent years by finds involving the Ammonite dialect.1 The major Ammonite texts have come to light during the last quarter- century: the Amman Citadel and Theatre inscriptions, the text on the Tell Siran bottle, and the Heshbon ostraca. To these may be added the namelist ostracon from Nimrud and many seals.2 This essay deals with a variety of linguistic issues raised by the Ammonite names.3 The importance of onomastic study in the field of ancient West Semitic languages has long been appreciated, through advances continue to be made in basic historical work; Michael Silverman's recent overview of Elephantine and biblical names (1981) is a notable example. The literary implications of the shapes of names have been neglected for the most part; one feature of the names that is of great importance is the system of syntactic con- straints structuring them. I have discussed this matter in my recent essay on Hebrew verse. "West Semitic names are shaped in the same ways as lines of verse are . . . Names in all the Northwest Semitic languages have been extensively studied in recent years, and in all the corpora, the same set of constraints appears" (O'Connor 1980: 161). These constraints can be characterized with the vocabulary used to describe verse lines (the con- straints themselves are distinct): "a personal name can contain either one clause-predicator or none and either one or two units" (ibid.; see O'Connor 1980: 159-63).4 The Ammonite names follow the patterns previously de- scribed with no exceptions; the syntactic constriction on names, as treated in Hebrew Verse Structure, obtains for the Ammonite onomasticon. In the pages that follow I supplement previous surveys of the Am- monite onomasticon; these notes do not replace the original publications and commentaries. I prescind from dealing with problems that require 154 The Ammonite Onomasticon large-scale systematic study, notably the interrelations (phonological, ty- pological, and historical) of the Northwest Semitic, Arabian, and South Arabian onomastica. The long-standing difficulties of studying Amorite names have been ameliorated by the publication of the late I. J. Gelb's monumental Comp- uter-Aided Analysis of Amorite (1980), which supplements and comple- ments the earlier survey of Huffmon (1965). The problems of using the bodies of material dealt with in the late G. Lankester Harding's equally im- posing Index and Concordance of Pre-Islamic Arabian Names and Inscrip- tions (1971) remain; Jamme (1971) is a useful cautionary guide. An apt review of some logical properties of names is afforded in Gibson's Biblical Semantic Logic (1981: 126-64); issues treated include use versus mention, referential versus semantic value, and criteria of identity and application. There are several major classes of names represented in the Ammonite onomasticon. (I.) Verbal-sentence theophoric names, e.g., zkr'l, 'El remem- bers (or has remembered),' ,lmi, 'El rules (or has ruled).'5 (IIA.) Nominal- sentence theophoric names of declarative force, e.g., imJl, 'El is the sun (or Sams is god),' ,lnr, 'El is light.' (IIB.) Nominal-sentence theophoric names of interrogative force; there are three such names: ,yndb, 'Where is the Noble One?' (contra JAPN #6, 'Where is nobility?'); [m]k3l, 'Who is like El?'; mkm,1, 'Who is like El?'6 (III.) Construct-phrase names, e.g., mqnmlk, 'property of the (Divine) King.' (IV.) Single-unit names, e.g., brq, 'lightning.'" There are, in addition, shortened forms derived from names of Classes I-III; it is not clear that hypocoristica need be rigidly separated from Class IV names. In this paper I will deal with some problems of verbal morphology (Class I) and with a variety of Class III and IV names, most presenting some difficulty in nominal morphology. I will consider a prag- matic feature of name use, concinnity between the grammatical gender of name formants and the bearer's sex. Finally, I will review the problematic yc formants. 1 Verbal-sentence theophoric names: Verbal morphology 1.1 Second-person finite forms The Ammonite name tnhm (JAPN #106) belongs to the small class of ancient Northwest Semitic names with the second-person finite verb forms, surveyed by Coogan (1975). All such names are composed only of the verb form, and "it is remarkable that in none. .. is the divine subject named" (Coogan 1975: 196), especially since vocatives do occur with imperatives M. O'Connor 155 (see below). Suffixing verb forms (e.g., Biblical Hebrew simrit, 1 Chr 8: 21, vocalization dubious) are commoner that prefixing forms, among which Coogan cites only some Amorite forms, Pal tibb (cf. Stark 1971: 118), and the Ammonite case under discussion. The seal which attests this name, lmnhm bn tnhm, derives from the William Carlos Williams of Ammon.8 1.2 Imperatives A number of Ammonite names may be parsed as containing imperatives: brkl (JAPN #36), pd3l (JAPN #88), and b'1 (JAPN #96). Jackson glosses the first two as if the verbs could only be suffixing forms and leaves the third unglossed; gloss it 'Turn/Return, O Ii,' with the object elided (cf. Jackson 1983a: 65). The Massoretic vocalizations of the comparable Hebrew name are bewildering, though even if the Gershonite (sebe'l in 1 Chr 23: 16, bu'wel in 26: 24), the Amramite (Jibd'l in 24: 20 bis), and the Hemanite (isbv-l in 25: 4 and ibd&l in 25: 20) are to be distinguished, the variation in the third's name suggests that all the forms represent the same name; the gub- vocalization must be more basic, since the ilb- forms could hardly have yielded those in ub-. MT, then, witnesses an imperative vocalization and most onomasticians agree on the sense (e.g., Gr6ndahl 1967: 61, 200; Huffmon 1965: 266, 1976: 620). The name MT &ebanydhi/yd (Neh 9: 4, etc) may be a byform of this, to be vocalized Sub-na-yah (Coogan 1975: 197, after Albright). The question of how common imperative names are remains open. It may be useful to summarize the agreed-on evidence. There are three types of imperative names, (a) those addressed to a deity, in the singular (for these, see Coogan 1975: 197), (b) those addressed, as it were, to their bearers, in the singular, and (c) those addressed to the community, in the plural (for these two groups, see the elegant treatment of Porten 1971). The (a) type is the best attested. In addition to the Aub + DN examples in Amorite, Ugaritic, and Biblical Hebrew, there is another possible Amorite example, in n/ytin (Huffmon 1965: 86-87; not so, Gelb 1980: 34, 200), three other possible Ugaritic examples (Gr6ndahl 1967: 60- 61), and examples from brk and perhaps also ytn in Phoenician (Benz 1972: 101, 216-17, 248-49). There are two further Hebrew examples, h6jacdyd (Jer 42: 1; see Noth 1928: 32; this phrase corresponds to the small- est of the Khirbet Beit Lei texts, the only one Cross and Naveh agree on; see Cross 1970: 302), 'Save, O Yahweh' (see further below) and remalydhi (2 Kgs 15: 25), vocalize rum-l(a)-ydhi~, 'Be exalted, O Yahweh' (so Coogan 156 The Ammonite Onomasticon 1975: 197, after Moran). If pd'l and brk,1 contain imperatives, the names are of this type; gloss 'Redeem, O El' and 'Bless, O El.'9 For the (b) and (c) classes only the Hebrew examples, biblical and epigraphic, have been collected (Porten 1971 with full references). The sin- gular forms are more common: hklyh (MT hdkalyd, Neh 1:1, vocalization dubious), 'Wait for Yahweh'; dmll (a Hebrew seal, Herr 1978: 138), 'Be silent (be)for(e) II'; dmlyhw (attested on seals, Herr 1978: 132, 144), 'Be silent (be)for(e) Yahweh' (Porten after Greenfield); note the hypocoristi- con dml, (attested epigraphically); s.plyh (attested at Elephantine), 'Watch for Yahweh' (Porten after Kutscher); qwlyh (MT qbldyd, Jer 29: 21, vo- calization dubious; also attested epigraphically), 'Hope for Yahweh' (the hypocoristicon qwl, is used at Elephantine); and qldyd (Ezra 10:23 and HS 133, the son of Domla'el!; Herr 1978: 138), 'Pay homage to Yahweh.' There are three sure examples of the (c) type, dg wl (Num 1: 14), 'Acknowledge ,II'; hddawydhi/y& (1 Chr 5: 24, etc.), 'Thank Yahweh' (the hypocoristicon hwdw is used at Elephantine); and pnwlyh (Elephantine), 'Turn to Yahweh' (so Porten, but perhaps rather an (a) class, 'Turn, O Yahweh'). Absent a full study of all these forms in a framework of onomastic syntax, one should hardly dwell on the chance of unvocalized names being imperative-types. 2 Construct-phrase names A number of Ammonite names are composed of construct phrases. The name cd>l is entered in JAPN #76 without a gloss. Comparable names are common; note Biblical Hebrew cddijel (1 Chron 4: 36) and cddydhj (2 Chron 23: 1), Epigraphic Hebrew cdyhw (Herr 1978: 108); Punic cdbcl (Benz 1972: 1965); Ugaritic cdmlk and cdrfp (Grondahl 1967: 106); Aramaic cdyh (Kornfeld 1978: 65). Despite the hesitation among students discussing the cognates cited above (to which add Stark 1971: 104, s.v. cwd), it seems most likely that the Ammonite cd=l and similar names are analogous to ,eli'ebac (Exod 6: 23), yohosebac (2 Kgs 11: 2), and bat-sebac (2 Sam 11: 3; all are women's names!), with the word cd'oath, treaty' (see Fitzmyer 1967: 23- 24 and references, adding Milgrom 1978: 66-76 on Hebrew cdh); no other possibility cited has so staightforward a typological grounding, notably Sivan's references to cdw/y 'to wear jewels' and ,d 'jewel' (1982: 223, 233). The pair of names bdl and byd'l is noteworthy (JAPN #28, 30; cf. Sivan 1982: 226). The first has parallels in Ugaritic, Epigraphic Hebrew, Phoenician, and Punic; a Muratfi name supplies the vocalization ba-da-ya- M. O'Connor 157 a-ma (Coogan 1976: 14), cognate to the Amarna form of the contraction bd < byd. The long form is paralleled in names of the Official Aramaic period, byd'l and bydyh. Avigad (1985: 1-3) has published a Phoenician seal lbdbcl and supplied a list of the bd- and byd- forms in Ammonite. The usual view is that both of these formants are compound, b + (y)d 'in/by the hand of,' but, as Avigad hints, this is open to question. The cooccurrence of bd- and byd- in the Ammonite onomasticon suggests that the relexicalization that separates first-millennium B. C. E. (Hebrew) beyad 'in the hand/power of,' and first millennium C. E. (Arabic) badd 'power' (whence, not whither, badda 'to distribute, spread,' the masdar of which it serves as) had an early start. It may therefore be that bdl should be glossed 'power of El.' The name mrl (JAPN #66) is probably based on a cognate of Aramaic mar 'lord.' Such names are attested, e.g., at Palmyra (see Stark 1971: 96- 97, perhaps adding some names Stark associates with mar 'bitter'). He- brew and Phoenician give examples of mrr names, all of which, it must be admitted, reflect the geminate character of the root (Benz 1972: 354-55 and references). Some of the Amorite names taken by Benz as relevant are probably ,mr names, as Gelb parses them, e.g., ya'mur-haddu, 'Hadad com- mands' (or the like; Gelb 1980: 603); but Ugaritic ymrn, mrcm and amrr (# Amurru!) and Execration Text Amorite ymwrw (Grondahl 1967: 160; Huffmon 1965: 233, cf. 234) remain to be accounted for. The name ,mr'l is probably to be glossed 'Il commands,' but note that ,mr + DN names can be parsed 'man of DN' (Stark 1971: 69). 3 Single-unit names Two single-unit names left unglossed in JAPN may be taken as m-prefix- noun names from fairly common onomastic roots: mnr (JAPN #64) and mrc (JAPN #67). Ammonite mur seems the plainer of the two. Names in the root nwr are not rare (for Amorite, see Huffmon 1965: 243-44, and Gelb 1980: 28 and references, 331; for Ugaritic, Grondal 1967: 166; for first-millennium Northwest Semitic, Coogan 1976: 77-78). Names with m- preformative nouns, though hardly a morphological class in the strict sense, are also not rare (see the gathering in Avigad 1978: 68). There seems, then, no reason not to parse mnr as a hypocoristicon of a genitive-compound name in nwr 'light.' Another "light" root that yields a m-noun name is ypC, whence Amorite me-bi-4u-um, viz., mipicum (Gelb 1980: 22, 273; Huff- mon 1965: 148-150, 212), probably a causative participle; see also Stark's discussion, s.v. mrbn,(lifiac, with the y in (A3) and (A6) a mater lectionis, although (A3) and (A6) could involve the elements yijcf (H8) or ysac- (H6). The fourth group of Hebrew formants has no direct cognate in Ammonite, but the t- prefix nominal element of 4lt T is analogous (cf. O'Connor 1980: 186- 187). The names may be tentatively glossed: (Al) ygc 'deliverance (?),' (A2) ygol 'deliverance (?) of El,' (A3) 'lyf, (A4) 3lJc, (A5) lt?,, and (A6) bclyc 'DN/my god/lord is deliverance (?).' The cognate evidence from unvocalized Canaanite sources, much of it cited in JAPN s. vv., is of no help in clarifying the shape of the formants involved. Amorite has several relevant elements (Huffmon 1965: 215-216): isf in, e.g., i -i-ddIMreflects *yijt, ancestor to the Group II elements, y'?a,- 162 The Ammonite Onomasticon and yiscf; eiut/yaius, a theophoric element (Huffmon 1965: 77, 98-99) as in i-lh-e--u-u4; this may be cognate to the noun yegsd, and its onomastic use in Amorite would support the derivation of the name element -s-uac from this noun. (Gelb 1980: 22, in addition to these elements, recognizes several others, not well attested.) The cognate evidence does suggest that the second radical of yjc is underlying t; note, most recently, the principal of the Tell Fekherye bilin- gual, Hadduyitci (Abou-Assaf et al. 1982), along with pre-Islamic Arabic, Amorite and perhaps Ugaritic data. If the root is yk, the standard Arabic cognate, wasica 'to be wide,' must be discarded, and the Safaitic god whose name is conventionally vocalized Yitac is relevant. Unlike Amorite Ya~uc, this god is known outside of personal names, from graffito petitions. In the eleven occurrences of the divine name in the Safaitic corpus of Winnett and Harding (1978), five occurrences use filt (in the form fhyc flt, 'O Yitac, deliver [him],' 2113 or fith, 1974, 2539; once with an object in m 'from,' 191; once with a suffixing verb form, wfit y t, 'Yitac delivered [him],' 23). Other petitions involve the verbs rwh 'to grant calm, relief' (710, 2137), scd 'to help' (2163), and slm 'to grant peace' (313, and note 2161: fhy slm wcwr dy cwr hsfr, 'O Yitac, grant security, and render one-eyed him who damages the inscription,' cf. Kilamuwa's Phoenician curse, wmy yght hspr z y§ht r' bcl smd. . . wy§ht r bcl hmn . . . wrkb'l bcl bt, 'Whoever smashes this inscription-may Baal Semed... smash his head and may Baal Hamon... and Rakibel, the dynastic deity, smash his head,' KAI 24.15-16 and O'Connor 1977a). Note also, for yk with no petition, 2465, the only such construction in the corpus; for other discussions of Yitac, see the references at Winnett and Harding 1978: 39 ad text 23. I write these pages in memory of my teacher Ernest Abdel-Massih and will close by observing that his name is epigraphically attested in the ancient Christian Arab sphere. One of the sixteen or so pre-Islamic Arabian texts that attest to a Christian presence in the peninsula is a Himyaritic graffito from Jabal bint H[amir near Najrdn (in that part of Arabia Felix now in southwestern Saudi Arabia) that reads brg bn mlk cbd I msh 'Brg son of Mlk, [whose baptismal name is] cAbd al-Mass.lh' (Beaucamp and Robin 1981: 53-54, plate le). M. O'Connor 163 Notes 1 My thanks to K. P. Jackson, for going over the Ammonite texts with me, and to Philip Schmitz, for comments on an earlier draft of this paper. 2 All the texts have been recently surveyed by K. P. Jackson (1983a), which may be supplemented by W. E. Aufrecht's bibliography (1982); Jackson has considered many of the Ammonite names in a recent survey (1983b), cited here as JAPN, J(ackson), "A(mmonite) P(ersonal) N(ames))." 3 See also O'Connor (1986), which lists a few of the more recently published names. 4 Add the list of Sargon names in Lewis 1980: 31, 283 to the discussion on p. 162. In a recent note on Hasean (North Arabic) names Beeston also recognizes the con- straints: "three-member composita [names are] virtually never attested outside Akka- dian" (1979: 17). s Most of the verbs are suffixing forms, but, pace Jackson, it is not clear how many prefixing forms occur; he notes as possible only the verb of ,lydn (JAPN, 517); add also ,byh y, ynhm, ytyr;, on the last two, see O'Connor (1986). 6 The usual tendency to separate Classes IIA and IIB reflects a vague supposition that verbal-sentence names of interrogative force might be found, but by the constraints noted above such names are not possible and, indeed, no examples have been alleged. Jackson erroneously lists mng'nrt as an Ammonite question-phrase name, JAPN, 518; it is Akkadian. 7 See O'Connor (1986) on the semantics of the Ammonite examples. 8 The seal of this Menahem depicts a four-wing scarab and was found in a tomb with seals of royal functionaries; he seems to have been quite important (Younker 1985: 175). For four Safaitic examples of the rare phenomenon of father and son bearing the same name-in these cases, mak, hn, tin, mqhn-see Jamme (1979: 516). There must be other cases than that of Menahem/Tenahem of father and son bearing nearly identical names. 9 On the question of whether brk in names is Qal or Picel, see O'Connor (1977b). For a case in which a Qal form is attested by cuneiform evidence rather than an expected Picel (Benz 1972: 311), see Zadok on bcllhs, cuneiform ba-al-ha-lu-su (1978a: 62). Punic and Neo-Punic Greek script barka is associated by Stark (1971: 80) with brk (1972: 291), despite Arabic ,al-barqa 'Cyrenaica.' 10 Semantically comparable is the convergence of English wail 'to cry out' and wail '(to cause to cry out>) to beat up,' though the latter is etymologically wale. 164 The Ammonite Onomasticon References A. Abou-Assaf, P. Bordreuil and A. R. Millard 1982 La Statue de Tell Fekherye. Etudes assyriologiques 7. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les civilisations. W. E. Aufrecht [1982] A Bibliography of Ammonite Inscriptions. Newsletter for Targu- mic and Cognate Studies Supplement #1. Toronto: Depart- ment of Near Eastern Studies, University of Toronto. N. Avigad 1978 Gleanings from Unpublished Ancient Seals. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 230: 67-69. 1985 Some Decorated West Semitic Seals. Israel Exploration Journal 35: 1-7. J. Beaucamp and C. Robin 1981 Le Christianisme dans le peninsule arabique d'apres l'epigraphie et l'archeologie. Pp. 45-61 in Hommages a Paul Lemerle. Travaux et memoires 8/ Centre de recherche d'histoire et civilisation de Byzance. Paris: E. de Boccard. A. F. L. Beeston 1979 The Hasean Tombstone J1052. Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 11: 17-18. F. L. Benz 1972 Personal Names in the Phoenician and Punic Inscriptions. Studia Pohl 8. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. M. D. Coogan 1975 The Use of Second Person Singular Verbal Forms in Northwest Semitic Personal Names. Orientalia 44: 194-197. 1976 West Semitic Personal Names in the Murai' Documents. Har- vard Semitic Monographs 7. Missoula, MT: Scholars Press. F. M. Cross 1969 Epigraphic Notes on the Amman Citadel Inscription. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 193: 13-19. M. O'Connor 165 1970 The Cave Inscriptions from Khirbet Bei Lei. Pp. 299-306 in Near Eastern Archaeology in the Twentieth Century: Es- says . . . Glueck, ed. J. Sanders. Garden City: Doubleday. J. A. Fitzmyer 1967 The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire. Biblica et Orientalia 19. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. I. J. Gelb 1980 Computer-Aided Analysis of Amorite. With the assistance of J. Bartels, S.-M. Vance, and R. M. Whiting. Assyriological Studies 21. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. L. T. Geraty 1985 The Andrews University Madaba Plains Project: A Preliminary Report on the First Season at Tell el-cUmeiri. Andrews Uni- versity Seminary Studies 23: 85-110. A. Gibson 1981 Biblical Semantic Logic: A Preliminary Analysis. New York: St. Martin's Press. D. F. Graf 1983 Nabateans and the Hisma: In the Footsteps of Glueck and Beyond. Pp. 647-664 in Meyers and O'Connor 1983. F. Grondahl 1967 Die Personennamen der Texte aus Ugarit. Studia Pohl 1. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. G. L. Harding 1971 An Index and Concordance of Pre-Islamic Arabian Names and Inscriptions. Near and Middle East Series 8. Toronto: Uni- versity of Toronto. L. G. Herr 1978 The Scripts of Ancient Northwest Semitic Seals. Harvard Semitic Monographs 18. Missoula, MT: Scholars Press. 1985a The Servant of Baalis. Biblical Archaeologist 48: 169-172. 1985b Is the Spelling of "Baalis" in Jeremiah 40: 14 a Mutilation? Andrews University Seminary Studies 23: 187-191. 166 The Ammonite Onomasticon H. B. Huffmon 1965 Amorite Personal Names in the Mari Texts. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. 1976 Names. Pp. 619-621 in The Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible/Supplementary Volume, ed. K. Crim et al. Nashville: Abingdon. K. P. Jackson 1983a The Ammonite Language of the Iron Age. Harvard Semitic Monographs 27. Chico: Scholars Press. 1983b Ammonite Personal Names in the Context of the West Semitic Onomasticon. Pp. 507-521 in Meyers and O'Connor 1983. A. Jamme 1971 Un Nouvel inventaire des noms propres et des textes arabes preislamiques. Pp. 93-150 in his Miscellanees d'ancient arabe. Washington. 1979 Inscriptions from Fifty Safaitic Cairns. Orientalia 48: 478-528. B. Lewis 1980 The Sargon Legend. ASOR Dissertation Series 4. Cambridge: American Schools of Oriental Research. C. L. Meyers and M. O'Connor, eds. 1983 Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman. Winona Lake, Indi- ana: Eisenbrauns. J. Milgrom 1978 Priestly Terminology and the Political and Social Structure of Pre-Monarchic Israel. Jewish Quarterly Review 69: 65-81. J. Naveh 1980 The Ostracon from Nimrud: An Ammonite Name-List. MAARAV 2: 163-71. M. Noth 1928 Die Israelitische Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemi- tischen Namengebung. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Rpt. Olms. 1966. M. O'Connor 1977a The Rhetoric of the Kilamuwa Inscription. Bulletin of the Amer- ican Schools of Oriental Research 226: 15-29. M. O'Connor 167 1977b The Grammar of Getting Blessed in Tyrian-Sidonian Phoeni- cian. Rivista di studi fenici 5: 5-11. 1980 Hebrew Verse Structure. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns. 1987 The Ammonite Onomasticon: Semantic Problems. Andrews Uni- versity Seminary Studies 25: 51-64. B. Porten 1971 'Domlael' and Related Names. Israel Exploration Journal 21: 47-49. G. Rendsburg 1986 The Ammonite Phoneme /t/. Paper presented at the North American Conference on Afro-Asiatic Linguistics, New Haven. R. Savignac 1932 Notes de voyage: Le sanctuaire d'Allat a Iram. Revue biblique 41: 581-97. M. H. Silverman 1981 Biblical Name-Lists and the Elephantine Onomasticon: A Com- parison. Orientalia 50: 265-331. D. Sivan 1982 On the Grammar and Orthography of the Ammonite Findings. Ugarit-Forschungen 14: 219-234. J. K. Stark 1971 Personal Names in Palmyrene Inscriptions. Oxford: Clarendon. W. H. Shea 1985 Mutilation of Foreign Names by Bible Writers: A Possible Example from Tell el-cUmeiri. Andrews University Seminary Studies 23: 111-115. F. V. Winnett and G. L. Harding 1978 Inscriptions from Fifty Safaitic Cairns. Near and Middle East Series 9. Toronto: University of Toronto. R. W. Younker 1985 Israel, Judah, and Ammon and the Motifs on the Baalis Seal from Tell el-cUmeiri. Biblical Archaeologist 48: 173-180. R. Zadok 1978a Phoenicians, Philistines and Moabites in Mesopotamia. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 230: 57-65. 168 The Ammonite Qnomasticon 1978b West Semitic Personal Names in the Murasfi Documents [Rev. Coogan 1976]. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 231: 73-78. Bibliographical Supplement In the years since this paper was submitted in 1986, research on Ammonite has continued. I cite below a few major articles. Aufrecht (1987) is a review of Jackson (1983a). The range of Lemaire (1988) is broader than the title suggests. Dion (1975), on the Tell Siran bottle and the Amman citadel texts, has unfortunately been overlooked in subsequent discussions. W. Aufrecht 1987 The Ammonite Language of the Iron Age. Bulletin of the Amer- ican Schools of Oriental Research 266: 85-95. P.-E. Dion 1975 Notes d'6pigraphie ammonite. Revue Biblique 82: 24-33. F. Israel 1987 Les sceaux ammonites. Syria 64: 141-46. A. Lemaire 1986 Nouveaux sceaux nord-ouest semitiques. Syria 63: 305-325, Ammonite Seals, 317-22. 1988 Recherches actuelles sur les sceaux nord-ouest simitiques. Vetus Testamentum 38: 220-30. Having a Dialogue with a Work of History: A Checklist for Critical Examination and Evaluation LouIs L. ORLIN University of Michigan T HE following essay, dedicated to the memory of Ernest Abdel-Massih, himself an excellent teacher and counselor in the College for many years, is presented in the form of a checklist. It is designed to assist students in making an orderly survey of a work of history so that their own insights might be enhanced. It offers a way of unearthing relevant considerations for critical evaluation which might otherwise be overlooked. To say this is not to imply that the checklist is comprehensive; students will wish to modify existing items, and add to the list themselves. What appears below is highly compressed from reports which members of my seminars on historiography have produced in various terms. It is offered here in grateful acknowledgment to them. A work of history should be approached from three separate angles. There is, first of all (and obviously) the material itself. There is, secondly, the person or persons who wrote it. Finally, there is the audience which reads it. The intelligent reader's/critic's attention must first and foremost be concentrated on the work, itself. There is no other beginning point. The work is the middle term between the writer and the audience. No amount of biographical information about the author is alone sufficient to explain or allow a judgment of a historical work, nor can the work's reception speak effectively to its internal quality. But information about the historian, his times, and his audience can be useful to help a reader or a critic place the work in a relevant social and intellectual context. The questions included in the checklist allow a more or less systematic initial investigation from the three angles of approach. They begin with the historian's product, move to the historian, and then to the historian's audience. 170 Dialogue with a Work of History L The Historian's Work A convenient way to begin examining a work of history is to consider its SCOPE: 1. Is the work broad and encompassing, perhaps covering centuries, or limited, perhaps to a decade, a year, a few months, even a day? 2. Does it select several complementary topics, such as the relation- ships between industrialization and political autocracy in a develop- ing country, or a single, rigorously defined one, such as the role of the army? 3. Does the treatment reflect a single perspective, multiple perspectives, perhaps no consistent approach? 4. What explanations, if any, are given for the broadness or the narrow- ness of the work? Consider next the work's CHRONOLOGICAL RANGE: 1. Is there a specific chronological plan of the work? If one is stated, is it actually fulfilled? If not, can you perceive why, or does the historian say why? 2. What explanations, if any, are given for the chronological limits se- lected? 3. What part of the work's chronological range (if any specifically) is given most attention and emphasis? Why? For instance, in a history devoted to ancient Israel, is the author most interested in the pre- monarchic period? The period of the United Monarchy? The Exilic and Post-Exilic period? How does the author's interest in a spe- cific chronological range affect his treatment of other perhaps equally important periods? 4. How is time indicated, that is, through strict sequential dating? Through a notion of "eras," "great moments" or "great events" in a people's history? And so forth. 5. If the author does not employ a defined chronological plan, what principle or principles of organization are used instead? Further, consider the GEOGRAPHICAL RANGE: 1. Can you characterize the work as local history, for instance, the his- tory of a particular city, town, or village? As regional history, for in- stance, the history of an integrated area, such as the American Great Plains, or the Egyptian Delta? As national history? As international history? As world history? Louis L. Orlin 171 2. Is the author interested in a specific area only, such as the coastal regions of a country, or in interrelating several areas, such as the coastal regions and the interior highlands? 3. Is there a clear geographical plan of the work? If it is stated, does the author stick to it? 4. What are the sources of the historian's geographical knowledge? Can you discern whether the author is personally acquainted with the areas written about? Some further general questions about SCOPE: 1. Is the work's scope too large for the amount of evidence supplied by the author? Conversely, is the work overloaded with detail? Can, and do, the main themes emerge clearly? 2. Has the work come down to us in its entirety (especially relevant to ancient and medieval histories)? How might missing sections, and textual corruption owing to transmission of the work in time, affect our judgment of the historian's intentions? 3. After reading the history, are you aware of any glaring deficiencies of coverage? How does the historian's idea of balanced treatment of his subject, if this is his claim, square with your perception of appropriate balance? How would you account for any disparities? 4. To what extent may the scope of the work have been limited by the author's background (family, social status, education, political (or other) beliefs, or by the expectations of the audience written for? Questions of scope may be followed by questions of ORIENTATION: 1. Does the work have a single orientation, for example: political, mil- itary, economic, religious, cultural, sociological, biographical, or au- tobiographical? 2. If political history, do you know the political system of the society under which the historian writes or wrote (important, for example, if you are reading a work by an ideological representative of a particular totalitarian state)? Does the historian betray his or her own political beliefs? Can you perceive political experiences of the author which may have influenced the approach? Does the author comment upon other political systems than the one subscribed to in the work? Does the author write as a political theorist, and if so, to what extent? 3. If military history, how important does war appear to be in the plan of the work? Does the historian have a military background, perhaps 172 Dialogue with a Work of History as a participant in any battles described in the work? What is the historian's attitude toward war? Does this appear in descriptions of military events? Of military strategy? How good is the historian at assigning believable causes to the outbreak of war? Does the historian strike a balance between military and other significant social affairs in the work? 4. If economic history, can you assess what the historian considers eco- nomic "forces" to be? How does the author understand these to affect human actions? Does the historian have a philosophy which defines the role of economics in life and history? If so, what is the relation- ship between economic explanations and other possible explanations of events in the work? Can you discover anything in the historian's background which might account for a particular economic emphasis? 5. If religious history, does the historian have a general or specific the- ological point of view? Does the historian share the religious values of his or her society? To what extent does the historian rely upon the idea of "divine action" to explain the course of events? Does the historian's religious bias (if it is evident) lead to assigning spe- cial importance to particular individuals and classes? What is the role of superstition, sacrifice, omens, and the like, in the work of the historian (especially relevant to ancient historians)? Is or was the historian a priest or other religious functionary? 6. If cultural history, can you discover what the historian's understand- ing, even definition, of culture is? Does it seem adequate? Does the historian favor certain kinds of cultural activity over others? Is the historian a practitioner of some art? A philosopher? A professional academic? Does the historian's membership in some cultural group or activity flavor the history? What is the historian's sense of the relationship between cultural and other human activities? Does the historian have a philosophy of culture which conforms essentially to what exists in the historian's own society, or are ideal images created in the work? Is the author a good reporter of customs and traditions? 7. If sociological history, what is the historian's view of how the society or societies written about are organized? Of how society in general ought to be organized? Does the author appear to write as a member of a particular social class? How does the author appear to under- stand the concept of "class"? Do the author's sympathies reside with any particular class? Does the evidence come from the experience of any single class? Is the author's view of society infused with any particular views of human nature or potential in general? Louis L. Orlin 173 8. If biographical history, which persons are chosen to exemplify the author's themes or emphases? Are they of a particular type (e.g., heroic, underdog, members of particular groups or professions in the society)? How is the author using the particular persons who appear in the history (e.g., to exemplify particular virtues, defects of charac- ter, etc.)? Is the author's selection of characters from which to build or enhance a picture of the society written about fair and impartial? How faithful is the author to a balanced selection of evidence about each character? 9. If autobiographical history, what is the relationship of the author's life to the events and persons written about? Is the author being open and honest in describing his or her own role events? Can you discern any special interest or bias which the author intentionally or unintentionally conceals? How well qualified is the author to write history from a personal point of view? What might you discern as the author's motives? We can ask some pertinent questions about a historian's SOURCES: 1. What types of primary sources does the historian use (e.g., inscrip- tional, written documents, oral accounts, archaeological, etc.)? Are there significant omissions in the types? If so, can you explain why the omitted types do not appear? 2. What specific primary sources are used? Can you explain why these are used? Where others exist and are available to the historian, can you explain why these are not, or might not have been, used? 3. How specific is the historian in citing the attributions of such sources? If the historian is not specific, can you discern why not? 4. What secondary sources does the historian use? Tertiary sources? Does the historian rely on hearsay? 5. Does the historian tell you what types of sources will be used, or can you make a list from the essay or book in the absence of specific indication by the author? 6. In an ancient historian, especially, how much of traditional myth or legend is used to interpret events? 7. Does the historian mix fact and fancy indiscriminately? We can pass on to particular questions of STYLE, as opposed to CON- TENT, of a historical work: 174 Dialogue with a Work of History 1. If the work was originally written in a language other than English, is your translated version of it (assuming you are not able to read the original language) acknowledged to be accurate? 2. Regarding either the original or the translation: Can you characterize the diction? Is it rhetorical, for instance? Or pedestrian? Given to elaborate figures of speech? Conversely? matter-of-fact and succinct? Is the tone of the work balanced and sober? Objective? Satirical or sarcastic? Pompous? Emotional? How do the elements of style you discern affect your reading of the work? How does the historian's use of various stylistic devices affect our appraisal or the truth of the history? 3. Does the historian indicate overtly what literary models were being followed in the history? If not, can you nevertheless perceive these? 4. What do the language and style used in a work tell you about the historian's background? The intended audience? 5. Do any parts of the work seem to follow expected traditional style (especially relevant to ancient historians)? For example, are battle scenes expected to be written in a particular way? Political scenes? Are poetic or dramatic "inserts" a feature of a known historical style? 6. What principles of organization do you discern in the work? 7. What themes seem continually to come to the fore? Are they imposed upon the material the historian discusses, or do they emerge from a careful treatment of the evidence? 8. Where other work of the historian exists, can you judge whether the particular work you are examining is typical of the author's views and methods, or whether it is unique? 9. Does the historian indicate that the work will later be revised? II. The Historian 1. What can we know about the historian's life and personal background which might help in understanding the historian's attitudes? 2. Was family and class a significant shaper of the author's approach to history? 3. How might education have oriented the historian's attitude towards events? 4. What life experiences are relevant to the approach, if any? 5. What was or is the position of the historian in his or her own society? Is he or she a member of the establishment, or out of favor? 6. Does the historian state the purposes of the work in question? Louis L. Orlin 175 7. Does the historian subscribe to any particular school of historical interpretation? 8. Given the historian's choice of a subject and treatment of its themes, can you judge his or her competence for the chosen work? III. The Audience of the Historian's Work 1. Is the work addressed to posterity, or is it intended for a particular audience? If the latter, what are the special characteristics or known or possible interests of the group? 2. What was, or might have been, the relation of the group written for to the events and personages of the history? 3. Does the historian have a special relationship with the intended au- dience? Might this relationship affect the purpose and organization of the work? 4. How was the work received in the historian's own day (especially relevant to ancient historians)? 5. What has been the history of the work's reception over time? 6. Have any special circumstances governed the acceptance or rejection of the work? Which individuals (e.g., general reviewers, academic critics, etc.), have helped its acceptance or influenced its rejection? Are the reasons sound? Some Useful References: M. Bloch, The Historian's Craft (English Translation, Manchester, 1954). N.F. Cantor & R.I. Schneider, How to Study History (New York, 1967). J. Chesneaux, Pasts and Futures or What Is History for (English Transla- tion, London, 1978). Highly stimulating. G. Kitson Clark, Guide for Research Students Working on Historical Subjects (Cambridge, 1958). G.R. Elton, The Practice of History (Sydney and London, 1967). D.H. Fischer, Historian's Fallacies (New York, 1970). F. Gilbert and S.R. Graubard, eds., Historical Studies Today (New York, 1972). 