Biblingo https://biblingo.org Become a fluent reader of the biblical languages Sat, 29 Mar 2025 19:03:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://biblingo.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/PROFILE-FINAL-100x100.png?crop=1 Biblingo https://biblingo.org 32 32 146188432 You don’t need 16 years to learn Ancient Hebrew https://biblingo.org/blog/16-years/ Fri, 28 Feb 2025 20:19:31 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=17860

In Joe Rogan’s recent podcast conversation with apologist/scholar Wes Huff, he mentioned that he has a friend who spent 16 years learning biblical Hebrew. That’s some serious dedication, but should it take that long to learn an ancient language?

Ancient Hebrew and Greek, but especially Hebrew, are often assumed to be very difficult languages to learn. Rogan seems to buy into this assumption.

I have to say that spending 16 years on any single thing is impressive in terms of the dedication required. However, it shouldn’t take you 16 years to learn Hebrew. If someone said that they learned Spanish in 16 years, you would probably think that they were just very bad at learning languages or were not very dedicated to it. But when someone takes 16 years to learn Ancient Hebrew, many do not question why it would take so long. Wes, however, does seem to hint that it really shouldn’t take that long.

I suggest that the problem here is not Hebrew itself, but how we’re going about learning Hebrew. Let me give you a real-life example. Here’s a video of my four-year-old son reading Hebrew after a few months of studying it:

So what’s the difference between my son, who is four and is reading Hebrew, and Rogan’s friend, who took 16 years to learn the language? The issue is this: not all methods of learning a language are as efficient. It is not about the language’s difficulty, but about how we go about learning.

The learning process is actually pretty simple. We expose ourselves to new material, and then we practice that new material to commit it to long-term memory. Where this often goes haywire is the process of committing it to long-term memory.

But this is exactly what my son did. He took the alphabet to begin with, and he started to learn the letters. He committed those letters to long-term memory. He then used those letters to commit words composed of those letters to long-term memory. And then finally, he was given a text with words that had been committed to his long-term memory already. Since he had followed that progression, he could read that text in a matter of a few short months.

Now, he can’t yet read the Bible in Hebrew, but he’s on his way – and it won’t take him 16 years. The key is that you need to progress in such a way that you are adding one new thing, committing that thing to long-term memory, and then adding another new thing. When you progress in this way, eventually you will reach your goal of reading the Bible in Hebrew.

If you practice consistently with the right tools, you actually will be able to read in Hebrew or Greek much, much quicker than most people think. Reading the Bible in a year is definitely an achievable goal. And we have had Biblingo users report just that. Ancient Hebrew and Greek are not special–they can be learned like any other languages with the right tools and methods. If you want to try it out for yourself, you can sign up for Biblingo’s free 10-day trial at app.biblingo.org/signup.

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What kind of sacrifice was Jesus? https://biblingo.org/blog/what-kind-of-sacrifice-was-jesus/ Fri, 14 Feb 2025 21:27:12 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=17264

When we say that Jesus was a sacrifice, we often qualify it by saying he was a sacrifice for sins. But there are actually 5 major types of sacrifices in Leviticus 1-5. So which kind was Jesus?

The sacrifices in Leviticus 1-5

Our first clue lies in the fact that sin is not mentioned in Leviticus 1-3. The first three chapters of Leviticus discuss sacrifices without addressing sin, implying that these sacrifices are not given for that purpose. The Hebrew terms used for these three sacrifices are עֹלָה, usually translated ‘burnt offering’ or ‘whole offering’ , מִנְחָה, usually translated ‘grain offering’ or ‘cereal offering’, and שְׁלָמִים, usually translated ‘peace offering’ or ‘fellowship offering.’ These are three significant sacrifices, but their lack of explicit connection with sin suggests they are not offered for that purpose.

It is not until Leviticus 4 that we encounter an offering made for sin. It is called the חַטָּאת in Hebrew, often translated as ‘sin offering’ or ‘purification offering.’ This word also happens to be the word for sin itself. This is clear in Leviticus 4:3, where both the word ‘sin’ and ‘sin offering’ are translated from the same Hebrew word חַטָּאת. In the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, the same Greek word, ἁμαρτία, is used for both. This will be important for us when we examine the New Testament. So, is Jesus a ἁμαρτία, a ‘sin offering’ or ‘purification offering?’ He certainly could be, but let’s first look at Leviticus 5:14-6:7 to see the other offering given for sin.

The offering described in Leviticus 5:14-6:7 is also given because of sin and is called אָשָׁם, usually translated ‘guilt offering.’ This offering is not only about offering something to God but also making restitution to one’s fellow Israelite who has been wronged. We see this in Leviticus 6:5, where the Israelites are required to add a fifth to whatever they wrongly took from someone else. Since Jesus’ sacrifice is not about restitution in this way, it is unlikely that his sacrifice would have been considered an אָשָׁם or ‘guilt offering.’

The purification offering

This leaves us with the fourth offering, which is the ‘sin offering’ or ‘purification offering.’ Why the two quite different translations? The חַטָּאת sacrifice was indeed given after a sin was committed, connecting it to sin itself. However, it was also given at other times when no sin was committed. For example, the same sacrifice is given in Leviticus 8-9 to ordain the priests. In this ceremony, the chattat sacrifice has its normal function: blood is used to purify the sanctuary before the priests can enter it. This is why it has been called a ‘purification offering,’ and indeed, this is probably the best understanding of it. However, its connection to sin cannot be forgotten. The very same word used for ‘sin’ is also used for the offering itself. Sin pollutes and requires purification. Other things may also require purification, but arguably, without sin, there would be no need for purification. Thus, a purification offering does purify, but it specifically purifies from sin.

Jesus as purification offering in Hebrews

So what evidence do we have that Jesus is a purification offering? Is he ever called that? He is, indeed. Hebrews 9:12 states that Jesus brings his own blood into the holy of holies to purify it. This parallels the ritual of the Day of Atonement in Leviticus 16. What sacrifice is brought into the holy of holies on the Day of Atonement? The purification offering, or the ἁμαρτία in Greek. The fact that Hebrews describes Jesus’ blood as the blood brought into the holy of holies leads us to conclude that the author of Hebrews thought of Jesus as a purification offering.

Jesus as purification offering in Romans and 2 Corinthians

Are there other texts that support Jesus as a purification offering? Two other texts do seem to call Jesus a ἁμαρτία. One is 2 Corinthians 5:21, which states that God made him who knew no sin (ἁμαρτία) to become a sin offering (ἁμαρτία) for us. Most translations say that Jesus became sin for us, not a sin offering, but remember that the two Greek words are identical. In the context of Jesus being offered up as a sacrifice, it makes far more sense to interpret this verse as saying that Jesus became a sin offering. It also clearly alludes to Leviticus 4:3. Whereas others commit a ἁμαρτία (sin) and then offer a ἁμαρτία (purification offering for sin), Jesus never committed a ἁμαρτία (sin) but offers himself as a ἁμαρτία (purification offering for sin).