176 Dialogue with a Work of History S. Kent, Writing Historyj (New York, 1941). Social Science Research Council, The Social Sciences in Historical Study, Bulletin 64 (New York, 1954). Social Science Research Council, Theory and Practice in Historical Study: A Report of the Committee on Historiography, Bulletin 54 (New York, 1946). Contains an excellent bibliography. The Relation Between Al-JurjanT and Modern Western Linguists RAJI M. RAMMUNY University of Michigan A. Introduction and Background E have noted in another paper entitled, "The Role of al-Jurjnl's Con- V cept of Taclq on the Development of Arabic Grammatical Theory and Linguistic Analysis,"1 that the early Arab grammarians were chiefly concerned with the description of language structure, especially in the sec- ond/eighth and third/ninth centuries when they began to formulate the rules of the Arabic language. Illustrative examples were given to show how they substantiated their grammatical descriptions and analysis through a study of the notions of grammatical regents and causes and how they, sometimes, resorted to philosophical interpretations to explain problems connected with harakdt al-Icrdb (inflectional marks). With the introduction of the theory of al-nazm (discourse arrange- ment)2 in his book Daldil al-Icjdz (Illustrations of the Inimitability [of the Qur'an]),3 al-Jurjani, an eminent Muslim scholar (400-471/1010-1078), sought to reform the conventional approach to grammatical analysis of his age. He called for a study of language and grammar on the basis of the notion of nazm and tacliq (interrelationship).4 In al-Jurjani's view, such a study would provide a more adequate and accurate analysis of both the syntactic and semantic functions of the constituents of speech (including their inflectional marks) than what is offered by traditional analysis. Daldil al-Icjaz contains a wealth of valuable information dealing with language and grammar. In this well-known work, al-Jurjani discusses, with cogent reasoning and ample evidence drawn from the Quran and ancient Arabic literature, the nature of language composition and grammatical analysis. He is mainly concerned with description of the ways the lin- guistic elements in utterances are selected and arranged as intended by 178 Al-Jurjani and Modern Western Linguists the writer/speaker. In his discussion and analysis he includes valuable information on al-taqdim wa al-takhir (preposing and postposing "word order"), al-tacrif wa al-tankir (definiteness and indefiniteness), al-fasl wa al-wasl (disjunction and conjunction), al-hadhf (deletion), al-qasr (excep- tion), al-ikhtisas (particularization), al-tikrhr (repetition), and al-idma-r (implication).5 There are also sections on the use of al-majaz (trope), al- kiniya (periphrasis), al-isticarah (metaphor), al-fasahah (eloquence), and al-baldghah (rhetoric).6 Al-Jurjan-i's main concern in Daldiil al-Icjdz is to show that the linguis- tic level of discourse, including the problem of inflectional markers, and the semantic level, including the problem of different styes, are both important subjects of language study. This expansion in the scope of grammatical and linguistic analysis to include both syntactic and semantic interrelationships and functions was not stressed by ancient Arab grammarians. Al-Jurjani's linguistic views as presented and discussed in Daldil al- Ijdz form the basis of much of modern linguistic thought about language, from Ferdinand de Saussure up to the present age. The particular points of comparison which will be dealt with in this paper are: (1) approach to the study of language and grammar, (2) grammatical and syntactic relationships, (3) semantic relationships, and (4) the relationship between form (syntax) and meaning (semantics). B. Comparison and Discussion 1. APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE AND GRAMMAR As stated in the Introduction, al-Jurjdnl's approach to the study of language and his views of grammar in Daldil al-Icjdz differ from the ap- proaches and views of early Arab grammarians and scholars in method of reasoning and presentation, and also in emphasis and clarity. It is interest- ing to mention here what was pointed out in my paper entitled, "Al-Jurjani: A Pioneer of Grammatical and Linguistic Studies," (pp. 351-352); namely, that al-Jurjdni in his other grammatical works, such as al-cAwdmil and al-Jumal, follows the approaches of early Arab grammarians. Al-Jurjani was the first among Arab grammarians to urge, in Daldil al-Icjdz, the study of language and grammar, independent of all traces of cawdimil (grammatical regents), cilal (causes), and philosophical interpreta- tions that were current in his age. For example, early Arab grammarians state that the imperfect verb is mansib (in the subjunctive mood) and has fatha (the short vowel sign a when it is preceded by one of cawdmil al- nasb (subjunctivizers) such as an 'that', kay 'in order that', and hattd 'so Raji M. Rammuny 179 that'; for instance ji'tu hattd uqdbilaka 'I came so that I meet you'. It loses its final vowel when preceded by lam 'didn't, hasn't' and lammd 'hasn't yet'-callec cawdmil al-jazm (jussivizers), as in: lam yaghdab 'He did not become angry'. And it is in the indicative mood if it is not preceded by any subjunctivizer or jussivizer. Likewise, a noun is nominative and has damma (the short vowel sign u when it is fdcil (subject) of a verbal sentence, as in: jdat fdtimatu 'Fatima came'. It is accusative and has fatha when it is maf! cl bihi (direct object), for example: ra'aytu fdtimata 'I saw Fatima', or when it is maf!cf ili-ajlihi (accusative of purpose), or maf cl ffhi (adverb of place), etc. And it is genitive and has a kasra (the short vowel i) when it is preceded by one of cawdmil al-jarr (genitivizers), i.e. prepositions, as in: marartu bi-al-masjidi 'I passed by the mosque', or is the second term in an iddfah (genitive construct) phrase, for example: bdbu al-ddri 'the door of the house'.7 In the absence of cawdmil lafziyyah (explicit lexical regents), early Arab grammarians resort to taqdir (implication of unstated lexical units). For instance, in the sentence zaydun qdma 'Zayd stood up', Sibawayhi8 argues that the noun zaydun is in the nominative because it is the subject of the so-called jumlah ismiyyah (equational sentence) zaydun qdma, and that the verb qdma 'stood up' together with its implied subject (i.e., huwa 'he') is the predicate of the equational sentence, thus creating a very awkward sentence: zaydun qdma huwa 'Zayd stood up he'.9 In the fifth/eleventh century, al-Jurjani called for a reform of Ara- bic grammar to be achieved through careful study of the ways in which the constituents of speech are interrelated on the basis of taclfq syntactic- semantic interrelationships,10 thus dispensing with the cawdmil and cilal and the conventional terminology that bear the stamp of logic and phi- losophy. In brief, al-Jurjani sees nazm (discourse, "speech") as a series of syntactic-semantic interrelationships. According to him: laysa li-al-nazmi min fadlin wa-maziyyatin illa bi-hasabi al-mawdici wa-bi-hasabi al-macnd alladhi turfdu 'nazm has no merit or excellence except relative to its gram- matical function and the meaning aimed at'.11 It is precisely this complex network of interrelationships, claims al-Jurjanl, that provides the necessary framework for grammatical analysis, and hence explains the inflectional marks in a more realistic and accurate way than the absurd notions of grammatical regents and causes. Much of the same can be said about Western linguistics, which down to the nineteenth century bore the conventional Greek stamp. In the words of John Lyons: 180 Al-Jurjani and Modern Western Linguists The investigation of language as practiced in Europe and Amer- ica before the 19th century was subjective, speculative and un- systematic . . . Traditional grammar, which like so much else in Western culture originated in Greece in the fifth century B.C., has since its beginnings been intimately connected with philos- ophy and literary criticism.12 And in another place, Lyons adds: Traditional grammar was developed on the basis of Greek and Latin, and it was subsequently applied, with minimal modifica- tion and often uncritically, to the description of languages.13 This state of affairs did not change until the appearance of the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure in the early part of this century. Like al- Jurjanf, de Saussure called for purifying linguistics from the influence of logical and philosophical thought. Language, he said, must be studied as a discipline in its own right. Here is what he said in this regard: To base the classification of anything except on concrete enti- ties, to say, for example, that the parts of speech are the con- stituents of language simply because they correspond to cate- gories of logic is to forget that there are linguistic facts apart from the phonic substances cut into significant elements.14 Both al-JurjdnT and de Saussure see language as a system of interrela- tionships between words in an utterance. According to al-Jurjani: laysa al- nazmu siwd taclfqi al-kalimi bacdihd maca bacdin wa-jacli bacdih bi-sababin min bacdin.15 'Language is no more than the linking up of words one to another and making some consequent upon others'. And according to de Saussure, language is "a system of pure values which are determined by nothing except the momentary arrangement of its terms." 16 Al-Jurjani, like Lyons, Langendoen and many modern linguists, em- phasizes the necessity of methodically analyzing the total items of a given utterance on the basis of the ways they interact one with the other, rather than describing each item in isolation. A vocabulary item, affirms al- JurjanT, acquires merit from its association with other items in the ut- terance in which it occurs. wa jumlatu al-amri annd Id nrijibu al-fasihata li-lafzatin maqticatin marf9catin min al-kaladmi alladhi hiya ffhi, wa- lIkinna nijibuha lahd mawsilatan bi-ghayrihd, wa-mucallaqan macnha bi-macna md yalihd.17 Raji M. Rammuny 181 In short, we do not attribute eloquence to a word taken in isola- tion from the speech it occurs in, but to a word taken in relation to other words, to a word whose meaning interpenetrates the meaning of the neighboring words. This corresponds to de Saussure's statement: "The whole has value only through its parts, and the parts have value by virtue of their place in the whole."'8 And obviously the following quotation by Lyons includes almost the same idea: "The words derive their linguistic value from the place they occupy in a network of functional relations and cannot be identified or described independently of those relations."19 2. SYNTACTIC/GRAMMATICAL RELATIONSHIPS According to al-Jurjani, the choice of linguistic items and the partic- ular ordering or sequencing of those items are determined, first, by macan- al-nahw (grammatical meanings) and, second, by macdani- al-kalim (meaning of words, speaker intention). Regarding grammatical meanings or relations, al-Jurja-ni says: A point one must understand and keep in mind is that thought must not be supposed to be related to macnti al-kalim in isola- tion from macdn- al-nahw. No one would imagine that a person could reflect on the meaning of a verb without associating it with some noun, or reflect on the meaning of a noun without associating it with some verb and making it either the subject or object of the verb, or without assigning it some other gram- matical function, as, for example, intending it to be a subject or predicate in a nominal sentence, an adjective, etc.20 True nazm, adds al-Jurjani, is that "which pays regard to the partic- ular ways in which words are interrelated in accordance with the principles and rules of grammar, and not that nazm which is no more than a linking up of one word to another in an arbitrary and haphazard way."21 Al-Jurjani beautifully summarizes all of this in the form of a verse: wa qad calimnd bi-anna al-nazma laysa siwd hukmin min al-nahwi namdi fi tawakhkhihi.22 'We have learned that nazm is nothing but a grammatical relation we seek to establish.' For al-Jurjdni, macdni al-nahw (grammatical meanings) are essentially pure linguistic meanings obtained from the network of syntactic interrela- 182 Al-Jurjani and Modern Western Linguists tionships between the constituents of speech themselves, apart from any reference to the "setting" or context of situation. Thus, the term macani al-nahw, used by al-Jurjanl, corresponds to the modern terms "grammati- cal meanings, formal meanings" developed by Western structural linguists in the first quarter of this century on the basis of de Saussure's linguistic works, particularly his "syntagmatic relations". Bloomfield, for example, writes: Grammatical meanings must be determined by reference to the formal (structural) difference in a language, since it is just these formal contrasts that determine the difference in linguistic meanings.23 And Margaret Berry, a notable member of the British School of Sys- tematic Linguistics, says the following on this subject: The formal meaning of a grammatical item or pattern is its potentiality for contrasting with other grammatical items and patterns and its potentiality for collocating with other gram- matical items.24 3. SEMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS Although the term "semantics" is a recent addition to modern linguis- tics,25 al-Jurja-ni talked about it at length in Dalkdil al-Icjdz over 900 years ago. Unlike ancient grammarians who viewed cilm al-macan(the science of meaning, semantics) as somewhat independent of the study of cilm al-nahw (science of grammar, syntax), al-Jurjdni declared that one cannot study grammar without assuming a great deal about meaning. The selection and particular ordering of linguistic items in sequence, according to al-Jurjani, depend on the meaning intended by the writer/speaker in accordance with the perceived communicative needs of the situation: wa-ammi al-kalimu fa-laysa ffhi al-amru kadhdlika li-annaka taqtaff ff nazmihd dthdra al-macanf wa-tartibaha cal hasabi tarti-bih ff al-nafsi.26 This, however, is not the case with the arrangement of words. For, in arranging them, you follow the lead of the meanings, the words being arranged in accordance with the mentally con- ceived order of meanings. Al-Jurjanf compares the process of constructing speech/discourse to the process of constructing a building. The writer/speaker makes choices Raji M. Rammuny 183 of words and decisions about their positions in utterances according to the mentally conceived order of meanings, like a mason who lays bricks in positions which have been predetermined. This is a sample of what he says: wa-iclam anna mimmd huwa aslun ff an yudaqqa al-nazaru wa- yughmada al-maslaku ff tawakhkhi al-macani allatf carafta an tattahida ajztiu al-kalimi wa-yadkhula bacduh ift bacdin, wa- yashtadda irtibdtu thdnin minhi bi-awwalin, wa-an yuhtdja ff al-jumlati ild an tadacah5 ff al-nafsi wadcan whidan, wa-an yakiina hluka minhi hdla al-bani wa-huwa yadacu bi-yamfnihi hdhund f hli mi yadacu bi-yascrihi hundka nacam wa-ff hdli m5 yubsiru makdna thdlithin wa-rdbicin yadacuhuma bacda al- awwalayni.27 Know that reflection on the meanings perceived will have value only when the parts of a sentence become unified, enter into one another, and the latter part [of a sentence] is closely related to the first. A sentence has to be understood as a unity and, in constructing it, you are like a mason who lays one brick with his right hand here and, at the same time, another brick with his left hand there--yes, at the same time that he looks at a third and a fourth spot where he will lay bricks after the first two. Among modern linguists who, likewise, focus their attention on the role of meaning in the interpretation and analysis of linguistic structures, Margaret Berry compares the process of composing a text to going for a walk: Meanings are the most fundamental, the most important things of language, but perhaps mostly because the more surface choices are determined by the meaning choices. We usually make all the decisions about route before setting out. Once ac- tually on the walk no further decisions would be necessary at all the turnings we were to take, which have been preselected. On the walk itself we should simply have to implement our earlier decisions.28 4. THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SYNTAX AND SEMANTICS The current focus on the role of meaning in linguistic analysis has led many modern linguists to voice their opinion on this very important 184 Al-Jurjant and Modern Western Linguists issue. The majority accept the fact that there are two levels of language, syntax and semantics; but there are differences among them in regard to the degree and direction of the relationship between the two levels. Some, like Bloomfield, consider "the study of speech-sounds without regard to meaning an abstraction."29 However, he sees that meaning should be dealt with as a separate independent system. For Bloomfield, the meaning of a linguistic form is "the situation in which the speaker utters it and the response which it calls in the hearer."30 In the 1950's, Firth took an opposite view, namely, that linguistic de- scription and analysis should include "some reference to the meaning of the linguistic elements as totally accounted for in terms of the situation in which it is used."31 Firth distinguishes between grammatical or "formal" mean- ings based on the syntactic relations between the linguistic constituents themselves and "situational" meanings derived from the interrelationship between the linguistic elements, on the one hand, and nonverbal elements of the outside situation, on the other. In the words of C.J. Catford, Firth deals with the meaning at a mutually congruet series of levels, sometimes in a descend- ing order beginning with the context of situation and proceed- ing through collocation, syntax. . . to phonology and phonetics and sometimes in the opposite order.32 And according to Chomsky's proposal of the extended standard the- ory, "Semantic interpretation applies to the pair (deep structure, surface structure)."33 The following quotation exemplifies the direction of the re- lationship between form and meaning in Chomsky's view: Semantic relations that hold of items in deep structure are de- termined on the basis of the grammatical relations and specific properties of the lexical items themselves.34 From another angle, we see that linguists like Katz and Fodor, who in their seminal paper in 1963 called for the integration of semantics and syn- tax within the framework of transformational grammar, focus their analysis on inter-linguistic relations. Their theory of meaning is mainly concerned with the study of the semantic relations that hold units together in an utterance, especially since, in their view, grammatical meanings do not al- ways correspond to the situational meaning or speaker intention.35 This is due particularly to both theoretical and practical difficulties involved in finding appropriate notations for expressing the situational meaning in an accurate and satisfactory manner. Raji M. Rammuny 185 Other modern linguists like Green, Lakoff, Langendoen and Filmore argue that the deep structure is semantic and, therefore, it should provide the basis for explaining the differences observed in syntactic behavior. In the words of George Green, "In general, syntactic properties and distribu- tions are determined by semantic properties."36 And most recently linguists such as McCauly and Grady went beyond that to give greater importance to meaning than syntax. In the words of Grady: It is inescapable that we use language to communicate, to ex- press meanings, that is; and unless we somehow come to realize and attempt to deal systematically with the semantic aspect of language, granting it equal or perhaps primary status to syntax- grammar, I feel we shall remain in the position of considering the tusk, or trunk, or leg to be the whole elephant, rather than an important but integrated part of the whole.37 In brief, modern linguists seek to explain to what extent and in what manner the connection exists between the two major levels of speech, form and meaning. As we have seen, some of them, for example Chomsky, attach to the form with its phonological and grammatical aspects a greater importance than they give to the meaning or semantic level. Other scholars, such as Grady, assign primacy to the semantic level of a text than the syntactic level. There are still those, like the Russian linguist Mel'cuk, who see that "the syntactic structure of a sentence bridges the gap between its semantic structure and its morphological structure and stands halfway, so to speak, between the two."38 In contrast to modern linguists who, as shown above, have different views as to the exact relationship between form and meaning, al-Jurjdni has categorically affirmed in more than one place in Daldil al-Icjdz the precedence of meaning over form. For example, he writes: irnna al-lafza tabacun li-al-man if al-nazmi, wa-inna al-kalima tatarattabu ff al-nutqi bi-sababi tartibi macdn(ith ff al-nafsi, wa- innahd law khalat min macdnih hatta tatajarrada aswdtan wa- asda&a hurifin lama waqaca ff damfrin wa-l hajasa ff khtirin an yajiba ffhd tartibun wa-nazmun, wa-an yujcala lahd amki- natun wa-mandzilu, wa-an yajiba al-nutqu bi-hedhihi qabla al- nutqi bi-tilka.39 In nazm, words follow in the wake of meanings; the order of words when they are uttered is due to the mentally conceived 186 Al-Jurjntl and Modern Western Linguists order of meanings; should words be deprived of meanings and reduced to mere sounds of letters, no one would ever entertain the thought that they must have nazm or order, periods and pauses, and some of them must be uttered before the others. To illustrate this argument, al-Jurja-ni takes the sentence daraba zay- dun camran yawma al-jumcati tadhan lahu 'Zayd beat cAmr on Friday in order to discipline him' and says: Upon close examination of this sentence we shall discover that the only thing meant by this is the following: that he [the speaker] takes daraba 'he beat' and makes it the predicate of Zayd; makes the act of beating, reportedly done by him, an act directed at cAmr, makes yawma al-jumcati 'Friday' the time of its occurrence; makes al-ta'dib 'disciplinary punishment' the purpose of his act of beating; and thus says: daraba zaydun camran yawma al-jumcati ta'dban lahu 'Zayd beat cAmr on Fri- day in order to discipline him.' This restructuring of words, as you notice, is deliberate, following of the rules of grammar and the meaning intended by the speaker.40 Al-Jurjani proceeds with his argument saying: If you were to assume not to intend making daraba 'he beat' the act predicated of Zayd, cAmr the direct object of beating, yawma al-jumcati 'Friday' the time of occurrence of this beat- ing, and al-tad-b 'disciplinary punishment' Zayd's purpose in doing the act of beating, then no one would ever think or even imagine that you had prearranged these words. It is this point, once you have perceived it, which serves as the crucial point of speech. Anyone who concludes anything contrary to this is being irrational.41 It is in consequence of this reasoning that al-Jurjani starts with the study of semantic networks in an utterance before attempting to analyze its syntactic structure. He firmly believes that the choice of linguistic items and grammatical rules are made by the writer/speaker in accordance with the perceived different meanings he wishes to communicate. C. Summary and Conclusions We have offered evidence to the effect that al-Jurjdni's linguistic views and grammatical analysis laid the foundation of much of modern linguistic Raji M. Rammuny 187 discussion and thought beginning with the works of de Saussure and post Saussurean linguists such as Bloomfield, Firth, Sapir, through Chomsky and most recently Katz, Fodor, Green, Grady and other members of the American School of Generative Semantics, as well as Lyons, Berry, Palmer and others of the British School of Systemic Linguistics. Like al-Jurjdni who called for a reform of Arabic grammar to be achieved through the study of language as an academic subject independent of grammatical regents, causes and other conventional philosophical traces, de Saussure called for purifying linguistics from all kinds of philosophical and logical influences born of Greek methodologies. Again, linguists to- day treat in their discussions a number of linguistic issues and features that had generally been discussed and stressed by al-JurjanT. These, as we have pointed out, include the system of interrelationships between the con- stituents of speech, syntactic relationships, semantic relationships, and the association of meaning (semantics) with form (syntax) within the process of linguistic analysis. Al-Jurjani's concepts of nazm and taclfq are in certain respects com- parable to the modern linguistic terms "language, speech, discourse" and "syntagmatic relations, interdependence, interrelationships," respectively. However, in the opinion of this investigator, al-Jurjdni's concepts have spe- cific meanings inherent in them that set them apart from the corresponding modern terms. This is very obvious, especially during our examination of the manner and direction of the relationship between form and meaning, or syntax and semantics, in Part B, Section 4 of this paper. We have seen that, contrary to most modern linguists who have different views as to the exact relationship between syntax and semantics, al-Jurjan formally de- clares that there is an intimate, strong connection between the two levels, giving semantics priority over syntax in linguistic analysis. There is no doubt whatsoever in al-Jurjani's mind that syntactic forms or structures are selected and organized by the writer/speaker in accordance with the communicative needs of the situation. In our final analysis, al-Jurjanf's theory of nazm, which is based on tacliq (syntactic-semantic interrelationships), can be a structural-semantic theory and al-Jurjani can thus be called a structural-semanticist. Had al- Jurja-ni's linguistic concepts and views, which are characterized by original- ity and objectivity, been known and developed over the years, they could have guided us to the proper method of studying language and grammar a thousand years ago, and al-Jurjani might well have earned fame as a pi- oneer of modern linguistics. Unfortunately, however, none of these things happened, not because al-Jurjanf or his great book Daldil al-Icjdz were 188 Al-JurjnTIff and Modern Western Linguists disregarded-a great deal, in fact, has been written about the two. In our opinion, what happened was that the book was never regarded as a work on grammatical studies as such, but as a work on semantics. In the publisher's Introduction to Daldiil al-Ijaz we find the following statement: ammi al- kitbu fa-yacrifu makinatahu man yacrifu macn al-balkghati wa-sirra tas- miyati hddha al-fanna bi-al-macni42 'as for the book, its importance will be realized by those who know what rhetoric means and why this disci- pline was named semantics'. Only after modern semantic studies pointed out the significance of meaning in linguistic studies did al-JurjdnT's book Daliil al-Icjdz and its linguistic value begin to influence modern grammar- ians and linguists. Most notable among them are Weisweiler,43 al-Jundi,44 Hassan,45 Zahran,46 Baalbaki,47 and Mukhaymer.48 This comparative study has established at least two facts. First, al- Jurjani preceded F. de Saussure by over 900 years in opening a new phase in the study of language to be achieved through investigating the complex system of interrelationships between the constituents of speech as an aca- demic discipline independent of logical and philosophical thought. Second, al-Jurjanl was one of the pioneer linguists to call for the integration of se- mantics with syntax within the framework of linguistic analysis, granting semantics priority over syntax. It is true that the linguistic theories of our times are obviously supe- rior to al-Jurjiani's theory of nazm in style of presentation and discussion. Modern linguistic theories are distinguished by their methodical arrange- ment of material, by their use of symbols in classifying linguistic data, and by their scientifically accurate descriptions. However, it is very clear from the discussion of al-Jurjn7l's views of language and grammar that much of modern linguistic thought has been anticipated by the theory of nazm. As stated throughout this paper and two other papers on al-Jurjan published by this investigator, al-Jurjani's definition of language as a system of inter- relationships, his integration of syntax and semantics within the framework of linguistic analysis, and finally his insistence on including preposing and postposing (word-order), definiteness and indefiniteness, conjunction and disjunction, deletion, etc. in the study of grammar-are all topics which are basic to modern linguistics. Notes and Bibliography 1 Raji M. Rammuni, "The Role of al-Jurja.ni's Concept of Tacli-q on the Develop- Raji M. Rammuny 189 ment of Arabic Grammatical Theory and Linguistic Analysis." International Journal of Islamic and Arabic Studies, 3:1, 1986, pp. 27-42. 2 The Arabic term nazm means 'discourse arrangement'. This term is equivalent to the standard terms "discourse, speech" used in modern linguistics. 3 'Abd al-Qihir al-Jurj-nI1, Dal&il al-I'jaz. Cairo: Muhammad ,All Subayh and Sons Printing House, 1960, 365 pp. 4 The Arabic term taclfq literally means 'interrelationship, interconnection'. It corresponds but is not exactly equivalent to the terms "interdependence, syntagmatic relations" used in modern linguistic studies. s For detailed information on al-Jurjinl's discussion and analysis of these topics, see Dald'il al-Ijdz, pp. 82-167 and also Raji M. Rammuny, "Al-Jurj n!: A Pioneer of Grammatical and Linguistic Studies." Historiographia Linguistica XII:3, 1985, pp. 351- 371. 6 Al-Jurj&ni, pp. 39-63, 247-331. 7 For further details on ancient Arab grammarians' use of ,awdmil, see ,Abb5s Hassan, al-Lughah wa-al.Nahw Bayn al-Qadfm wa-al-Hadith. Cairo: D.r al-Macrif bi-Misr, 1966, pp. 168-212, and Muhamnmad al-Kassir, al-Miftdh li. Tacrib al-Nahw. Damascus: A-Maktab al-,Arab! li-al-Iclan, 1976, pp. 45-53. 8 Sibawayhi, Abu Bishr ,Amr ibn cUthman ibn Qanbar, Al-Kitdb. Cairo: Al- Matbacah al-Amiriyyah, Vol. 1, 1316 AH, p. 22. 9 For more illustrative examples of early Arab grammarians' use and discussion of grammatical regents and causes as well as implication of unstated lexical items and philosophical interpretations, see Raji M. Rammuny, "The Role of the Concept of Taclfq in the Development of Arabic Grammatical Theory and Linguistic Analysis," pp. 29- 31; and also Mahdi al-Makhzimi, Ff al-Nah w al-,Arabf: Naqd wa-Tawjih. Beirut: Al- Maktabah al-,Asriyyah, 1964, pp. 76-77. 10 The complex concept of taclq, consisting of both syntactic and semantic inter- relationships, is discussed in detail in Raji M. Rammuny, "Al-Jurj&ni: A Pioneer of Grammatical and Linguistic Studies," pp. 353-365. 11 Al-Jurjani, p. 71. 12 John Lyons, Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977, p. 12. 13 Ibid., p. 17. 14 F. de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics (English translation by Wade Baskin). New York: Philosophical Library, 1959, p. 110. 15 Al-Jurj&ni, p. 12. 16 de Saussure, p. 87. 17 Al-JurjAni, p. 258. 18 de Saussure, p. 128. 19 Lyons, p. 235. 20 Al-Jurj ini, p. 261. 21 Ibid., pp. 48, 117. 22 Ibid., p. 17. 23 L. Bloomfield, Language. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1933, p. 95. 24 Margaret Berry,An Introduction to Systemic Linguistics. Two Levels and Links. London: Batsford Ltd. 1977, p. 115. 25 For more information and discussion on the development of the term "seman- tics" in modern linguistics, see F. R. Palmer, Semantics: A New Outline. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976, pp. 1-18. 26 Al-Jurj ni, p. 48. 27 Ibid., pp. 74-75. 190 A1-Jurjani and Modern Western Linguists 28 Berry, p. 43. 29 Bloomfield, p. 139. 30 Ibid., p. 139. 31 J. R. Firth, Papers in Linguistics: 1934-1951. London: Oxford University Press, 1957, p. 52. 32 C. J. Catford, "J. R. Firth and British Linguistics." Linguistics Today, ed. Archibald A. Hill. London and New York: Basic Books, Inc., 1969, pp. 222-225. 33 N. Chomsky, "Some Empirical Issues in the Theory of Transformational Gram- mar." Goals of Linguistic Theory, ed. Stanley Peters. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1972, p. 77. 34 Ibid., p. 98. 35 For details, see Jerold J. Katz and Jerry A. Fodor, "The Structure of a Semantic Theory." Language 39, 1963, pp. 170-210. 36 For further information and discussion, see George M. Green, Semantic and Syn- tactic Regularity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1974, pp. 65-68; see also George Lakoff, "On Generative Semantics." Semantics: An Interdisciplinary Reader in Philosophy, Linguistics and Psychology, eds., Danny D. Steinberg and Leon A. Jakobovitz, Cambridge: The University Press, 1971, pp. 232-296; and F. R. Palmer, Semantics: A New Outline, pp. 151-152. 37 Michael Grady, Syntax and Semantics of the English Verb Phrase. The Hague: Mouton, 1972, p. 76. 38 Igor A. Mel'cuk, Studies in Dependency Syntax. Ann Arbor, Michigan: Karoma Publishers, 1979, p. 14. 39 Al-Jurjini, p. 52. 40 Ibid., p. 259. 41 Ibid., p. 259. 42 Ibid., p. 4. 43 Max Weisweider, "Abdalqihir al-Curcina's Werk fiber die Unnachahmlichkeit des Korans und seiner syntaktisch-stilistischen Lehre." Oriens 2, 1958, pp. 77-121. 44 Darwish al-Jundi, Nazariyyat 'Abd al-Qdhir ft al-Nazm [,Abd al-Qahir's Theory of Nazm]. Cairo: Maktabat Nahdat Misr, 1960. 4s Tamm6rm Hass6n, Al-Lughah al.-Arabiyyah: Macnsha wa-Mabnahd [The Arabic Language: Its Meaning and Structure]. Cairo: al-Haya al-Misriyyah al-'Ammah li-al- Kitib, 1973, pp. 176-190. 46 Al-Badrawi Zahrin, 'Alim al-Lughah ,Abd al-Qdhir al-Jurjnt [The Linguist 'Abd al-Q ihir al-Jurjani]. Cairo: Dhr al-Mairif, 1979, pp. 147-266. 47 Ramzi Baalbaki, "The Relation Between Nahw and Balaga: A Comparative Study of the Methods of Sibawayhi and Gurg.n!." ZAL 11, 1983, pp. 7-23. 4 Fu ,id A. Mukhaymer, Falsafat ,Abd al- Q hir al-Jurjdnf an-Nah wiyyah ft Dald'il al-I'jdz [cAbd al-Q~hir al-Jurjini's Linguistic Philosophy in Illustrations of the Inim- itability (of the Quran)]. Cairo: Dir al-Thaqifah li-an-Nashr wa-al-Tawzi,, 1983. Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage GENE M. SCHRAMM University of Michigan Introduction T HE status of the childless widow, more accurately the widow of a man who dies and leaves no issue, is the subject of levirate marriage as instituted in Deuteronomy 25.5-10. Elsewhere in the biblical corpus, there occur only two narratives that deal with the theme of the childless widow: the story of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) and the book of Ruth. In the former tale, there is unanimous agreement that the story deals with the levirate institution in pretoranic times; the various commentaries, however, are in disagreement when it comes to Ruth. There are, furthermore, differ- ences in interpretation of the deuteronomic text itself, resulting in various sectarian doctrines concerning the situations calling for levirate marriage (or the optional release from that obligation) and the specific means of fulfilling the legal requirement.1 Yet the two narratives are linked together by literary echoes and, in turn, recall a third and briefer incident, that involving the widowed Lot and his two daughters (Gen. 19). This study will deal with these four passages as an exercise in literary analysis based on the observation that the entire corpus of the Bible is a synchronic collection of numerous and diverse diachronic parts. One implication of this approach is that questions concerning authorship and the dates of composition are, for this purpose, quite irrelevant. Beyond this, I hope to establish a deeply rooted raison d'tre for the inclusion of Ruth in the final canon of the Hagiographa. This is particularly interesting, since the circumstances of the remarriage of Ruth and the obstacles in the path to her remarriage as described are certainly not in accord with the definitive legal requirements of levirate marriage as understood by the very men who, as members of the Great Sanhedrin in 192 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage the year 90, closed the biblical canon, excluding Ecclesiasticus, Judith and the rest of the Apocrypha while they included Ecclesiastes, Ruth, Esther and the rest of the third biblical component of Jewish tradition. Levirate Marriage The deuteronomic requirement begins as follows: "When brothers dwell together and one of them dies and has no children, the wife of the deceased shall not be outside; her brother-in-law shall penetrate her and take her as his wife and fulfill the brother-in-law's obligation." While there is no problem in parsing or translating this passage, its purport is quite ambiguous as to crucial specifics. First of all, there is no definition provided for the term "brothers." Are the brothers involved full brothers or half-brothers and, if half-brothers, are they maternally or paternally linked? Or is it that "brothers" metaphor- ically extends to cousins and other kin as well? Second, does dwelling together imply togetherness in time or in place? Beyond these questions lie others: What is the situation when the deceased leaves behind more than one childless widow? Are they all subject to the levirate requirement? If not, which widow is? And if the deceased is survived by more than one brother, which one bears the levirate obligation? What if the deceased once had children, but these are no longer alive? Does it make a difference if they predeceased their father or died afterwards? The answers to these questions exist, to be sure, but only in extrabiblical legal traditions. So much for the comparatively simple first verse. The following verse is encumbered by a non sequitur of pronominal reference. The most common interpretation, based on the Septuagintal text, indicates that " . . . it shall be the firstborn that she bears who takes the place of the dead brother, that his name be not erased from Israel." The encumbered Hebrew text, rendered word-for-word, reads as follows: and it shall be; the first born; that; she gives birth; he will arise; in the place of; his brother; the dead one; and not; will be erased; his name; from Israel. The Greek rendition is based on an ellipsis of the Hebrew pronomi- nal suffix resulting in the Septuagintal lectio facilior. The midrashim and derivative rabbinic legal literature deal with the Hebrew grammatical diffi- culty by virtually interpreting the words of this verse as independent con- stituents, as displayed in the following table: Gene M. Schramm 193 Biblical and it will be .... the first born ... that .......... she bears ....... he will rise ...... in the place of .. his brother ..... the dead one .... and not ........ will be erased .. his name ....... from Israel ..... Midrashic ......... and it will be ......... the eldest brother ......... given that ......... she will bear children ......... he will rise ......... in the place of ......... his brother ......... the dead one ......... and not ......... castrated ......... is his designation ......... from Israel The implication of this midrashic treatment leads to the stipulation that the eldest surviving brother of the deceased fulfills the levirate obli- gation if and only if two conditions are met: The wife must be organically capable of childbearing and her deceased husband, similarly, must have been organically capable of siring a child. Although the treatment seems fanciful, these requirements are not based on such parsing; rather the re- verse is true, for the parsing exists to find textual basis for the Oral Law's stipulations.2 Returning to the unresolved questions of the first verse, Oral Law specifies that: 1. the brothers in question must be full brothers or paternally linked half-brothers; 2. "together" means contemporary, i.e. sharing the minimum of one common day of life, since paternally linked half-brothers presumably lived in separate-but-equal housing required for each wife of a plural marriage; 3. the eldest surviving brother is assumed to be the levir, although this is not mandatory, and the levirate obligation is fulfilled by taking in marriage one and only one of the surviving widows, or else by granting her legal release; there are no further restrictions on the widows' freedom to remarry. But there are other problems that impinge on levirate marriage as well. What of the High Priest who is forbidden to marry a widow? And how about the ban on incestuous marriages which specifically includes the relationship between an man and his sister-in-laws? Oral Law provides 194 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage that the High Priest is forbidden to enter into a levirate marriage, while it decrees that the levirate obligation overrides the ban between a man and his sister-in-law, although all other incestuous prohibitions remain. In medieval Qaraism, and presumably among the more ancient Sadducees as well, the view was that the term "brothers" applied metaphorically to cousins; the surviving brother, accordingly, was forever forbidden as the levir because of the ban on incest with one's sister-in-law. And the events of Ruth were taken as proof text for this.3 Pharisaic and the derivative Rabbanite law, in contrast, stipulated not only that the levir be a surviv- ing paternally linked brother, but also that the obligation stopped at this degree of relationship. Finally, the levirate obligation applies when the husband is childless at the time of his own death. If he had issue who then died later on, there was no levirate obligation. Thus, either the story of Judah and Tamar reflects the levirate sit- uation, or else the book of Ruth does, depending on the sectarian inter- pretation; and if the story of Ruth merely alludes, as it does consistently throughout, to a levirate-like situation, then it contradicts the definitive levirate practice, point by point, of the very men who admitted the scroll to the canon of the Hagiographa. But before proceeding to the examination of the literary texts, it may be appropriate to consider the motivation underlying levirate marriage, a matter which is not given explicit attention in any of the sources. It is obvious that the institution does not exist for the benefit of the childless widow as is often asserted. In the first place, the first requisite is that the husband die without issue; the surviving widow is incidentally childless because her husband died childless. For if the deceased left one heir, there is no levirate obligation and all of the surviving widows are free to remarry, including those who are indeed childless. The plight of the widow, childless or not, is the subject of other legislation entirely. She, together with the orphan, the Levite and the proselyte, are taken care of by the right to glean the field and their rights to collect the produce of the poor tithe. And from this point, it is possible to understand something about the raison d'etre for the levirate institution: Levirate marriage functions as a chapter of law dealing with land tenure and inheritance. The Levite, by definition, is landless. So, too, is the proselyte, for the proselyte does not descend from someone who took part in the allocation of land that followed in the wake of the conquest by Joshua. The direct inheritance of land applies exclusively to a man's sons in the following way: If a man has X number of sons, his property is divided into X + 1 portions, Gene M. Schramm 195 the extra portion going to his first born, and the rest divided equally by them all. If one of the sons predeceases the father, but was still unmarried, his portion goes back to the family pool. Daughters share in inheritance only when there are no sons to inherit. In this event, the daughters inherit equally, but are restricted in marriage to males of their own tribe. The original tribal allocation under Joshua was thus to endure in perpetuum. What this amounts to is that, even when a woman inherits property from her father, the daughter's inheritance is transitional only, for it then passes on through her husband to his sons, whether they are born to her or to her co-wives. In a more restricted way, the married man who dies childless passes on his property to a surviving brother via one of the surviving widows through the levirate marriage. The choice is not for the widow to make; her role is entirely passive. If the surviving brother so wishes, he can release her from her obligation; the land then reverts to the total family pool to be divided equally among all the surviving brothers and all the widows are free to remarry as they will. When the levir opts for marrying his sister-in- law, he inherits his deceased brother's land through her and the remaining co-wives are then free to remarry as they will. The land he gains through levirate marriage is added to his own holdings and will be divided among his heirs through all of his wives by means of the X + 1 formulation. Until the matter is resolved by the levir's decision to exercise either option, all of the widows of the deceased are in limbo. Lot and his Daughters This brief narrative concerns the mistaken belief on the part of Lot's two daughters that they and their father are the sole survivors of the cat- aclysm that destroyed the Cities of the Plain. Convinced that they bear the responsibility of renewing the human race, they get their father drunk, sleep with him, and each bears a son. Ammon and Moab, the sons born to Lot by his daughters, become the eponymous ancestors of the Ammonites and Moabites. Although there is no suggestion of the levirate situation per se in this incident, the motifs of mistaken belief and incest are important to this discussion. Judah and Tamar The story of Tamar begins with the birth of three sons to Judah and his unnamed Canaanite wife and then, skipping a number of years, the event of the marriage of Er, his eldest, to Tamar, also a Canaanite woman. 196 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage Er dies childless for some unspecified "sin" soon thereafter, and Onan, the next son, takes Tamar as his wife. But Onan frustrates consummation by practicing coitus interruptus, "for he knew that the child would not be his." Onan is mistaken in this belief-possibly because he misinterpreted Judah's injunction that he was to "establish seed for (his) brother"-and we shall see that erroneous notions concerning the levirate institution occur in both this narrative and that of Ruth. Onan's fear is reflected in the Septuagintal rendition of verse 6, which is not in accordance with the halachic situation. Once again the widow of a childless husband, Tamar is obligated to submit to her surviving brother-in-laws. But Judah, fearful that his last son, Shelah, will also die if married to Tamar, sends Tamar away to wait "until Shelah grows up" -although he has no intention to see them married. After the passage of time, Tamar, seeing that she is still in limbo, decides to take matters into her own hands and, disguised as a cultic harlot, literally waylays Judah and conceives a child. Judah, on hearing of her pregnancy, becomes self-righteously indignant and orders her to be put to death for adultery. But Judah is trapped, for Tamar produces three pieces of personal identification that conclusively implicate him. Judah's self-righteousness gives way to humble admission in an interesting double entendre: His confession, "She was more in the right than I" also means "She's right; it (the pregnancy) is because of me."4 In time, Tamar bears twins, echoing the only other multiple birth in the Bible: Just as Jacob supplanted Esau, Perez "bursts" through and supplants his twin, Zerach, as Tamar's firstborn. In a later pentateuchal passage, it is clear that Perez and Zerach, together with Shelah, are the eponymous ancestors of the three collateral clans of Judah. We shall return to Perez later on, noting at this point only that Tamar's twin sons are the result of an adulterous liaison that is also incestuous. Ruth Elimelech ("God is King"), his wife Naomi ("Pleasantness") and their two sons leave the land of Judah for Moab in time of famine, where the sons, Mahlon ("Sickly") and Chilion ("Moribund") marry, respectively, Ruth ("Companionship") and Orpah ("Rejection"), two Moabite women. Elim- elech and both sons die, the latter two childless. The farmine ends, Naomi announces her determination to return home to Bethlehem and her daughters-in-law declare their intention to accom- pany her. Naomi attempts to dissuade Ruth and Orpah, by arguing the improbability of her bearing any more sons for them to marry. Orpah heeds Gene M. Schramm 197 Naomi and turns back to Moab, while Ruth, in an impassioned speech, in- sists that she will follow after Naomi. Naomi and Ruth reach Bethlehem, where Ruth exercises her rights as gleaner on the property of Boaz ("Strength"), a kinsman to her late father- in-law, Elimelech. Boaz cautions Ruth to avoid the male fieldhands by staying close to the women and grants her reaping and gathering privileges far beyond those that are the due of the gleaner. Manipulating a love match, Naomi sends Ruth to Boaz at night, where Boaz congratulates Ruth on her prudence in avoiding a compromising situation with other men. He then responds to Ruth's request for his protection by offering to marry her, but first sets off to take care of one obstacle: The priority of a certain Mr. XYZ, another kinsman, to claim Elimelech's land. Acknowledging this priority, Boaz tells XYZ that Ruth is tied to the claim. Unwilling to marry Ruth because that would "spoil" the inheritance, XYZ forfeits his claim. The drawing off of a shoe is performed as token of land redemption, transferring the acquisition from XYZ to Boaz. Ruth and Boaz then marry and have a son. The narrative ends with a name list, going back to Perez, citing the pedigree of King David as the descendent of Ruth and Boaz. Now name lists normally occur at the beginning of a narrative segment. The placement of this device at the end of the story of Ruth, then, implies that a new chapter of history is about to begin. In the light of Halachah, the events depicted in this story contradict the requirements and conditions of levirate marriage from beginning to end. In spite of her protestations in her speech to Ruth and Orpah, any new sons Naomi might have had could not have been levirate candidates on two grounds: they would have been the maternal half-brothers of the deceased husbands and they also would have been born posthumously to the original husbands. Furthermore, neither Ruth nor Orpah were obligated to be levirate widows, since neither of them had become Israelites by conversion. Midrash, in fact, takes Ruth's insistence on following Naomi to Bethlehem to be a declaration of intent to convert (" . . . thy people shall be my people and thy God my God"). Midrash further weaves into this speech point-by- point responses by Naomi that constitute the minimal instruction required for a prospective convert. And once converted, Ruth still has no levirate obligation, since conversion is not retroactive to a prior marriage or any other event or circumstance in the past. Naomi's speech, in this light, represents her misinterpretation of the levirate institution and parallels Onan's misunderstanding of his father's admonition (" . . . and establish progeny for your brother") which leads to his fear that the progeny would 198 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage legally be considered Er's offspring. A more explicit echo of Onan's fear is provided in XYZ's justification in rejecting Ruth as a wife: " . . . lest she ruin my inheritance." And as if all this were not enough, the question raised as to Naomi's own levirate obligation is countered by the observation that Elimelech did not die childless; the story clearly states that Mahlon and Chilion died after the death of their father. Ruth's right to glean thus stems not from her status as widow (ha- lachically she was never married) but rather from her status as a proselyte. Naomi's engineering of a love match between Ruth and Boaz is in keep- ing with the repeated image of the woman as manipulator, paralleling the doings of Sarah vis-a-vis Hagar and Ishmael, and those of Rebecca with re- spect to Jacob and Esau. Her attempt to compromise Ruth and Boaz-and they would have been compromised had there been witnesses to their spend- ing the night together-is an antithetical parallel to Judah's withholding of Shelah; the narrative simply glides past this issue. But manipulativeness is not exclusively a feminine characteristic. Judah sends Tamar away on a pretext with an implied but false promise, just as Boaz takes XYZ to court on a false issue. Although it is not explicitly stated, it is clear that Boaz wants both to marry Ruth and claim Elimelech's property. Since there is no levirate obligation, Boaz and Ruth are free to marry. But inheriting the land is another matter altogether, since XYZ is "closer" in his relationship to Elimelech. By tying Ruth to the inheritance claim, Boaz misstates the law of inheritance and the gullible XYZ forfeits his claim because marrying Ruth would "spoil" his inheritance. By contriving to get XYZ to forgo his claim, Boaz inherits Elimelech's land and marries Ruth. Thus the Scroll ends, save for the name list appended which states the descent of King David from Ruth and Boaz. Conclusion Name lists occur throughout Genesis as does the refrain-like "these are the generations of. . . " While they often co-occur, the two devices have different functions. Each recurrence of the refrain "these are the gen- erations of" serves to narrow the focus of the narrative: Creation --Earth -*Mankind --Adam -*Seth --Noah --Shem -+Abraham -Isaac -*Jacob --*Joseph and Judah -+the History of Israel. The name lists bring us up to date concerning others in the wings who are no longer of focal interest. An important theme frequently iterated at these junctures deals with the matter of spiritual inheritance and the all-important assertion that it is not necessarily the first born who receives the mantle of spiritual leadership; in fact, only in the instance of Shem does the first born son make the grade. Gene M. Schramm 199 In each other instance, until the narrative reaches the sons of Jacob, when the eldest son is bypassed there is some reason given or implied to justify the choice. What is most significant is the fact that the justification be- comes progressively weaker as the narrative progresses. Seth is the obvious choice because Abel is dead and Cain is a murderer; Ishmael is dismissed because he is the son of a slavewoman; Esau loses out because he depre- cates his birthright, selling it although it is not a negotiable commodity. In counterpoint, God tells Abraham to heed Sarah's urging in spite of his misgivings and Isaac tells the enraged Esau to accept God's will. God's choice, it turns out, is the only ultimate justification, and no other ratio- nale is provided for Judah's assumption of the leadership role following Reuben's initial attempts in that direction, nor is there any reason given for the birth of Perez prior to that of his twin or for Jacob's seemingly whimsical bestowal of the principal blessing on Ephraim rather than on Menasseh. A bit later, in Exodus, God simply elects Moses and designates the elder brother Aaron to be his deputy. And then, the two sons of Moses are completely bypassed without comment when the leadership is handed over to Joshua. The primary thrust of this theme, of course, leads to the exodus from Egypt, the ultimate election of Israel and the covenant given at Sinai. The name list appended to the story of Ruth ties this theme specifically to the election of David as the once and future King of Israel. Through his ancestor Boaz, David is descended from Perez, the offspring of the incestuous union between Judah and Tamar, while through Ruth he is the descendant of Moab, the son born of the incestuous episode between Lot and his elder daughter. Once again, God chooses whom he wills, and a doubly tainted pedigree is no impediment. It is clear that incorporating Ruth into the biblical canon had a pur- pose that overcame any possible objections to the counter-halachic picture it presents, even overcoming the undercurrent of covetousness the story suggests with respect to its righteous hero, Boaz.5 Just as Esther--the only book of the biblical canon that does not contain one instance of any reference to God-is directly linked to the encounter of King Saul and Agag, Ruth ties into an even more significant and central message of biblical literature. And given the messianic context of the times between the destruction of the Temple and the Bar Cochba campaign, the decision of the Sanhedrin to accept the canonical status of Ruth gains greater clarity. 200 Ruth, Tamar and Levirate Marriage Notes 1 For recent critical interpretations of Ruth, see the articles by Bertman and Sasson as well as Campbell's introductory remarks to his Anchor Bible translation. Of special interest is the very recent study by Fisch which reaches many, but not all, of the same conclusions as I do. 2 These stipulations are the subject of the opening mishnayot of tractate Yevamot ("Sisters-in-law") and the accompanying discussions of the Gemara; cf. Danby and the Soncino Talmud. 3 See Albeck's introduction to tractate Yevamot in his edition of the Mishnah. 