The final text is Romans 8:3, where we read that God gave up his own son in the likeness of the flesh of a ἁμαρτία for sin (ἁμαρτία). Again, many Bible translations render ἁμαρτία in this passage as a description of the flesh, as in ‘the likeness of sinful flesh.’ However, the word ἁμαρτία is not an adjective here, and in the context of Jesus being a sacrifice and cleansing his people of sin, it is best understood as a ‘purification offering.’

Conclusion

So what kind of sacrifice was Jesus? He was a purification offering given for sin. In Leviticus, this sacrifice was made for the purification of the tabernacle from the sins of the people. How does this translate to the New Testament? In each of the passages cited, the blood of Jesus cleanses believers from their sinfulness, making them more righteous. This is not necessarily the only function of Jesus’ sacrifice, but it is the one highlighted in Romans 8:1-4, 2 Corinthians 5:17-21, and Hebrews 9:10-13. To riff of Paul’s statement in Romans, Jesus as purification offering gives believers the power to obey the righteous requirements of the law as they walk by the Spirit.

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What is biblical exegesis? Using art and science to unlock the Scriptures https://biblingo.org/blog/what-is-biblical-exegesis/ Fri, 31 Jan 2025 15:30:00 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=17204

Biblical exegesis sounds like a complex theological term, but at its heart, it’s about understanding the Bible’s true meaning—what the original author intended to convey to their audience. It’s not just casual reading or translating; it’s digging deeper through intensive analysis. How does one get to the original intended meaning by the author though? And do we always need to engage in “exegesis” when reading the Bible, or can we access the original intended meaning through reading itself without the intensive analysis?

Reading Fluency: The Gateway to Deeper Understanding

A fluent reader of the biblical languages (that is, Biblical Greek and Hebrew) can read and understand the original meaning of the text without the need of external aids, such as a dictionary or grammar textbook. 

Studies in the neuroscience of reading have shown that fluency is key for deep reading and comprehension. When we read fluently, our brains can focus on the subtle shades of meaning within the text, which is essential for drawing out the author’s intended message.

In other words, fluent reading makes the intensive analysis of exegesis unnecessary in many cases. If you can intuitively understand the meaning of a text as you read it, you do not need to analyze it carefully to get to the original intended meaning. So do we really need exegesis?

Exegesis: Explaining the Meaning

Fluency helps us grasp the meaning, but exegesis takes it further by articulating and explaining that meaning. It uses specialized language (metalanguage) to analyze the text’s grammatical and linguistic features, providing a well-reasoned justification for a particular interpretation.

Tools like grammatical categories, parsing, and diagramming provide a framework for this analysis, but they’re most effective when built on a foundation of reading fluency. Why? We do not want to over-analyze every word of the biblical text. In many cases, a good reader can properly intuit the original meaning without the careful analysis characteristic of exegesis. We want to use careful analysis when the text demands it–when fluent reading still leaves us with questions.

An example: Romans 2:28-29

The Greek text of Romans 2:28-29 has been interpreted in different ways. Originally, listeners understood the verses using their intuition as Greek speakers. Today, without this intuition, we need to explain our understanding, even if it’s intuitively correct.

One debate focuses on the clause, “His praise is not from man but from God.” Some believe this specifies which hidden Jew is being talked about (grammarians would call this a restrictive relative clause), while others think it’s additional information about the hidden Jew (this would be called a non-restrictive relative clause).

To resolve this, we can examine similar relative clauses in Greek. In Paul’s writings, restrictive relative clauses separated from their noun are never more than four words apart. In this passage, the separation is 22 words, making it a non-restrictive relative clause.

Those who originally heard Romans 2:28-29 read in the public assembly would have intuitively understood that the relative clause was non-restrictive. That’s how these clauses work in Greek. Careful grammatical analysis confirms this for us when our Greek intuitions do not necessarily conform to the original readers’ intuitions.

Conclusion

Biblical exegesis is both art and science, combining intuition (gained in reading fluency) and articulation (gained through careful grammatical study) to uncover the meaning of the biblical text. Fluency is the gateway, while exegetical tools provide the framework for explanation. By integrating both, we can strive for a deeper and more nuanced understanding of the Bible’s timeless message.

Resources

If you’d like to learn more about this topic, here are a couple other videos we’ve made about it:

Why you shouldn’t use exegesis to extract meaning

Do We Really Need Exegesis?

 

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The Oxford Annotated Mishnah with Shaye J.D. Cohen https://biblingo.org/blog/oxford-annotated-mishnah/ Thu, 07 Nov 2024 06:00:00 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15684

In this episode of The Biblical Languages Podcast, Kevin chats with Dr. Shaye Cohen about his work on the Oxford Annotated Mishnah.

Check out the three-volume set here.

Shaye J.D. Cohen is an American Hebraist, historian, and rabbi. He is also a semi-retired professor of Hebrew Literature and Philosophy in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations of Harvard University.

As always, this episode is brought to you by Biblingo, the premier solution for learning, maintaining, and enjoying the biblical languages. Visit ⁠biblingo.org⁠ to learn more and start your 10-day free trial. If you enjoy this episode, be sure to subscribe on your favorite podcast app and leave us a review. You can also follow Biblingo on social media @biblingoapp to discuss the episode with us and other listeners.

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Tense and Aspect in Mark 1:11 https://biblingo.org/blog/tense-and-aspect-in-mark-1-11/ Fri, 25 Oct 2024 17:02:59 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15652 The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming Greek grammar textbook. I am sharing it now because of its relevance to my review of “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek” by Constantine Campbell.


Earlier on, we suggested that the example of Mark 1:11 is not an argument against the aorist being a true past tense because it is a performative. Performatives are unique in that the event in the real world happens by virtue of the verbal description being uttered. In this section, we expand on this argument and defend it in detail. I show how a proper understanding of tense and aspect along with the verb in question leads to the correct interpretation, and this interpretation does not contradict the description of the aorist we gave.

First, it may be helpful to lay out the prevailing view of Mark 1:11. All major modern English translations (at least all those found on BibleHub) use a lexical item that refers to pleasure of some kind to translate εὐδόκησα:

  1. … ἐν σοὶ εὐδόκησα
    a. ‘…with/in you/thee/whom I am well pleased’ (ESV, NIV, BSB, BLB, KJV, NKJV, NASB, LSB, AmpB, CSB, ASV, D-RB, ERV, MSB, NAB, NRSV, NHEB, WBT, WEB)
    b. ‘…you bring me great joy.’ (NLT)
    c. ‘…I take delight in you/in you I take great delight.’ (HCSB/NET)
    d. ‘…I am pleased with you.’ (CEV, GWT, GNT, ISV)
    e. ‘…in whom I delighted.’ (LSV, YLT)
    f. ‘…in thee is my delight.’ (WNT)

We challenge this consensus about the meaning of εὐδοκέω and suggest that it is better understood as closer to the English word ‘approve.’ As we will see, this has significant consequences for our understanding of the verse and the use of the aorist. Every translation in takes εὐδοκέω to refer to a present state. Not only would this be a problem for the past tense understanding of the aorist, but it would also be a problem for the perfective meaning, which normally refers to a temporal boundary. There is no temporal boundary in a state that simply holds, and indeed, some states such as εἰμί disallow the aorist entirely. The English word approve, on the other hand, would not clash with the aorist in any way, since it is not a state and also has a natural endpoint, i.e. is a telic verb. Even though the predicates am well pleased and approve might be similar in meaning, they differ significantly in their grammatically-significant components of meaning. To put it a differently, they have different aktionsart values, the former being a state, and the latter an achievement.