4 Rash"i's comment ad loc, reflecting the Targum and Midrash Bereshit Rabbah. s Oral tradition has it that Elimelech, XYZ and Boaz, together with Naomi's father (also unnamed) were all brothers. If Mahlon and Chilion had predeceased Elimelech, Naomi would have been obligated to levirate marriage and, assuming that he was the elder of the two brothers, XYZ would have been the primary candidate as the levir. Without the levirate issue, Elimelech's land would have reverted to the family pool and been equally divided between XYZ and Boaz. By injecting the false levirate issue and getting XYZ to forego his claim, Boaz now comes into possession of the lion's share of the family inheritance. Bibliography The Bible: For the Hebrew text, see Biblia Hebraica, 3rd edition; for the English, see the translation of the Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia; for the Targumim and the commentaries of Rash"i, Ibn Ezra and Rada"k, see the Schulsinger Miqraot Gedolot; for the Greek, see Rahlfs, Septuaginta. Rabbinic Literature: for Midrash, see Bereshit Rabbah, Ruth Rabbati and Sifrei; for Mishnah (Hebrew) see Albeck, Shishah Sidrei Mishnah and (En- glish) see Danby, the Mishnah; for Talmud (English) see The Soncino Tal- rmud. Recent critical studies: Bertman, Stephen, "Symmetrical Design in the Book of Ruth", JBL 84 (1965) Campbell, Edward F., The Anchor Bible, Ruth (Garden City, New York, 1975) Fisch, Harold, "Ruth and the Structure of Covenant History", VT32 (1982) Sasson, Jack M., Ruth (Baltimore, 1979) A Neglected Ottoman Poem: The *ehrengCiz J. STEWART-ROBINSON University of Michigan EARLY thirty years ago, the Turkish literary historian, Agah Sirri Lev- end, published a monograph representing the first readily available, well documented and sympathetic study of the classical Ottoman-Turkish long poem known as the "§ehrengfz' (hereafter, shehrengiz).2 One would have expected that the appearance of this work on one of the few exam- ples of Turkish literary creativity and originality during the overwhelming ascendancy of what may be called the Arabo-Persian Islamic literary tra- dition among the Turks living in the Ottoman Empire,3 would have gener- ated some interest in or encouraged further investigation of the genre. That it did neither is attributable to the curious attitude toward the shehrengiz adopted by many modern Turkish scholars and literary commentators who, until recently, either maligned the genre on the grounds that it tended to be obscene or discouraged its reading and study simply by treating it with not so benign neglect; authors, compilers and editors of works dealing with Turkish literary history, until a few years ago, seemed to go out of their way to avoid reference to the genre or they minimized its value as literature and as a particular reflection of the society that produced it.4 Although it cannot be said that the shehrengiz has been rediscovered and acclaimed as a long-lost treasure of the Turkish past, or that it is now beginning to be more acceptable and has gained in esteem, there are faint signs that it is having a change of fate. At least one younger Turk- ish scholar appears to be challenging the traditional attitude toward the genre by making an effort to make certain examples of it available to the public for its re-consideration.5 From time to time it does seem almost an obligation to take stock of the actual state of affairs among scholars as well as societies vis-a-vis certain thorny issues and cultural legacies that may not be altogether palatable. It would seem that the more recent interest shown in the genre will lead to the re-assessment of cherished attitudes and 202 The $ehrengTz the re-evaluation of hitherto neglected legacies. It is the purpose of this paper to foster and sustain this renewed interest in the shehrengiz that has had a somewhat checkered existence in the annals of Turkish literary history by providing some general information about it, to speculate on its possible function in Ottoman society and to determine its place within the framework of Turkish literary activity down the ages. The Shehrengiz, dubbed the 'City-Thriller' for very good reason at the turn of the present century,6 has traditionally been classified among the category of poems known as mesnevis. This has been the case prin- cipally because the genre under consideration here shares two important characteristics with a broad range of Persian and Ottoman narrative verse: first, the 'rhyming couplet,' ultimately of pre-Islamic Arabic origin in its prosodial arrangements, constitutes its basis. These couplets are strung together in a succession of stanzas varying in number of lines from three to six and then organized, generally speaking, into three larger groups of stan- zas representing the introductory and justificatory statement, the essential message or descriptive passages, and finally, the concluding and identifica- tory items. Secondly, like the better-known and usual romantic or mystical mesnevis it, too, is entirely in multi-rhymed lines as opposed to the mono- rhymed lines characteristic of the kasi-des (odes) or gazels (lyrics), allowing the poem to be extended at will well beyond that manageable with the mono-rhyme. In purpose, tone and outlook, however, the shehrengiz differs markedly from the other typical examples of the mesnevz. It does not tell a story, like the metrical romance of Leyld and Majnin. It is certainly unlike the mystic and philosophical treatise of Jalal al-Din Rmirf or the allegorical poem about The Rose and the Nightingale. The shehrengiz writers did not wish to present a philosophy that could lift humankind out of the miseries of an earthly existence and suggest spiritual alternatives, neither did they seek to provide a sophisticated and highly artistic work as means of escap- ing from the harsh realities of day-to-day survival. Rather, the composers of the shehrengiz genre of poem meant to offer a more topical and less idealistic form of entertainment by making a familiar locale and a set of immediately recognizable characters, most likely fictitious yet believable, the focus of their poems. One may surmise that their only motive and final purpose was simply an erotic form of entertainment through the singing of the praises of the youths of certain towns, not in a gazel or a kaside but in a modified form of the mesnevi apparently designed for the display of less ostentatious poetic talent presented in a lighter vein. To put it in terms more familiar in the West: at the beginning of the Italian Renaissance, it J. Stewart-Robinson 203 was once suggested, there were three principal literary figures, each repre- senting a different outlook and each endeavoring to fulfil a special purpose. Petrarch served the highly literate man of his day, Dante dealt with mat- ters of the spirit while Boccaccio, breaking free of tradition, created a living literature about ordinary people. The parallel to this in Ottoman literary history at a time when this literature was about to reach its zenith was as follows. Ba k (d. 1600), the greatest Ottoman lyricist, catered to the needs of the poetry connaisseur of his own day, FuzilT (d. 1556), the renowned mesnevi writer of the Ottomans used his talent to appeal to the spirit, while the originator of the shehrengiz, possibly Mesi.ii (d. 1512), shook off the strictures of the Islamic literary tradition and addressed the ordinary man in a literary form that combined the formalism of the elevated poetry of the elite of the time with the directness and simplicity of the Turkish (as opposed to Ottoman) folk poetry to express less lofty sentiments. In fact, it was in the sixteenth century, culturally the most innova- tive and productive century of the Ottoman Empire, that the first known shehrengiz was produced. E.J.W. Gibb, who gave the genre its English name, contended that the shehrengiz, unlike other poetic forms making up the corpus of classical Ottoman divdn petry, was not inspired by a Persian model but was the invention of the Ottoman Turk, MesT hi. This contention has been challenged and it would appear that the last word on this matter has not yet been written.7 However, whether the poem was an original Ottoman invention or borrowed from the Persian literary tradition is not the only problem. Zti (d. 1546) could have produced a shehrengiz, also in honor of the city of Edirne as Mesihi did, in the same year of 1512 and could deserve the credit for being the originator of the genre.8 Be that as it may, the innovative efforts of the two poets mentioned above launched a new poetic tradition in early sixteenth-century Ottoman society and offered the Ottoman litterateurs a new form of expression which became popular and began to be emulated. By the end of the century several shehrengizes were in existence. The limited number of manuscripts still extant for each work of this kind seems to suggest that there was not that much of a demand for these poems, at least not in written form. But the fact that several of the leading literary lights of the century wrote their own shehrengizes care- fully following the specifications of Mesihi and Zti, who were themselves popular and respected members of the literary circle that served the court and the elite of the society, is sufficient evidence of the acceptance of the shehrengiz as legitimate poetry worthy of the creators and purveyors of lit- erary material intended for prospective patrons of the arts. Another factor that deserves consideration in gauging the actual success of the shehrengiz 204 The $ehrengiz in the decades following the first appearance of the genre is the possible im- pact of the widespread Ottoman practice of producing nazgres (parallel) to another writer's work especially in poetry, as well as the sustained tradition of preparing zeyls (continuation/appendix) to existing compilations.9 Both of these practices could have added to the number of existing shehrengizes without proving that they were read. Nonetheless, the fact that some three dozen of the close to fifty shehrengizes which the biographies of poets in- dicate were composed by as many poets during the sixteenth, seventeenth and part of the eighteenth centuries are still available if only in manuscript form attests to the popularity of this particular genre at least among its practitioners.10 The size of its readership, however, remains to be assessed. The Persian descriptive compound, qehr-engiz, was used almost ex- clusively as a generic term for this type of poem. Each shehrengiz is dis- tinguished from the others by placing it in possessive association with the name of the town whose young men (or, in one case, women) it describes, in the form of an izifet construction such as $ehrengiz-i Istanbul, $ehrengiz-i Edirne, etc. In some cases a more fanciful title might be chosen for effect or to signal the fact that a given shehrengiz differed radically from the others because it treated girls instead of boys.1" At any rate, whether it focused on the boys of a particular city, or the women of all the nations, or even a special set of women, the ultimate objective of the poet in all cases seems to have been to create a certain excitement in a city by dedicating a poem to its youth, usually those serving apprenticeships in various trades in that city's market place. Both Mesihi and ZatT, the presumed originators of the genre, devoted their City Thrillers to the youths of the city of Edirne, the second capital of the Ottoman State. Subsequently, three more were dedicated to it, but only two of these have so far been located. As might be expected, the city that was most often honored in this way was Istanbul. Sources indicate that there were ten shehrengizes dedicated to it, but only seven of those are extant. The first capital of the Ottomans, Bursa, was also a popular setting for these poems. The origins or birthplaces of the writers of these shehrengizes would appear to have had no bearing on the choice of backdrop selected by them. While three of these poems written for the youths of Edirne were apparently by local bards, the first two, by the probable originators of the genre, were not. Of the ten Istanbul poems only four are ascribed to natives of the capital city. Those poems com- posed for smaller and truly provincial centers such as Vize, Diyarbalkir, Sinop, Keshan, etc., as far as can be ascertained, are by natives also. It should be noted that there are shehrengizes for two very important cities at the eastern and western extremities of the Empire: Bagdad's by a virtually J. Stewart-Robinson 205 unknown poet and Belgrade's by lJayreti, a native of a town close-by, are extant.12 The shehrengizes, like many other genres in the Islamic Near East, rarely vary in relation to their prototype. In organization and structure, in particular, there is very little variation between the original models pro- vided by Mesib and Zati and the copies prepared by their continuators. One characteristic that all shehrengizes have in common is the general ar- rangement in three parts, or, to use Gibb's very appropriate and convenient terms, they all have three divisions: Prolog, Catalog and Epilog.13 The Prolog in Mesibl's $ehrengiz-i Edirne is in several parts. The first, in observance of traditional Islamic practice, is an address to God (miindcdt) which, in this case, takes the form of a confession of sins: the poet depicts himself as a shameless sinner who is so stricken by and preoc- cupied with the beauties he is about to honor in his poem that he forgets his religious duties. However, even as he confesses, he seems unable to be seri- ous and lapses into humor-a marked characteristic of the shehrengiz-and says, "When I gaze at the coquetry of an agile cypress, I prostrate myself at his feet like a shadow. Starlike tears run down my face when I spy a moonlike cheek. If the merciful one wished to weigh me and my sins in the arena of Final Judgment, the scales would surely snap. If all my sins were to be confessed, there would not be time left for the sins of others," etc.14 Following this appeal to the deity to buy credit, as it were, in ad- vance of the indiscretions he may commit later in the poem, the poet may, sometimes, include some prayer lines by way of propitiation. The sebeb- i te'lif (reason for the composition) usually comes next in the prolog, in which the reader, or more likely the listener, is given the insistence of a friend as the reason. There is the conventional protest and denial of ability and talent, but in the end the usual agreement to write the work. The statement is couched in terms that make the reader or listener feel that if the poem is not to his or her liking the fault lies with the one who asked that it be written in the first place. Another convention that is honored as part of the content of the prolog is the separate descriptions of night and day followed by sunrise and sunset. Then comes a poem that serves the same function as the "journey-motif" in the pre-Islamic Arabic kaside. This poem describes the journey to the city whose young men are to be the subjects of the shehrengiz and, in a sense, acts as the girizgdh (literally, place of the flight) of the Persian and Ottoman odes where the device is used as a transition from the exordium to the panegyric.15 At this point the poet introduces the city itself, singles out and praises its noteworthy sites which he describes. He may end the Prolog with a general reference 206 The $ehrengiz to some of the youths of the city as they frolic on the banks of the stream that flows through it. The Catalog portion of Meshi's Shehrengiz in honor of the youths of the city of Edirne consists of forty-six vignettes (depending on the recension used). Each is made up of two beyts (distich or couplet) the hemistiches of which rhyme. Representing the equivalent of a stanza, each vignette is devoted to one youth identified by name or a sobriquet that may reflect an aspect of the trade or craft in which he is employed or serving his ap- prenticeship. It is this identifying element, usually used as the title of the stanza, that forms the basis of the humor, punning, analogies and fanciful imagery so characteristic of this type of poem. Mesihli and his followers displayed considerable talent and imagination in the manner in which they successfully, although not always too clearly, worked into the language of the stanzas allusions and various conceits based on the personal character- istics of the subjects of the vignettes and on the trades and professions in which they were involved. Nonetheless, these poetic characterizations are vague to the extent that they can easily apply to any boy or girl with the same name and trade in any and all towns. This is in keeping with the conventions so prevalent in classical Ottoman and Turkish poetry. In the love-poetry, in particular, there is such a sameness in the descriptions of the subjects, whether lads or lasses, that they must be the creations of the minds of the poets. The vignettes thus produced are always a challenge to figure out, many are ingenious and somewhat humorous, some can be suggestive enough to stimulate certain readers to read into them more than the surface message, but all have the potential to surprise and entertain. These descriptive stanzas that, following the example set by either Mesibhi or ZatT, have eleven-syllable lines almost always in one of the variant forms of the remel meter16 used by the Ottomans for lyrics and mesnevis, should command interest beyond the message expressing sentiments of love, usu- ally unrequited, and praise for their subjects. They are infinitely more Turkish, as opposed to Ottoman, in tone and language than the other forms and genres classified under the rubric of Divain poetry. Obviously intended for a much wider readership of less sophisticated individuals out- side the highly educated class of court officials, administrators, judges and educators, they are grounded in the familiar expressions of the ordinary Ottoman in an idiom that was used for spoken communication rather than the more recherche' language used for official and artistic communication by the 6lite. The frequent occurrence of Turkish proverbs, sometimes as part of the punchline, the obviously deliberate use of Turkish words, espe- cially Turkish auxiliary verbs, and the somewhat simpler syntax may be J. Stewart-Robinson 207 cited to support the contention that this poetry was for the benefit of the population at large and not only the select few.17 Every shehrengiz ends with an Epilog, the shortest part of the three- part poem. It is used, as a rule, to sum up the essential purpose of the poem by showering praises on the younger citizens of the selected city, collectively. This is what Mesihf does at the end of his mesnevi by saying that the youths of Edirne are more beautiful than the angels of Paradise. The shehrengiz then comes to an end with a hatime (conclusion/postscript) or a few gazels in the same meter as the rest of the poem in which the poet may ask for God's blessings on his work, or the youths he has described, and invariably signs off by mentioning his name. While there are some shehrengizes in manuscript form that are given an independent existence by being stored in certain libraries under sepa- rate cover, because they are by nature rather short, they are frequently ap- pended to dvrdns (anthology of a single poet including kasfdes and gazels). Some are made part of mixed anthologies such as the mecmu'as (collec- tions). The fact that the copyists who compiled divdns or who were com- missioned to do so, as well as those who employed them, considered the shehrengiz worthy of being included within the same covers as the kasides and jazels that were recognized as the best examples of the elevated liter- ary art suggests strongly that this genre which has been neglected of late is really worthy of study and dissemination. This paper began with expressions of surprise at the negative attitude adopted by some modern Turkish scholars, editors and commentators to- ward the shehrengiz. It will end with a few remarks in support of the call for acceptance of the genre as a legitimate literary work and for further research on it. The appearance of the shehrengiz early in the sixteenth century with its emphasis on Turkish rather than Ottoman as its idiom and local scenes instead of unfamiliar borrowed ones from Persia, coincided with the short- lived attempt by a few dZvdn poets to re-establish the Turkish language, as opposed to the Ottoman encrusted with Arabic and Persian borrowings, syntax, etc., as an acceptable medium for the production of the elevated literature of the Ottoman Empire. Known as the Tiirki--yi Basit (a Simple Turkish), it died with the two poets who produced a considerable number of poems in it. Although the same individuals were not involved in the two movements, it is not unlikely that both are manifestations of the same cultural need, and each represents a different way of meeting it.18 The examination of the use of "purer" Turkish in the works of both groups could reveal the reason for the apparently sustained success of the shehrengiz 208 The $ehreng7iz during three centuries and the sterility of the Tirkf-yi Basit effort. The linguistic characteristics of the shehrengiz as well as the stanzaic organization of its Catalog part suggest another topic for research. Could the practitioners of the genre, members of the divdn literary tradition, have felt it appropriate to include in their own works two features common to the folk poetry of the Turks? Could it also be that the shehrengiz was used as a link between the elevated literary tradition of the day and the folk literary tradition with its origins in the Central Asian past of the Turks? Further- more, when one considers the timing of the appearance of the shehrengiz with the Tirki-yi Bast movement and the fact that the poets began to lose interest in the shehrengiz in the eighteenth century when the so-called Transition period in Ottoman literature began to develop, an interesting coincidence is suggested. The Transition period was the period in the eigh- teenth century during which the inspirational orientation of the Ottoman poet changed from East to West. At the same time, there is a definite trend toward a "localization" (mahalldleme) and the increased use of local color and the reflection of everyday life to affect description, imagery and language. With this the two century-long emancipation of truly Turkish literature began, and one may surmise that the shehrengiz had ceased to have a raison d'etre.19 The genre had not only kept alive the Turkish idiom, stanza and world view at a time when Persian literature was exerting the greatest influence on Ottoman poetry and stifling all local color; it had also preserved a weak link between dvrdn poetry and Turkish folk poetry that was to play a major role in the Turkification of literature in the nineteenth century; it could, also, have provided the antithesis of the very serious and somewhat philosophical poetry of the upper class. The reasons listed above are already sufficient justification for a serious reconsideration of attitudes affecting the shehrengiz. It has to be studied in all its aspects for the purpose of establishing its contribution to Turkish culture, studying its linguistic tendencies and of determining its exact place within the framework of Turkish literary history. Studies especially in the Catalog parts can provide insight into the nature of Turkish society and its inter-personal relationships. The introductory parts of the shehrengiz can also yield interesting details concerning the topography of the cities in which each poem is located.20 J. Stewart-Robinson 209 Notes 1 This is a revised version of a paper read before the faculty of the Department of Near Eastern Studies at the University of Michigan in April 1986. 