The rest of this exegetical section is organized as follows. First, we analyze the meaning of the verb εὐδοκέω. Second, we discuss what a performative is and how they are used across languages, including what kinds of verb forms languages employ. Third, we look at the passages in question and show that the aorist is best understood as a performative and the clause in question should be translated ‘I approve you.’

The verb εὐδοκέω

Part of determining the best English equivalent of εὐδοκέω is carefully distinguishing between the available options. The states delight and be well pleased entail that the subject has a positive state of mind or emotion about something. Our first question is whether there are contexts where εὐδοκέω cannot refer to a positive emotion. If this can be shown, then the verb itself does not contribute a positive emotion like delight/be well pleased. Indeed, there are examples where εὐδοκέω takes an argument which would clearly elicit a negative emotion and in which the subject is not delighting.

  1. τότε ἐντραπήσεται ἡ καρδία αὐτῶν ἡ ἀπερίτμητος, καὶ τότε εὐδοκήσουσιν τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν. (Lev 26:41)
    ‘then their uncircumcised hearts will be put to shame, and then they will accept their sins.’
  2. καὶ πολλοὶ ἀπὸ Ισραηλ εὐδόκησαν τῇ λατρείᾳ αὐτοῦ. (1 Macc 1:43)
    ‘and many from Israel consented serving him.’
  3. Διὸ μηκέτι στέγοντες εὐδοκήσαμεν καταλειφθῆναι ἐν Ἀθήναις μόνοι (1 Thes 3:1)
    ‘Therefore no longer being able to bear it, we accepted being left in Athens alone.’

In all of these examples, the subject of the verb εὐδοκέω does not show positive emotion towards the argument of the verb. Leviticus 26:41 describes the people repenting, and when they εὐδοκήσουσιν their sins, they accept their guilt, but they are certainly not delighting or being well-pleased in them. In fact, the context would demand the exact opposite interpretation. The people mourn over their sin. This example alone shows that εὐδοκέω is fundamentally different from a verb like delight, which would be impossible in this context. The context in 1 Macc 1:43 is similar in that the people who ‘approve’ serving the king are not delighting in his service but are doing so reluctantly. Finally, 1 Thes 3:1 explicitly says that Paul was feeling a negative emotion, but despite this, he still ‘accepted’ being left in Athens alone. It would be a contradiction to translate this as ‘delight.’

In other examples, neither a positive emotion nor a negative emotion is present, but something is agreed to or accepted. Sometimes this occurs where two options are presented before someone.

  1. καὶ εὐδόκησαν οὕτως. (Tob 5:17)
    ‘And they agreed thus.’
  2. καὶ εὐδόκησαν ἐν Ἀλεξάνδρῳ, ὅτι αὐτὸς ἐγένετο αὐτοῖς ἀρχηγὸς λόγων εἰρηνικῶν (1 Macc 10:47)
    ‘And they approved Alexander, because he had become a leader to them of peaceful words.’

In Tob 5:17, Tobit is speaking to Azariah, and he proposes a deal to him, namely to pay him a certain wage. After Tobit finishes his proposal, we have our clause. Again, there is not necessarily delighting in the agreement. Both parties simply accept the terms (referred to by οὕτως ‘thus’). In 1 Macc 10:47, Jonathan and the people just finished hearing the letter of King Demetrius read to them, and 1 Macc 10:46 states that they did not believe or accept them. Contrary to how they responded to King Demetrius’s proposal to them, it says of the Judeans that they ‘approved’ Alexander. This does not necessarily mean they had positive emotions about him, though it does not contradict that. It simply means that they approved Alexander as a leader rather than Demetrius.

All these examples suggest that εὐδοκέω need not refer to a positive emotion like the predicates delight and be well pleased. Where, then, is the translation coming from? There are three issues here. First, I suppose that the biggest reason for the translation ‘be well pleased’ is the desire to be morpho-syntactically transparent between English and Greek. What do we mean by this? The verb εὐδοκέω is made up of the adverb εὐ ‘well’ and the verb δοκέω ‘seem.’ In the long line of “literal” English translations, there has been a general desire to match one morpheme in English to another morpheme in Greek. If εὐ means ‘well,’ then the verb εὐδοκέω must be translated with ‘well’ in it. As we have seen with compound verbs in general (##), this does not work. In addition to the parallelism between εὐ and ‘well,’ the argument ἐν σοί ‘in you’ can also conveniently be translated “literally” when used with the predicates be well pleased or delight. It appears that εὐδοκέω ἐν τινί would map well onto ‘be well pleased/delight in something.’

The second reason is that Bible translations in general are very conservative with iconic verses. It is no surprise that all major English Bible translations essentially follow the KJV on this verse. The third reason for the “emotion” translation, however, is more robust. There are some examples that do seem to refer to a positive emotion.

  1. ὅτι εὐδοκεῖ κύριος ἐν λαῷ αὐτοῦ καὶ ὑψώσει πραεῖς ἐν σωτηρίᾳ. (Psa 149:3-4)
    ‘because the lord delights in his people, and he will lift up the humble with salvation.’
  2. ἐὰν ὑποστείληται, οὐκ εὐδοκεῖ ἡ ψυχή μου ἐν αὐτῷ (Hab 2:4)
    ‘If he withdraws, my soul does not delight in him.’

Notice, all the unambiguous examples have a key feature in common—they are found in the present/luo form.1 Indeed, this is consistent in both the LXX and NT.2 I say “unambiguous” because there are many cases where someone “approves” someone or something that they do have positive emotions towards. For example, BDAG lists 2 Kgms 22:20 as the first example of ‘be well pleased, take delight’:

  1. καὶ ἐξήγαγέν με εἰς πλατυσμὸν καὶ ἐξείλατό με, ὅτι εὐδόκησεν ἐν ἐμοί.
    ‘and he led me out into a large space and he rescued me, because he approved me/delighted in me.’

This comes in the middle of David’s “song of deliverance.” The question is whether David’s statement is best understood as referring to God having a positive emotion about David or God having approved him to lead as king. We know that both are true, and neither fits the context better than the other. In contrast, a verse like Psa 151:5 probably refers to David’s brothers not being approved/chosen by God in contrast to him:

  1. καὶ ἔχρισέν με ἐν τῷ ἐλαίῳ τῆς χρίσεως αὐτοῦ. οἱ ἀδελφοί μου καλοὶ καὶ μεγάλοι, καὶ οὐκ εὐδόκησεν ἐν αὐτοῖς κύριος. (Psa 151:4b-5)
    ‘and he anointed me with the oil of his anointing. My brothers were beautiful and big, and the lord did not approve them.’

The contrast between David and his brothers is very similar to what we saw in 1 Macc 10:47 where the people approved of Alexander rather than Demetrius. David says that God anointed him rather than his brothers. This is not to say that God did not delight in his brothers. In the context, the issue at hand is not God’s delight in one party over the other but God’s choice between David and his brothers.

Before moving onto performatives, we must address a potential counterargument to this data, namely that the argument ἐν τινί is mapping onto a direct object in English in ‘approve someone/something.’ This was part of the reason why we suggested English translations have opted for ‘delight/be well pleased.’ However, English is notorious for having an extremely broad accusative case. This means that the same argument that might surface as an accusative argument in English (like ‘approve him’) might surface as a PP complement or an oblique argument (i.e. an argument in dative or genitive case) in another language. This seems to be at least part of what is happening here. The verb εὐδοκέω can take an accusative argument , a dative argument , an infinitive complement , or a PP complement . There does not seem to be a clear distinction in meaning when these various arguments are used, but the data does suggest a difference between εὐδοκέω used with the luo form versus the aorist. Given what we have said about the meaning of εὐδοκέω and the meaning of luo and the aorist, this difference is understandable. The verb εὐδοκέω cannot necessarily refer to a positive emotion like delight does, but there are some contexts where this does seem to be the meaning. A positive emotion would be a state, and we have seen that the luo form combines easily with states, whereas the aorist does not. It would make sense for the luo form to normally select the positive emotion sense of εὐδοκέω. On the other hand, this verb usually does not refer to a state, but refers to an event of approving or accepting something where no positive state is entailed (though it may be inferred at times). Because the aorist would be the natural form to refer to an event with an endpoint, it is normally used for the approval sense of εὐδοκέω. Since the aorist is found in Mark 1:11, it is this sense that is most relevant for our passage.

Performatives across languages and in Greek

The philosopher J. L. Austin was the first to describe performatives, and his description of them involved two essential characteristics: 1) “they do not ‘describe’…anything at all,” i.e. they “are not ‘true or false;’” and 2) “the uttering of the sentence is, or is a part of, the doing of an action” (Austin 1975:5). Austin then provides several examples of performatives:

  1. a. ‘I do (sc. take this woman to be my lawful wedded wife)’—as uttered in the course of the marriage ceremony.
    b. ‘I name this ship the Queen Elizabeth’—as uttered when smashing the bottle against the stem.
    c. ‘I give and bequeath my watch to my brother’—as occurring in a will.
    d. ‘I bet you sixpence it will rain tomorrow.’

These examples could all be updated to be more intelligible to twenty-first century English speakers, but in each case, it is clear that the uttering of the sentence is not a statement being used to convey information. When a bride or groom utters “I do,” something happens, namely a commitment that changes the legal status of the individuals. By declaring the name of a previously unnamed object, the object’s name changes. By writing something in your will, ownership will change when the condition is met. By saying I bet you, a real offer is thereby made. In every case, the world is changed in some way by virtue of the sentence being uttered, and the person changing the world is the speaker. This implies that the speaker must meet the prerequisites for performing the action, such as being in the middle of a legal wedding ceremony (11a), having ownership over the ship (11b) or one’s inheritance (11c), or possessing the authority to make a bet (11d). Austin discusses these “felicity conditions” in detail (1975:13-15), but we might summarize them as requiring the speaker to possess the authority to perform the action through uttering it.

Not only do these sentences have similar kinds of effects on the world, but they also share several grammatical properties. First, the first word in each sentence is a pronoun in 1st person. If the speaker is the one who is doing something by virtue of uttering the sentence, this makes perfect sense. The speaker can only declare what he or she is doing as the utterance is made. Second, the verbs are all things that can be done by the subject, i.e. they are actions and not states and are also not physical actions. Performatives are not used with stative verbs like I am hereby tired or purely physical actions like I hereby touch you. Third, at least in English the adverb hereby is possible with performatives and signals to the hearer that the action described in the statement is being done by virtue of it being uttered. Fourth and finally, the verb form is always in the simple present.

The first and second grammatical properties should remain constant across languages because they are essential to the definition of what it means to be a performative and are not dependent upon language-specific features. However, other languages will, of course, have their own adverbs that signal the performative use (or may not have an adverb at all to signal it), and the verb form might also vary. Indeed, Fortuin’s study on performatives across 106 languages finds that there are only tendencies for which verbal forms are used, and “it is not possible to formulate simple and straightforward universally valid rules which predict the TA [tense-aspect marking] of performatives in a particular language” (2019:4). For our purposes, the primary issue is whether past tense morphemes can be used for true performatives. Near the end of a lengthy discussion of tense in performatives, Fortuin explains that some verb forms do indeed appear to be true past tenses (2019:25, 29):

This implies that performatives, which are expressed by verbs referring to dynamic events, should have a past time reference. Similarly, in many languages which employ a perfective performative the same form is used for a recent or immediate past (Kirundi, Luganda, Lucazi, Mian, Totonac). In my view, a speaker using such a form may very well be said to express both the idea of totality and the idea of completion at the moment of speech, implying that when the sentence is uttered the action is completed (i.e. past). This is also suggested by Amharic (Manahlot 1988: 626), where the imperfective, instead of the perfective seems to be used of the action has relevance past the moment of speech (e.g. in the case of ‘beg’), whereas the perfective is used in contexts where in the mind of the speaker the action has already been completed before the sentence is uttered (e.g. in the case of ‘decide’)…I therefore conclude that (with the exception of Old Russian and possibly Latin) the occurrence of perfective (past tense) or perfect performatives can be explained in terms of their aspectual-temporal meaning, which expresses an event as complete and therefore completed (i.e. performed) the moment the sentence is finished.

The data from Fortuin’s study suggests that a past-tense form is not semantically incompatible with performatives, even if we would never say I hereby named this ship the ‘Queen Elizabth’ in English.

Corien Bary’s study (2012) on the Ancient Greek tragic aorist investigates the Greek data from a semantics perspective and attempts to explain how a past-perfective form could be used for a performative. She notes that performatives can be found in both the present/luo form as well as the aorist. Her reasoning is that performatives should semantically require perfective aspect, since the entire situation is included in the time when the utterance takes place, but they should also be present tense because the action happens in the speaker’s present as the utterance is taking place. Since Greek lacks a present-perfective form, it has to accommodate by using either an imperfective-present form or a perfective-past form. Both strategies are employed, but the result is that there is a mismatch between the semantic value of the verb form and the meaning of the performative. There is certainly some merit to this argument. No language has a dedicated “performative” form, and languages will often “accommodate” to specific uses by using less than ideal forms instead of developing a form for each use (which would almost endlessly multiple forms). In this explanation, the past tense meaning of the aorist would be suppressed, or in Bary’s words, it is “not interpreted” (2012:48). Likewise, the imperfective interpretation of the luo form would not be interpreted when it is used as a performative.