2 Tfirk Edebiyatznda 3ehr-engizler ve 5ehr-engizlerde istanbul (Istanbul, 1956). It was published under the auspices of the Istanbul Fethi Derne'i established to coordinate the celebration of the quincentennial anniversary of the conquest of Istanbul. In this work (pp. 5-6 and 13-14) and in his later work, Turk Edebiyatz Tarihi (Istanbul, 1973), I, 16, the author characterizes the shehrengiz as an 'indigenous' (yerli) product which is to be interpreted to mean that it owes little or nothing to Arabic or Persian models. There is apparently an earlier study of the genre in the form of a dissertation called "5ehr-engizler" by a certain M. Izzet, dated 1935-36. It is unpublished and housed in the Tiirkiyat Enstitiisii. It was not available for this paper. 3 For a good discussion of this literary tradition, see James Kritzeck, Anthology of Islamic Literature (New York, 1964), 15-26. 4 A few of the more telling examples of this attitude will bear this out: (a) The Turkish Encyclopaedia of Islam has no separate entry for the shehrengiz. It is men- tioned only in the listing of an author's works. It should be pointed out, however, that the English version has no entry either. The genre receives more generous treatment, on the other hand, in the non-specialized and more recent Yeni Tirk Ansiklopedisi (Is- tanbul, 1985) where it is given a full and balanced citation (Vol. 10, 3842). (b) Some of the leading dictionaries of literary terms, where one would expect at least a simple citation, also fall short of their avowed function: Tihir'iil-Mevlevi's Edebiyat Ligatz (Is- tanbul, 1973), K. Demiray's Edebiyatta Tirler (Istanbul, 1971), S. Kemal Karaalioglu's Tirk $iir Sanatz (Istanbul, n.d.), M.N. (z5n's Edebiyat ve Tenkid SbzliLi (Istanbul, 1954) and H. Ilaydmin's Tirk Edebiyatznda Nazzm (Istanbul, 1966) carry no reference to the genre. In a second work, Karaalioglu is willing to admit that the genre exists, but describes it as a poem in divan literature on subjects that produce pandemonium, lead to gossip and give rise to terror. (Edebiyat Terimleri Kzlavuzu, Istanbul, 1975), p.354. Similar sentiments are expressed by M.Z. Pakahn in his Osmanh Tarih Deyim- leri ve Terimleri S3zli 4i (Istanbul, 1971), III, 327). (c) Three of this century's leading historians of Turkish literature have also manifested a certain ambivalence toward the shehrengiz due, one must assume, to their acute sense of propriety. M.F. Kapriilii, who devoted considerable space to the genre in his article, "Anadolu'da Tfirk dili ve ede- biyatinimm tekimiliine umumi bir bakl§," in Yeni Tirk Mecmuasz (1933), 3, 534-553, does not feature even a single stanza from one of the shehrengizes in his otherwise very representative anthology, Eski $airlerimiz: Divan Edebiyatz Antolojisi (Istanbul, 1934). It may be because he did not consider the genre representative of dfvdn literature or, perhaps, because the anthology would have a much wider circulation. At any rate, he prefers to limit himself to observations such as, ". . . . many mesnevfs such as §ehreng-z poems that are original works on local topics were also composed in this century . . . " (p. 134) when reviewing the literary products of the sixteenth century. The foregoing observation is repeated in the second edition of his Tirk Edebiyatz Tarihi (Istanbul, 1986) first published in 1926. Fahir iz, whose scholarship and research endeavors have benefited so many contemporary scholars and devotees of classical Turkish literature, chose not to include verses from the shehrengiz in his admirable anthology Eski TLrk Edebiyatznda Nazzm (Istanbul, 1966-67) while he dearly considers it to fall within the pale of divin or elevated classical Turkish literature since he classifies it as belonging to the mesnev group of poems (p. 547). Professor Iz makes amends for this in his latest 210 The $ehrengiz anthological/historical publication (with associates), namely, Balangzcmdan GilnLm-iize Kadar Biyi2k Tfirk Klsikleri: Tarih - Antoloji - Ansiklopedi (Istanbul, 1985), II, 231. N. S. Banarh who suggested in his Resimli Turk Edebiyatz Tarihi (n.p., 1948?) on page 132 that the shehrengiz could be a national poetic genre of the Turks is less enthusiastic about it in the expanded later edition of the same work (Istanbul, 1971), where he prefers to deal with it in footnotes (pp. 474 and 600). 5 M. Qavu§og'lu's articles, "Ta§hcahl Dukakin-zhde Yahya Bey'in Istanbul 5ehr- engizi" in Tgrk Dili ve Edebiyatz Dergisi, 17 (1969), 73-108, and "Hayreti'nin Belgrad 5ehr-engizi" in Giiney-Dogu Avrupa Araytzrmalarz Dergisi, 2-3 (1974), 325-356, are two such signs that promise further work on the subject. These articles provide us not only with the complete texts of two shehrengizes, but also contain some challenging observations aimed at those who find the genre objectionable for one reason or another. There are also some encouraging remarks made about the genre by G.K. Alpay in "L.mi'i Chelebi and His Works" in the Journal of Near Eastern Studies, 35/2 (1976), 86-87. 6 This is E.J.W. Gibb's rendering of the Turkish in A History of Ottoman Poetry (London, 1902), II, 231-238. Other European translations are similar, viz., "Stadts- aufruhr" (Hammer-Purgstall), "I1 perturbatore della citth" (Bombaci), its French equiv- alent, "Le perturbateur de la cite," or the somewhat different, "Pasquinade" (Bricteux), etc. The European scholars have shown greater interest in the shehrengiz than their Turkish counterparts: J. Hammer-Purgstall in Geschichte der Osmanischen Dichtkunst (Pesth, 1837), II, 163-195 gives a translation of the Bursa shehrengiz of Lami'i almost in its entirety. It is also a given by August Pfizmaier in Die Verherrlichung der Stadt Bursa (Vienne, 1839). It is also the subject of interest to August Bricteux in his ar- ticle "Pasquinade sur la ville de Tebriz par Maitre Lisshni de Chiraz," in M6langes de Philologie Orientale (Liege, 1932). 7 Gibb, II, 232. This claim is doubted by Gibb's posthumous editor, the Persianist E.G. Browne, who asserts in his A History of Persian Literature in Modern Times (Cambridge, 1924), 238 that such poems were known in Persia and that they were not regarded as an innovation there. Jan Rypka in History of Iranian Literature (Dordrecht, 1968), 297, on the other hand, seems to support Gibb. See, also, Ah.mad Gulchln-i Ma' ni, Shahr Ashiib dar Shi'r.i Frisf (Tehran, 1346/1967) and Bricteux, pp.1-7. 8 An inconclusive discussion of this matter is to be found in Levend, Turk Ede- biyatznda $ehr.engizler . . . , pp. 14-17. 9 Gibb, I, 99-100. While the nazires should be treated as a form of challenge or competition that was extra-curricular, as it were, the zeyls must be regarded as a necessary act for the purpose of up-dating. This was a widely practiced and conventional way of keeping an uninterrupted record of the poets and their works. 10 Levend, Tgrk Edebiyatznda 3ehr-engizler . . . , pp. 141-142, where there is a list of fifty shehrengizes of one variety or another that are known from the sources to have been composed. To this list should be added Hadi's "5ehrenglz-i Bagdad," (Topkapi Saray MS, Yeniler 734), that was apparently missed by Levend. 11 The best example of this is ,Azizi's (d. 1585) subtitle: Nigar-name-i Zevk-dmfz der Uslhib-u $ehrengiz (Delight Providing Book of Beauties in the Style of the Shehrengiz). There are modified versions of the genre that focus on the women of all nations, or on Gypsies, which bear the titles of Zenin.ndme (Book of Women) and Qengf-ndme (Book of Gypsies) respectively. 12 See footnote 10 and also pp. 141-142 in the same work cited. 13 Gibb, II, 232-238: Levend, Tfrk Edebiyatznda 5ehr-engizler . . . , pp. 17-18. 14 Mesli, "5ehrengiz-i Edirne," Millet Kitiiphanesi MS, Ali Emiri Manzum 685, f. 190. A somewhat longer variant of this part of the introduction is in Gibb, II, 249- J. Stewart-Robinson 211 250: VI, 93. 15 Browne, A Literary History of Persia (Cambridge, 1956), II, 30; Gibb, I, 84 n. 1. 16 W.G. Andrews, Jr., An Introduction to Ottoman Poetry (Minneapolis, 1976), pp. 27-29; Gibb, I, 108. The shehrengiz of Lbmi' (d.1532), on the other hand, is in the hezec meter. 17 See Qavu§oglu, Ta§hcah Dukakin-zade ... , pp. 74-75. 18 N.S. Banarh, Resimli Tirk Edebiyatz Tarihi (Istanbul, 1971), pp. 621-623. 19 Gibb, IV, 3-11: A.H. Tanpminar, XIX. Aszr Tfirk Edebiyatz Tarihi (Istanbul, 1956), I, XV-XIX. 20 Alpay, 87, are listed a number of place names extracted from Limi'i's Shehrengiz for Bursa that is focused on the city itself rather than on its inhabitants. A Propositional Analysis on Literary Theory Applied to Middle Eastern Genres GERNOT L. WINDFUHR The University of Michigan THE following is based on a paper given at a conference on Western LLiterary Theories and Middle Eastern Genres held on April 2, 1977 at the University of Pennsylvania.* The charge as formulated by the organizer of the conference, Adnan Haidar, reads as follows: *..the purpose of the colloquium is to assess the validity of applying Western literary theory to Middle Eastern literary genres. The following questions are immediately relevant: 1) Why are Middle Eastern critics borrowing from literary the- ories developed in the West? 2) How are some Western literary theories, which are in fact ideologies or products of ideologies, applicable to non-Western literary genres? 3) Which Western methods, and techniques, when applied, will or will not do violence to the language, the sensitivity, and the tradition which conceived of the text? 4) Assuming deference to the tradition of the literary text, what modifications of Western literary critical methods (if indeed there are any) have been made or ought to be made. . ." The student of Persian literature, faced with a charge as pregnant with provoking questions as this, has no dearth of topics with which to exemplify and to investigate the dilemma. On the one hand, contemporary Persian literature and criticism, the result of the increasing influences and copying from the West beginning in the middle of the last century; the poet Nima Yushij's explorations and teachings since 1921 on the priority of content- emotion over form, meter and imagery, declaring 'We have no link to the Gernot L. Windfuhr 213 past!' Ahmad Shamlu's and others' adoption of the Western-French no- tion of poetry as instantaneous 'automatic' recording of the subconscious, declaring that -e'r 'poetry' is separate from adabiyat 'literature'l: eminent contemporary Iranian critics like Reza Baraheni and the influences on him, and others from the New Criticism and other sources including, promi- nently, socio-literary criticism,2 or the repeated and increasingly volatile criticism of gharbzadegi 'Westernitis,' the Western plague. Yet, as much as has been written about it, comprehensive and thor- ough research is still scanty. There is a tendency among Western and Iranian professors alike to summarize and repeat what has been said. On the other hand there is the problem of classical Persian literature and how Orientalists have approached it, how their paradigms and interests preconditioned the results of their research. Nearly 80% of literary studies of Persian are on classical literature. Henri Broms, in his monograph on Middle Eastern and Western liter- ary theory,3 is nearly violent about the backwardness of this field of schol- arly endeavor. He cites a few exceptions, among them none other than Goethe, one of the most sensitive and sympathetic to the Oriental greats ever, even though he knew them only in translation. But the discussion of the general problem must not be parochial. Mid- dle Eastern literature is not just Persian literature, not just the literatures of the Islamic Middle East, but encompasses all literatures be they An- cient Egyptian or Modern Persian. Dealing with such variety soon leads to modesty; the student's own speciality with its linguistic, geographic, and temporal limits and limitations is but part of a dynamic whole. The problems of criticism are not confined to our days and the lit- eratures of our days. Faced with the task to read, interpret and evaluate those literatures, the basic problem for the critic appears to be how to prove that his reading, his analysis, his interpretation and his evaluation are appropriate to the text, that he is not reading 'into' the text. There is what seems to be a rather mechanical, but therefore possibly the least interpretative way of approaching a text: dialectic analysis, that is, the analysis of the 'patterns of thought,' but not of parts of a text, but on the highest level of the text as a whole. Dialectic is understood as the process of thematic evolution by which conflicts and contradictions are exposed, systematically played through and finally brought to a conclusion or resolution. Dialectical structure is analysable just as sentences are. It is 'parsing' on the level of the text. Such analysis must be the first step in approaching a text, whatever fancy or not so fancy literary theory or interpretative methods are applied later. First one has to recognize the 214 A Propositional Analysis total picture, the basic structure. How often has interpretation gone wrong because one wanted to take the short cut of uncovering the meaning before looking carefully-and systematically-at what was really said and how it was put. Grammar comes before exegesis. Unfortunately there is the tendency among literary critics-including structuralists-to make their critique a work of art, a fiery display of eru- dition and rhetoric, and sometimes misty Turner-like landscapes. Imagine this approach in the sciences! But the science of literary study seems to relish it. But there is a caveat. Non-Westerners have rarely accused Western linguists, who analyze the grammar of exotic languages, of doing violence to the language (linguists do that to linguists). However, Orientalists from the West trying to analyze higher levels of language, among them literature, have often been and are being accused of their Western bias, if not of intellectual violence. Edward Said in his "Shattering of Myth,"'4 and more so in his by now famous Orientalism, shatters the Orientalists' myths about 'the Arab.' Numerous Orientalists are shown in their ridiculous effort to define and to put in his place 'the Arab,' in spite of hundreds of millions of Arabs, in spite of a host of different cultures and societies involved, in spite of a millennium or more of time depth, creating this convenient monster to the mental and economical ease of themselves, the Orientalists, and their superiors and supporters. Of course, if 'the Arab' is a myth created by Orientalists, then 'the Orientalist' is a myth too, I presume. Even so, a good number of the examples of the bad Orientalist scholar- ship cited are convincing. Has all Orientalists' enthusiastic teaching, have all analyses of ancient, medieval and modern Middle Eastern literatures been tainted? Am I an 'Orientalist,' do I propagate the 'intellectual in- feriority' and 'sexual prowess' of 'the Arab'-and related Muslims, and of those Middle Easterners before them? Or are Said's accusations just a brilliantly argued part of the eternal 'Arabic' power play to find out who would lead the tribe? It is only appropriate that professors in the West, Easterners and Westerners alike, who deal with Middle Eastern literatures, discuss Middle Eastern literary criticism and Western literary theory; academics, in the American, not Russian, sense of the term, each with a particular view on these matters. Of course, 'Western literary theory' is a myth, and violence is in- flicted to Western and Middle Eastern literatures alike. There are many Gernot L. Windfuhr 215 Western theories, and there are many which are outdated except for self- perpetrating scholarship. There is good reason to be outraged about much of Western literary scholarship on Western literary genres. Not Middle Eastern literary genres are the focus of violence, literature is. The letter of invitation does in fact mention such violence. Rather than continuing the discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of Western literary theory applied to Middle Eastern genres, it is in place to test the claim of violence vs. the claim of least interpretation (and thus least violence), claimed for dialectic analysis because of its 'mechanical' method. The letter of invitation is a text, part of a formal communication process. It should be analyzable as a text, even though it is not a literary text. For reasons of space, the letter will not be analyzed in toto, but only that part of the letter which contains the charge cited at the beginning of this paper. Intuitively, the charge appears to exhibit a peculiar structure reminis- cent of the narrative device termed 'overlay' by Grimes, who had observed it in some languages of Brazil and New Guinea, including Pidgin: 'It involves the near repetition of substantial stretches of speech in such a way that the repeated elements are placed in prominence . .. The nature of over- lays puts into new context the question of reference in linguistic theory.'5 Leaving aside the implications for linguistic theory, our text seems to fit the description. But this does not necessarily imply that it is non-Western, that there is some different pattern of rhetoric and dialectic argumentation. Grimes did not look at his own society. We simply do not use the technique of overlay in story-telling, but we do use it elsewhere. Music is a perfect example; so is much of scientific prose. Partial Analysis Paradigmatically, our text consists of five parts (or scenes, or beyts): the statement of purpose, which is an indirect question, and four direct questions. All have about the same number of components and show the same underlying syntagm: 1. agent (the literary critic); 2. instrument (Western literary theory); 3. predication of instrument (ideologies); 4. object (Middle Eastern texts); 5. action (apply); 6. modification/narrator's comments (violence). 