Fortuin’s explanation differs in that a semantic explanation is given for past performatives. One thing that makes his analysis more attractive is that the cross-linguistic data would seem to require such an explanation even in the absence of the Greek data. Some languages use past-perfective forms for performatives, and this needs to be explained. Instead of revising our semantics of the past or not interpreting it (as Bary does), Fortuin suggests, with whom I agree, that we should revise our semantics of the performative. Performatives are not necessarily present. They are use with a present tense form in English, but this does not mean that they are incompatible with past tense forms in other tense and aspect systems. Indeed, the data suggest they are not. At least in some languages, performatives can be thought of as events that occur in the past in the sense that by the end of the utterance, the event is indeed in the past. With these considerations in mind as well as our analysis of εὐδοκέω, we are finally set up to interpret God’s statement to Jesus at his baptism.

The interpretation of εὐδόκησα in Mark 1:11 (and Matt 3:17; 7:5; Luke 3:22; 2 Pet 1:17)

The first hint that ἐν σοὶ εὐδόκησα in Mark 1:11 should be understood as a performative is the fact that the verb is in first person. This meets the first grammatical condition for being a performative. Second, we need the correct verb. This is where every English translation excludes the possibility of understanding the clause as a performative. Since performatives require something to happen by virtue of the utterance being made, we have said that they are incompatible with states where nothing happens. The predicates delight and be well pleased are both states, so they would exclude the performative reading in English. However, our analysis of εὐδοκέω showed that the verb only rarely maps onto states with a positive emotion, which the predicates delight and be well pleased would entail. In fact, the data unambiguously show that εὐδοκέω cannot entail a positive emotion, and when it is used with the aorist, it often refers to an action of acceptance or approval with no certain kind of emotion attached to it. While we can certainly infer that God has a positive emotion towards Jesus from the context (since he just called him ‘beloved’), it is not the verb εὐδόκησα that specifies this emotion.

Not only is ‘approve’ an event, but it is also the kind of event we need for a performative. In virtue of the utterance being made by the speaker, the argument of the verb would be ‘approved.’ The subject, God, also has the authority to make the pronouncement of Jesus’s approval and would affect something in the world by uttering such a statement. The surrounding crowd would recognize that Jesus would not just be someone whom God loved, but he would also be the individual approved and commission by God, marking the start of Jesus’s public ministry.

For all these reasons, the clause ἐν σοὶ εὐδόκησα is best understood as a performative, and this alters the meaning of the verse, at least compared to the typical English translations. God is not declaring that he delights in his Son—he is announcing his approval to his audience at the start of Jesus’s ministry. When the utterance is made, something happens in the world. Jesus becomes one approved by God to the crowd, and it is not coincidence that he then immediately starts his ministry (after being tempted in the wilderness). Having God’s stamp of approval and receiving it in front of John the Baptist and his followers, Jesus then sets out to preach and usher in the Kingdom of God. We conclude that God’s statement to Jesus should be understood as, “You are my beloved son. I approve you.”

Footnotes

1 This is not to suggest that all instances of εὐδοκέω in luo have this interpretation. A passage like EsdA 4:39 refers to habitual ‘approving’ of the deeds of truth. There is no emotion in this example, but there is a recognition that the deeds of personified truth are righteous.

2 Besides those listed above, the examples I consider to be unambiguous are Psa 146:10, 11; Sir 37:28; 2 Cor 5:8; Heb 10:38 (quote of Hab 2:4).

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What “atonement” ACTUALLY means in Hebrew https://biblingo.org/blog/what-atonement-actually-means-in-hebrew/ Fri, 18 Oct 2024 22:08:30 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15595

Did you know you can “make atonement” for inanimate objects in Hebrew?

That’s right, Leviticus 16:18 describes the “day of atonement” where the high priest should “make atonement” for the altar before the tabernacle. Right after it says the priest should make atonement for the altar, a ritual is described where the priest takes some of the blood of a sacrifice and puts it on the horns of the altar. After this, he sprinkles some blood on the altar itself, and then the text says that the altar will be clean and will be purified from the uncleanness of Israel. Given that this ritual immediately follows God’s command for the high priest to “atone” for the altar, it seems that the ritual is a description of how “atonement” is made.

I am tired of using scare quotes around atonement, so let me just explain what I think this Hebrew word actually means. I think it is best approximated by the English word ‘cover’ and not ‘atone.’ In reality, the verb כִּפֶּר does not mean ‘cover’ nor does it mean ‘atone.’ It means כִּפֶּר. Whatever English word we want to substitute for it will be an imperfect approximation of the word. This is not about כִּפֶּר being special, but it is about words not having one-to-one correspondences in other languages. But why is ‘cover’ a better approximation than ‘atone?’ Simply put, examples like Leviticus 16:18 don’t work for the English word ‘atone.’ The action of the priest covering the altar with blood explains the act referred to be כִּפֶּר. The English word ‘cover’ works well for this, but the word ‘atone’ requires an animate object, and it does not necessarily mean to physically cover something.

Other contexts suggest this same meaning. In Number 17:11-12 (which is Numbers 16:47-47 in English), Moses tells Aaron to run out amidst the people carrying incense. He then says וְכַּפֵּר עֲלֵיהֶם. Pretty much every English translation uses some form of the word ‘atone’ in their translation in this verse, but what if we used ‘cover’ instead? I would argue that this makes far more sense. Aaron brings the incense to create a physical barrier between the wrath of God that had broken out and the people themselves. In other words, he covers them with the incense. Once they are covered, they are protected. The word ‘atone’ also works in this context, since ‘atonement’ has to do with something wrong being made right, and the wrath of God being among the people is definitely something wrong. However, ‘cover’ arguably works better because it describes what Aaron is physically doing with the incense, and it certainly fits Leviticus 16:18 better. Whereas ‘cover’ fits well for both contexts, the word ‘atone’ only works for Numbers 17, and ‘cover’ still seems to be a more appropriate rendering.

But are there some contexts where ‘atone’ works and ‘cover’ does not? At first glance, a passage like Leviticus 4:26 would be one such context. It says וְכִפֶּ֨ר עָלָ֧יו הַכֹּהֵ֛ן מֵחַטָּאתוֹ֖ וְנִסְלַ֥ח לוֹֽ ‘the priest will cover/atone for him for his sin, and he will be forgiven.’ This verse is the conclusion of a ritual performed with a sacrifice. After the priest performs all his ritual duties, we get this verse that tells us the result of the sacrifice. Since something is being made right, ‘atone’ fits this context well. However, the phrase ‘cover for’ also makes sense. The priest covers for the sinner with the sacrifice. This is a common colloquial expression. If someone owes a debt, I can cover the payment for him. The result is that he will be debt-free. I suggest that this is exactly what is happening with the sacrificial system. Because of sin, some sort of reparation must be made. The priest sacrifices an animal in order to cover for the sinner, so that he or she no longer needs to make the requisite reparation. Even in this meaning, ‘cover’ works remarkably well.

Again, this is not to suggest that the Hebrew word כִּפֶּר means the same thing as the English word ‘cover.’ I will say it again: כִּפֶּר means כִּפֶּר. But if we are looking for an approximation in English, the word ‘cover’ works remarkably well. The word ‘atone’ only works in a limited number of contexts, and it is, therefore, sometimes misleading to translate כִּפֶּר as ‘atone’, even though this is the word chosen most often by most English translations.

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Tense, Aspect, and Aktionsart https://biblingo.org/blog/tense-aspect-and-aktionsart/ Tue, 15 Oct 2024 21:31:19 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15559 The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming Greek grammar textbook. I am sharing it now because of its relevance to my review of “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek” by Constantine Campbell.

Functional Morphemes Related to Verbs

When we introduced functional morphemes, we said that they help to situate the things that lexemes refer to in the world. Determiners do so by specifying how the entities in the world relate to the knowledge of the speaker and addressee. Tense and aspect situate eventualities temporally in the world. Modality and mood situate eventualities in the real world or in hypothetical worlds.

There is probably no topic that has caused a greater amount of confusion for both scholars and students than tense and aspect. While lack of space precludes a full discussion of all the views within NT scholarship on these semantic categories, it must be clearly said at the outset that tense and aspect are both temporal categories. More specifically, aspect is not spatial, and labelling it “perspectival” is also very misleading.1 There is no debate about this within linguistics, and I would refer any to the preface for a brief discussion of the problems with this view and its relationship to the wider world of linguistics.2 The second important thing for the student to remember is that Greek is not particularly special when it comes to aspect. Although tense is often viewed as a basic, easy-to-understand concept, aspect is often viewed as an ethereal category that Greek expresses in a special way. Statements like the following from Mathewson and Ballantine Emig (2016:113) are commonplace:

Though there is still some disagreement on the issue of whether Greek indicative verb tenses indicate time, our grammar will side with advocates of verbal aspect in the treatment of the Greek tense system. But one must at least agree with Robertson (824-25) that time is but a subordinate element in Greek verb tenses.
By way of contrast, the English tense system primarily indicates time (past, present, future). However, in a more limited way even English can indicate aspect. What is the difference between these two statements?

I studied Greek last night.
I was studying Greek last night.

Both refer to the same event, the act of studying Greek, and the same time, last night. The difference is one of aspect, how the speaker chooses to portray the action: as a simple whole (“studied”) or as in progress (“was studying”).

The suggestion by Mathewson and Ballantine Emig is that English expresses aspect “in a more limited way,” but the Greek verbal system, on the other hand, “primarily” indicates aspect. This, however, is a failure to recognize the complexity of English’s system, and at a deeper level, it reflects a misunderstanding of what aspect is. In fact, I know of no other language that can make as many aspectual distinctions as English. Not only can we say I studied Greek last night, but we can say I had studied Greek last night as well as I had been studying Greek last night (all of which are past tense and are distinguished based on aspect), and we can even make the same aspectual distinction in the future (which is much rarer in the world’s languages) with I will have been studying Greek tomorrow night. In contrast, the Greek system would allow for a similar three-way contrast between I studied/was studying/had studied, but it would not readily allow for I had been studying, and that three-way distinction is only found in the past tense in Greek. English has a four-way contrast in the past, present, and future. Suffice it to say, English’s aspectual system is tremendously complex. Although Greek has its own nuances and idiosyncrasies (like any other language), it is not particularly unique in the amount of aspects encoded in the verbal system.

With these caveats in mind, I present here the standard analyses of tense, aspect, and aktionsart in linguistics and apply them briefly to the verbal forms in NT Greek. This section is designed to help you understand the linguistic categories better. If you are interested in the full range of meaning of the forms and all their uses, I suggest going through each use of the forms in light of the definitions and categories developed here.

At the outset, we must note that the notional categories we introduce may map onto a particular language’s verbal forms only partially. For example, we might define the notional category of present tense as an overlap between the time when the utterance is made and when the eventuality takes place. This would require that each time the present tense is used in spoken or written text, the eventuality would hold at the time concurrent with the speaker. If we defined the present tense in this way, it does not tell us whether the Greek morpheme that we normally associate with present tense (the Luo or present form) refers to the same notional category. It may refer to a concept that is similar but not identical to the way we have defined the present tense. This is what I mean when I say that the notional category we introduce may only partially map onto Greek’s verbal forms. Given that the notional categories in linguistics have been developed based on the how the languages of the world operate, it is probably the case that some category has already been developed that fits the morphemes in Greek, but we may have to tweak our notional category in order to make it fit the data we find in NT Greek.

Tense

The term tense is used in a variety of ways. It is sometimes used to refer to a verb form, such as in the phrases present/imperfect/future tense forms. I do not use the term like this, and whenever I want to refer to a form, I will either use the term “verb form” or will refer to the form itself by its morphological shape, such as Luo (present), Eluon (imperfect), Luso (future), Leluka (perfect), or Aorist (since there are two “shapes” for this category, namely Elusa and Efagon; see for justification of this naming practice). In semantics, the term “tense” refers to the location of an eventuality in time. Because tense is how the speaker situates the eventuality in time, the prototypical case is when the time of the eventuality is related to the time of speaking. For example, if I say Laura ate pizza and watched “The Lord of the Rings” last night, the typical way to understand this is that the eventualities of Laura eating pizza and watching the greatest movie of all time occurred prior to when I initially made the utterance. In fact, we can be more specific about the time of these events—they did not just occur prior to when the utterance was made, but they happened at a specific time prior to the utterance, in this case specified by last night. Even if we were to take this adverbial phrase out however, we would still understand that the events of Laura eating pizza and watching LOTR happened at a specific time in the past. Context would usually make clear when exactly this event occurred. Thus, when we use a past tense verb form (like ate or watched), we are making a claim about what occurred at a particular time.

In discussing our sample sentence, we introduced distinct time periods or intervals. First, there was a time of speaking, or the time when the utterance was made. We will call this the Temporal Anchor (TA) because it provides the anchor to which other times are related. It is often, but not always, the time of speaking. Second, we said that there was a time when the eventuality took place. This we will call the Event(uality) Time (ET). It is when the eventuality took place (or will take place) in the real world. The astute reader will have also noticed that we discussed a third time interval. This is the time in which we are making a claim about the world, which we will call the Reference Time (RT). Tense, aspect, and aktionsart are all concerned with relationships between or properties of these three time intervals.3

In our description of the past tense, we said that the speaker makes a claim about the world at a certain time. Given this description, we can see that tense is not a relationship between the TA and when the event takes place (the ET), but it is a relationship between the TA and when the claim is made about the world (the RT). This is what tense does—it specifies the relationship between the speaker’s TA (often the speech time) and the RT, the time the speaker is referring to. More concretely, past tense says that the speaker is making a claim about a time prior to the TA, present tense says that the speaker is making a claim about a time that is concurrent with the TA, and future tense says that the speaker is making a claim about a time that follows the TA. These are all temporal relationships that can be depicted using temporal intervals/points.