216 A Propositional Analysis Thus there is a basic 6-slot syntagm common to the five parts, their basic theme. The theme is played through five times, there is a five-fold overlay. Just as melody and harmony form patterns superimposed on the basso os- tinato, so there is a pattern superimposed on the basic theme: the rhetoric- dialectic pattern. It is created by three devices of focusing/placing in promi- nence: 1. modification and/or change of terms; 2. single mention; 3. question. The specific patterns of focusing here are as follows: 1. by term changes a. the [instrument] slot (theory/method): In Qo [ theory ], of the statement of purpose is changed in Q, to [ theories ], and in Q2 to [some theories ], then in Q3 to [ methods], and finally in Q4 to [some methods]. b. the [object]-slot (genre/tradition): In Qo [Middle Eastern literary genres in Q1 [ in Q2 to [non-Western literary genres in Q3 by [the tradition which conceived of the text in Q4 by [the tradition of the literary texts ], is left open ], and is changed ],is substituted ], and ]. In both cases the process is from the general to the specific or speci- fied. 2. by single mention, i.e. occurring only once. Three patterns appear to be the most prominent: questions, intrusion of the narrator, and specific terms: a. the narrator asks for: In Qo the [validity ] of applying Western theory, in Q, the [reason ] for it, in Q2 the [possibility ] of application, in Q3 by [particular methods ], in Q4 by [particular modifications]. Gernot L. Windfuhr 217 b. he intrudes by commenting (technically speaking, embedding) as follows: In Qo [M. E. critic's application] in Q1 is called [borrowing ], in Q2 [theories being ideologies ] are qualified by [in fact ], in Q3 [methods ] are said to do [violence ], in Q4 [modifications of method ] are doubted by [if there are any]. c. the specific terms mentioned only once are: In Qo the [validity ], in Q1 the [Middle Eastern critic ], in Q2 the [Western ideology ], in Q3 by [violence to tradition ], in Q4 by [modification out of deference]. These three patterns of single mention, superimposed on the basso ostinato of the repetitions or near repetitions, all coincide with the culmi- nating effect of focusing from the general to the specific. A highly skillful, and delightful, piece of dialectic (see chart). This technique of overlaying has one clear effect: to lead the audience's attention into a specific direction. Both by that 'hammering' basso ostinato and by the symphony of the superimposed focusing patterns we are led to accept that: 1. Middle Eastern literature has its own tradition and sensitivity. 2. Western theories are based on Western ideologies. 3. Western theories and their methods are not appropriate for non- Western texts. 4. Applying them leads to false conclusions. 5. It may be possible to adapt Western theories to non-Western texts. That is the range of problems as expressedly stated in the text; and as chiseled out by the preceding little analytic exercise. We are led to accept these, and we do. At the same time, however, being strict as required from any applica- tion of structuralistic analysis, one recognizes that what has been analyzed was not the whole story. Strict application of the analysis hints at slots not filled, but implied by the extremely coherent pattern of the text: It mentions Middle Eastern critics, Middle Eastern genres, Middle Eastern tradition, on the one hand, and Western literary theory, Western ideology, 218 A Propositional Analysis on the other. But it does not mention Western critics, Western genres, Western traditions, nor Middle Eastern literary theory, Middle Eastern ideology, which are the structurally defined pendants implied. With these, the questions implied multiply; to name only a few: Does Middle Eastern literary theory do the same violence to Middle Eastern texts? or to Western texts? or: Does Middle Eastern literary theory not do violence to Middle Eastern texts? Is Middle Eastern theory a product of Middle Eastern ideolo- gies? or will it be? and: Is there Middle Eastern literary theory? (The fact that Mid- dle Eastern critics are said to borrow would indicate that the narrator is provoking the negative). At this point the structural analyst recognizes yet another slot: [Time], as in any good story. The [Time] slot in our text seems to be skillfully slanted: It is [Present] or [Future] for the borrowing of Western theories and their modifications, but it seems to be [Past] with regard to the tra- dition of the Middle Eastern texts. That is, our text has led and focused our attention to one particular constellation only: modern Western theory applied to traditional Middle Eastern texts. Yet the text-structure implies the full range of other constellations. Among them are the [Time-Text] cluster, and the [Time-Theory] cluster: Middle Eastern texts range from pre-Hellenistic antiquity to modern times; and we want a theory applicable to all texts, not only to Islamic literature. Moreover, [Modern] theory has to be correlated with [Earlier] theories since we want to understand those theories and their advantages and disadvantages in regard to 'violence' etc., as well. There once happened the magnificent adaptation and development of Classical-Hellenistic theory by Muslim scholars. The pattern of the text has led us to focus our attention on another point. The culprits provoked are Middle Eastern critics who borrow. A text, however, implies somebody who writes it. Critics live on texts. The problem, it seems to me, is not only the Middle Eastern critic but also the writer who, in the present time frame, 'borrows.' We have all seen both Middle Eastern critics and Middle Eastern writers rush to the bookstore after their lectures to buy books on Western literary theory and on tech- niques. Why are Middle Eastern writers borrowing from Western literary theories? or Western ideologies? The following lists a few brief observations on a little story by one Middle Eastern writer which do not give an answer to the questions raised Gernot L. Windfuhr 219 but which superbly illuminate the state of affairs. The story is a Modern Arabic story, Yusuf Idris' an-Naiara 'The Stare.' It is actually more a vignette than a story, just a little more than a page long in the Arabic original: A little servant-girl asks the narrator to help her adjust the load on her head, a pile of dishes with food for her mistress. The narrator finds it strange that a little girl like her should ask a grown-up like him, but he kindly obliges and adds good advice on top of it. Whereupon she deter- minedly wends her way through heavy traffic to the other side of the street, the narrator watching in amazement, afraid that she would be run over by the cars. Suddenly he notices that she has stopped. Imagining that her tray is about to drop again he rushes across the street being nearly hit by a car. As he comes nearer, he realizes that the little servant-girl is just staring at children playing with a ball. He stops, and she vanishes in the crowd. There is no need to present you with yet another structural analysis. In essence, the author skillfully sets up a false conclusion, his fear that the girl's tray was slipping again, only to highlight what appears to be the point of the story: the stark contrast between the little girl who has to work and the children who are able to play, or to cite the translator's commentary: 'the little girl's longing for a better life and her clear firmness of purpose reflect some of the spirit and intensity of the class struggle so obviously a dominant factor in Egypt's social history of the past two decades.6 This is certainly true. We recognize through the narrator's concerns and stares, and his stare at her stare, that the little girl has to work, that she runs alone and unprotected across the street (Cairo's streets I presume), that she talks to strangers. A little child should not be allowed to do these things. But at the same time there is this firmness, this natural attitude about life evident in the girl's behavior. Maybe this is the reason why the story begins as follows: kdna gari-ban anna tiflatan saqfratan mitlaha . 'It was strange that a little girl like her . .' Evidently she is quite secure, she knows her place in her society.7 She is very well adjusted to her life and her society. It is he who imagines, he who fears for her, he who presents us with this vignette, with the con- frontation of the working girl and the playing children. But, to note, his concerns are based on ideals originating outside his own society, his con- cerns are reflections of Western ideals of childhood and societal justice. He 220 A Propositional Analysis is insecure, he has adopted new standards from outside of his own society, contrary to the girl. Whether we, the audience, subscribe to these ideals or not, that is not the point here. And whether Idris as a writer actually intended this story to depict the clash of societal paradigms, or whether he simply and brilliantly reported his fascination with the little girl-it is one of his earlier stories-the story, as short as it is, ingeniously captures the essence of the problem which faces us: Western paradigms and Middle Eastern cultures. To return to our text of invitation. Up to this point the text itself was discussed. But it has a narrator, as concerned as the narrator of The Stare, and it has an audience: our host and we the participants. Do we have, in the letter, a fictional narrator asking 'leading questions,' or 'Western questions,' as advocatus diaboli, or not? Who is the narrator according to the text? He inserts himself, as mentioned above, with qualifying statements (besides asking the questions in the first place): He identifies the activity of Middle Eastern critics as 'borrowing'; Western methods are 'in fact' ideologies which he says do 'vi- olence' to the genuine tradition; and he finally questions whether there are any modifications possible at all. That is, our fictional narrator subscribes to the points outlined earlier: that each text-and culture one may add- develops, and 'deserves,' its own ideologies. We accept this concept. So we are all in the same boat. Only, one must realize, that this concept is a concept, an ideology, or a product of an ideology. Whether this relativis- tic, 'democratic' if you will, concept as opposed to a universalistic concept, originated in the West, or not, is not as important here as the fact that we accept it. It is our specific paradigm, to use Kuhn's term.' The paradigm of convictions shared by a community of scholars for a certain period of time. It determines the range of problems and develops its terminology- and jargon. Many of us also agree on the integrated dynamic systems approach, as is implicit in our text, i.e the interdependence model which may be visualized as follows (leaving out real life, the publisher):9 Gernot L. Windfuhr 221 ME W Theory Writer Critic Code Text Audience Tradition It is the upper half of this model which seems to cause concern: the substitution of indigenous theory by foreign theory, breaking the coherence within this hexagon. But why concern? It will be a fascinating and ideal case of studying the dynamics of systems in merger, traditional Western and Eastern theory, which were static, vs. a theory which is dynamic and multicentered. One should refer to von Gruenebaum, Rypka, Lentz and, again, to Henri Broms, all of whom contributed considerably and empathet- ically sine ira et studio to our understanding of Middle Eastern literatures and the dynamics between the Classical and the Muslim theories.10 So why do Middle Eastern critics and writers borrow? Because, follow- ing Toynbee's view, European culture is becoming the new world culture? What modifications of theories? Assuming, if not agreeing, that only mem- bers of a particular cultural area are sensitive enough to be successful in that task, it will be up to Middle Eastern critics, writers, and readers, to find the appropriate modifications. But a clarification is in place: what is meant by literary criticism? Is there agreement on what its function and objectives are? That depends on the individual sub-ideology. There is the erudite literary critic of the 19th century who, eclectically, paraphrases and highlights certain points and parts of a piece of literature in an almost magic fashion to demonstrate beauty or eternal idea. And there is Barthes' S/Z, 11 and then Derrida and the 'deconstruction.' There is the sociologist who selects the sociopolitical aspects, there is the psychologist, the literary historian, the genre specialist, and the biographer. All manipulate texts and participate in the larger ideological context of their disciplines. And there are the systematic linguists with their 'superior' methods who apply linguistic analytical methods to develop a theory of texts. But just as a sentence is not the same as a poetic line, so the linguistic aspects of a literary text are not the same as its poetic aspects. 222 A Propositional Analysis Literature makes use of langauge, but is more than language, just as life makes use of matter but is more than matter. These approaches superimpose their disciplinary theories and meth- ods and get the results they want, and deserve. I would like to conclude with a well known, but not always heeded clarification and a suggestion following Richards12: there is a difference between the analysis of a text and the interpretation/evaluation of a text. The analysis systematically makes apparent the rhetorical and dialectic structure of a text: of the text as a whole, not only of parts of it. It ideally uses the model-theoretical approach, for which charts are one visualizing possibility. This process re- duces the text but does not disturb the text. It is only after this model, or competing models, of the dialectic pattern of a text have been arrived at that it should be interpreted. Thus, for example our text: It has systemat- ically been analyzed as to its dialectic pattern. It can now be interpreted by superimposing on it various ideological models. In the case of our text one suggestion would be that of existential philosophy: the Middle Eastern critic in a crisis situation, experiencing psychological disorientation and ex- treme existential anxiety, searching for his 'second' state of security which is to result in focused action. The point is that the critic must be aware of the ideological models he uses, and he must use them as coherent models, not eclectically, as is usually the case. Depending on the model the interpretation will differ, often diametrically opposed. But whatever the interpretation, the first step of any critical activity is the same: the dialectic analysis. Just as for linguists of whatever color and conviction the first step is still good old parsing. Part of this paper was a demonstration of that approach. It made apparent the rhetoric and dialectic process of our text. It did not interpret, it made use of meaning to model the pattern. In the preceding, one version was shown of the new paradigm which is known as structuralism and of 'structuralist activity' as Barthes described it in his manifesto by the same name,13 but a version with emphasis on the practical aspect of understanding the basics of a text prior to interpreting its 'meaning' for us. It is, or should be, the first and basic step in literary criticism, systematic and pragmatic, applicable to all texts, to Ancient Egypt's Sinuhe, to a ghazalby the classical Arabic poet Omar b. Abi Rabica, or to the novella The Blind Owl by the modern Persian writer Hedayat. Note that the context of a text, its basic function as dialog and its intentions are not at all dismissed by this seemingly pragmatic positivistic approach. On the contrary, the aim is to appeal to critics to first listen Gernot L. Windfuhr 223 carefully, to better understand the often implicit dialog. Dialog is an activity, renewed-and changed-with every reading; the structure which emerges is not something dead, dissected, but it is what I would like to compare to a hologram, a tri-dimensional image which remains identical but at the same time moves with our standpoint. I submit that this Western literary 'theory,' if you will, is valid; that Middle Eastern like Western critics may borrow it; that the ideology behind it is hardly Western only; that it does not do violence to the language, the sensitivity, and the tradition which conceived of the text, and that it is, indeed, one of the critical methods that exist, which need not be modified out of, or in deference to, the tradition of the literary text. Notes * The present paper, or essay, and the other papers given at that conference were originally to be published in Edebiyat. The discussion of this essay appears to me particularly appropriate for my late friend and colleague to whom this memorial volume is dedicated and who lived and symbolized the possibility of the harmony of Middle Eastern and Western values. 1 See the discussion in Abdo-l-Ali Dast-e Qeyb, Naqd-e .s r-e Ahmad-e dmlu (A. Bdmdad), Tehran: Mira, 1973/1352. 2 This is evident, for example, in Rez Bariheni, Qessenevisi, Tehran: Agraf, 1969/1348. 3 Henri Broms, How Does the Middle Eastern Literary Taste Differ from the Eu- ropean?, Studia Orientalia 44, Helsinki: Societas Orientalis Fennica, 1972. 4 Edward Said, "Shattering of Myth," Middle East Crucible. Studies on the Arab- Israeli War of October 1973, ed. by Nasser Aruri, Wilmette, Illinois: Medina University Press International, pp. 408-448, 1975. 5 Joseph Grimes, "Outlines and Overlays," Language 48: 513-524, 1972. 6 Trevor LeGassick, "Egypt's Angriest Young Author-Yusuf Idris," Mid East 8.5: 30-32, 1968. 7 The following observations were originally suggested during discussions in a sem- inar of the author on Middle Eastern literature. ' Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Phoenix Books P 159, Chicago-London: The University of Chicago Press, 1962. 9 Michael J. Boehler, Soziale Rolle und aesthetische Vermittlung. Studien zur Literatursoziologie von A.G. Baumgarten bis F. Schiller, Bern-Frankfurt/M.: Verlag Herbert Lang, 1975. 10 Gustave E. von Grunebaum, A Tenth Century Document of Arabic Literary Theory and Criticism. The Sections on Poetry of al-Baqillani's Icjaz al-Qur an, tran- lated and annotated, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1950; idem, "The Aesthetic Foundations of Arabic Literature," Comparative Literature 4:323-340, 1952; idem, Kritik und Dichtkunst. Studien zur arabischen Literaturgeschichte, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1955; idem, "Arabic Poetics," The University of North Carolina Studies 224 A Propositional Analysis in Comparative Literature 13, Indiana University Conference on Oriental- Western Lit- erary Relations, Papers, edited by Horst Frenz and G.L. Anderson, Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, pp. 27-46, 1955. - Wolfgang Lentz, "Beobach- tungen zum gedanklichen Aufbau einiger zeitgenSssischer persischer Prosastiicke," Der Islam 29: 166-208, 1952; idem, "Oriental Types of Literary Composition as Described by Goethe," Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature 10: 59-62, 1961. - Jan Rypka, Bdq( als Ghazelendichter, Sbirka Pojedndni a Rozprov IX, Praha: Fac. Phil. Univ. Carolina Pragensis, 1926; idem, "Forma, jako jeden ze irodk6w prowadzycych do glybszego poznania nowoperskiej," Przeglad Orientalistyczny 1 (29): 3-17, 1959. 11 Roland Barthes, S/Z. An Essay, translated by Richard Miller, preface by Richard Howard, New York: Hill and Wang, 1974. 12 See Ivor A. Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, especially chapter III on "The Language of Criticism," 1924 and later editions. 13 Roland Barthes, "L'activitd structuraliste" in his Essais critiques, Paris, Seuil, pp. 213-220, 1964. Narrator 4- Critic 1 Theory 1 Ideology 1 Genres Tradition IAction Narrator Question M. E. W M. E. W M. E. W M. E. W Comments 0 valid theory literary apply- genres ing 1 why Mid theories apply- borrow (borrow) East developed ing SCrit. in West 2 how Some West product non-West are in fact (applic- theories of ideo- literary I applied (ideologies) able) logies genres 3 which (some) texts language, when do/do not (methods) I methods, sensibi- applied violence techiques I lity to I tradition 4 what critical literary I tradition- *deference (Modifi- methods texts modification cations) _ ... '"if there are CD C 0 Analysis of the "Letter of Invitation"    31 (T5 0 0 W27 Miehigan Series on the Middle East 1. M. Mir, Verbal Idioms of the Qur'an 2. J. Bellamy, ed., Studies in Near Eastern Culture and History in Memory of Ernest T. Abdel-Massih 3. J. Kolars, ed., A Survey of Middle Eastern Studies 4. H. Dajani-Shakeel & R. Messier, The Jihad and Its Times Center for Near Eastern and North African Studies The University of Michigan ISBN: 0-932098-22-3