Figure 1: Past Tense Meaning

Figure 2: Present Tense Meaning

Figure 3: Future Tense Meaning

The specific claim that is being made about the RT is that the ET is related to that time in some way (usually by being at least partially included in it). For example, in the simple sentence ἐδάκρυσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς ‘Jesus wept’ (Jn 11:35), John is making a claim about a specific time in the story, namely after Jesus is told to come and see Lazarus. This is when the event of Jesus weeping takes place, as depicted in the following diagram:

Figure 4: Narrative Progression Temporal Diagram

The purpose of this diagram is to show how the three time intervals/points of the TA, RT, and ET are related to one another within a text. Each of the events described in John 11:34-36, occurs in the past, i.e. they occur prior to the TA, the speaker’s time of writing. Hence, all of the RTs are depicted to the left of the TA. As the narrative progresses, a new claim is being made about a new time. This is the hallmark of narrative—temporal progression. The first event occurs prior to Jesus weeping when people tell Jesus to come and see where they laid Lazarus. This event, represented by the ET, happens at a specific time in the past, as indicated by the initial RT. The event of Jesus weeping occurs after the time when people initially speak to Jesus, so a new RT (given in the middle) begins with this event. The final RT overlaps with the time when others start to say something else. In each case, a claim is being made about a specific RT. That is what tense is—it relates the TA to the RT, the time to which the ET is related (on which, more below).

With the description of tense we have given, we can provide a basic analysis of even some of the more difficult uses of the various tenses in Greek. The Luo form, which encodes present tense, is by far the most problematic. It is not, however, particularly special when it comes to present tenses, which are notorious for being used to refer to all kinds of times besides the speaker’s current speech time (see Klein 2009 for many examples of this in English). We have already said that this definition of tense is too narrow and cannot account for the data—the TA is not limited to the time when the utterance is made. As soon as we recognize this however, we can account for so-called counterexamples to the Luo form being a present tense. The historical present is a classic example and is found in many languages with a present tense (including English):

  1. ἔρχεται Ἰησοῦς καὶ λαμβάνει τὸν ἄρτον καὶ δίδωσιν αὐτοῖς
    ‘Jesus comes and takes the bread and gives (it) to them.’ (Jn 21:13)

If the TA can shift to the time of the story itself when a story is being told, the Luo verbs ἔρχεται, λαμβάνει, and δίδωσιν are all still true presents in this example. The TA itself is set in the past at the time of the story, so the time of the claim (the RT) overlaps with the TA, which is how we have depicted present tense in . As is commonly supposed, this is probably done by the speaker in order to present the story to the hearer as actively unfolding. Given that this is a phenomenon found in a variety of languages and that it is the standard analysis in the semantics literature, we need not belabor this point.4

In other cases, the present tense is used, but a shifting TA does not seem to be the best explanation. This is particularly true of examples where the event referred to by the verb is in the future, even though the present tense is used. These have been called “futurates” (Copley 2009:###), and an example is found in Luke 19:8:

  1. ἰδοὺ τὰ ἡμίσιά μου τῶν ὑπαρχόντων, κύριε, τοῖς πτωχοῖς δίδωμι
    ‘Behold, half of my possessions, lord, I am giving to the poor.’

In this example, Zacchaeus is not in the midst of giving anything to the poor. He is in the midst of talking to Jesus. However, the present tense is used (and it can be used in English as well in the same scenario). The reason the present tense can be used is because Zacchaeus has already decided that he is giving half of his possessions to the poor. Because the decision is the first stage in the event, we can use the present tense for events that have already been decided or scheduled to occur in the future. In other words, we are not shifting the TA in examples like these (it is still the time of utterance), but we are shifting the RT and including the ET in that time, namely in the speaker’s present. The futurate use of the present portrays the event as already having begun because it has, in some sense, actually begun insofar as the decision to engage in a volitional action is itself part of the action.

It may be asked, what makes the kinds of analyses we have given for the historical present better than simply saying that the present tense is not a tense at all? There are two main reasons for this. First, these uses are found in many other languages with verbs that refer to present time.5 Given this, there is almost certainly something about the notional category of the present tense that allows humans from diverse cultures, times, and languages to use present tense forms in the same way. Second, both the historical present and futurates are only found in specific contexts. This suggests that there is some meaning component in these contexts that is allowing or triggering these uses. For the historical present, this is narrative progression. There is something about telling a story that allows for the TA to shift, and we have already suggested a plausible answer: the speaker may use the present tense to immerse the addressee in the time of the story itself to draw attention to certain parts of the story. For futurates, the eventuality is scheduled or decided. The relevant meaning component here is the volitionality of the subject. Because futurates refer to events that happen in the future but have already been scheduled or decided, they imply that a volitional subject (a subject who can make decisions) is involved in the event. This predicts that if a volitional agent is not involved or the event cannot be planned, this use is not possible. Indeed, Copley (2008:261) notes that while the sentence The Red Sox play the Yankees tomorrow is fine, the unplannable event referred to in #The Red Sox defeat the Yankees tomorrow is not acceptable. Examples from NT Greek conform to this pattern.6 For these two reasons, we conclude that the present tense in Greek is a true present tense—we simply must adjust our notional category of what the present tense is from the overly simplistic definition of the event happening at the same time the utterance is made.7

For many in NT Greek grammatical studies, tense has fallen out of vogue.8 However, what has often been rejected is an overly simplistic definition of tense that no one in the field of linguistics would hold to in the first place, namely one that relates the time of speaking to the time of the eventuality (e.g. see Campbell 2024:28). Once we allow for a more nuanced definition of tense, the “problems” with the luo and aorist forms as real tenses disappear. Besides the historical present, we have explained several supposed counterexamples to the aorist being a true tense in other sections (##). Thus, we affirm that the Greek verb forms do indeed encode tense, rightly understood, in the indicative mood. Each of the form’s tense values can be seen in the following chart:

Past Present Future
Aorist, Eluon (imperfect), Lelukein (pluperfect) Luo (present), Leluka (perfect) Luso (future)

Table: Tense values of Greek verbs

Aspect

Aspect is often informally described as the way that the speaker views the eventuality. This “viewing” of the eventuality is not spatial or physical—it is not as if the speaker uses aspect to describe whether he or she physically witnessed the event or is a certain distance away from it. Rather, the language of viewing is used as a metaphor for temporality: the speaker’s “viewing” refers to which temporal part(s) of the eventuality are being referenced (again, see my review of Campbell’s Basics of Verbal Aspect at Biblingo.org/blog for a more detailed discussion).

This sort of description implicitly makes reference to two time intervals, similarly to how tense made reference to two time intervals. First, there is the interval of the eventuality itself. We have called this the Eventuality Time, or ET. In an event of building a Lego house, there is a starting point, when the pieces are everywhere, and an endpoint, when the pieces have been assembled. Events and states of all kinds start and stop at various times, and the duration of the eventuality is a fact about the world and has nothing to do with how the speaker views it.9 The second interval is the time that the speaker is referring to, which we have called the Reference Time, or RT. If it takes me an entire afternoon to build a Lego house with my son, I may want to refer to only part of the time that we were building, so I may say We were building a Lego house when a meteor struck our car. In this example, I am referencing a time that does not include the end of the building-a-Lego-house event. We were in the midst of doing it when something else happened. The progressive form be + –ing is used in such an example to refer to part of the building-a-Lego-house event, a part that does not include the end of that event. In other words, only part of the ET is included in the RT. Hence, aspect is fundamentally a relationship between these two temporal intervals, one which the speaker chooses (the RT) and one which is a fact about the world (the ET).

Utilizing this definition of aspect, we can provide simple definitions of the various aspects discussed in the literature. Just as the various tenses (past, present, and future) were the three possible relationships between the TA and the RT (RT before, during, and after TA), so the aspects are simply the logically possible relationships between the RT and the ET. At the outset, we note a complicating factor that we did not encounter with the tense relationships. The TA is ordinarily a point in time rather than an interval (the “moment of speaking” is normally a single moment), so it cannot extend beyond the RT. However, both eventualities and times that we talk about can be either points or intervals. Some eventualities, such as building a Lego house, last hours rather than a single moment in time, and we can just as easily refer to intervals of time (as in for 2 hours) as points of time (as in at 3 O’clock). Because the ET and RT can both be points or intervals, it is possible for either the ET to extend beyond the RT or the RT to extend beyond the ET. These time relations represent the basic distinction between imperfective and perfective aspect: imperfective is when the ET extends beyond the RT, and perfective is when the ET is included in the RT, as depicted in the diagrams.

Figure 5: Perfective aspect diagram

Figure 6: Imperfective aspect diagram

These diagrams depict particular interpretations of an eventuality. The ET is above the timeline and is depicted as being a time interval that represents the duration of a race. When we want to include the end of the race in the time interval we are talking about, we would say Nick ran the race. The normal interpretation of this sentence is that Nick finished running the race, so it is odd to say ?Nick ran the race but didn’t finish. When we want to exclude the end of the race in the time interval we are talking about, we would say Nick was running the race. The normal interpretation of this sentence is that Nick only ran part of the race, so it is not odd to say Nick was running the race, but didn’t finish (because he got tired). For events that have a natural endpoint (like running-a-race events), the perfective includes that endpoint, and the imperfective does not.

Another logical relationship would be when the ET precedes the RT. This is the basic definition of perfect aspect, as found in the sentence Nick has run the race. In this example at least, the end of the ET precedes the RT, so we can conclude (just like with perfective aspect) that Nick finished the race (again, it is odd to say ?Nick has run the race but didn’t finish). With the perfect, this means that we are talking about a time that follows the end of the time of the eventuality. We will nuance this below, but the following diagram depicts the basic temporal relationship of perfect aspect:

Figure 7: Perfect aspect diagram

Of course, the final possible temporal relationship is where the ET would follow the RT. This has been called prospective aspect. In English, this meaning is conveyed with would as in a sentence like Nick said he would run the race. The time being discussed here is in the past (as indicated by the past tense would), but the time of Nick running the race comes after that time. This means that the ET follows the RT. Once again, we can depict this temporal relationship graphically:

Figure 8: Prospective aspect diagram

In Greek, there is no single morpheme that attaches to the verb that conveys this meaning (and English, also, uses the separate word would). To convey this meaning, Greek may use ἄν (e.g. 1 Cor 2:8; see ## for more on the meaning of ἄν) or future participles or infinitives (e.g. Jn 6:64; see ##). Other languages might have a true prospective aspect where the meaning represented in is encoded in a verbal form (Karuk and Tlingit are two such languages this has been proposed for). However, this brings us back to a crucial point. All of the tenses as well as aspects that we have discussed are logical relationships between temporal intervals or points, and these relationships need not necessarily be encoded by a single morpheme in a given language. The diagrams represent interpretations or readings of verb forms and not necessarily the meaning encoded by the forms. In some cases, the notional category may line up with a morpheme in a language, as we have suggested for tense with the Luo form (present tense) and the Aorist (past tense). In reality, it would be more parsimonious for a language system not to include a morpheme for every possible temporal relationship. Instead of having a specific morpheme encode for past, present, and future, some languages, for example, only have a past and non-past. This is not to say that in these languages speakers cannot or do not distinguish between eventualities that happen in the present and those that happen in the future. These interpretations are, of course, available in every language. They simply may use other means, such as adverbs (e.g. later), modal markers (e.g. will), or the nature of the eventuality to distinguish between present and future time (e.g. perfective readings disprefer the present). In such languages, we cannot speak of a strict future tense, i.e. a morpheme that encodes the meaning found in the diagram above. Rather, that notional category is conveyed by a combination of morphemes.

The contrast between perfective and imperfective is often similarly indicated in many languages, including in Greek. Whereas perfective aspect seems to be marked by the aorist, imperfective aspect has no marking. From a morphological standpoint, this is a matter of fact: the aorist ἔνευσα has the -σ- that is found throughout the system as a perfective marker, and the corresponding imperfective is not marked at all. This marking is not merely a phonological difference, however. The aorist seems to require that a temporal boundary of the ET is included in the RT (see ##). What is often called the imperfective forms, on the other hand (the Luo and Eluon forms or the “present” stem), has no such requirement, but moreover, it does not require that the ET extend beyond the RT. In other words, it does not actually encode imperfective aspect (at least as represented by ), as the following example demonstrates where a boundary is included in the RT (repeated from above):

  1. ἔρχεται Ἰησοῦς καὶ λαμβάνει τὸν ἄρτον καὶ δίδωσιν αὐτοῖς
    ‘Jesus comes and takes the bread and gives (it) to them.’ (Jn 21:13)

In another chapter, we said that this was an example of the historical present, and we gave further justification for this analysis above. Elsewhere, we also said that this was an example of a culminating interpretation. Jesus is not described as being in the midst of coming and taking the bread and giving it to his disciples—the narrative presents these events as happening in succession and each as ending one after the other. Narrative progression is one of the hallmarks of a perfective interpretation. In other words, this is a perfective interpretation of the Luo form.

The above examples show that the notional category of imperfective aspect is not expressed in Greek with a particular morpheme, at least if we define imperfective in the way that we have done (with the ET extending beyond the RT). We are again left with a conundrum—do we abandon the imperfective analysis of the Luo form, or do we revise our definition of imperfective? There is reason to again take the latter route in this case, just as we did for the present tense. In a language like English, we do not mark perfective aspect, but we do seem to mark what we called “imperfective” aspect above. The sentence Nick was running the race forces us to view only part of the event. Notice, that was running adds an additional morpheme, namely be + –ing (this form is normally called a progressive rather than imperfective). Koine Greek does the opposite. Instead of adding an additional morpheme for the imperfective-like meaning, an additional morpheme, namely -σ-, is added for the perfective meaning. Indeed, we have said that the aorist always includes a temporal boundary, but the counterpart form, Eluon, may also include a temporal boundary but need not. Indeed, aspectologist Daniel Altshuler (2014:739) defines imperfective aspect in precisely this way when he says that imperfective aspect “requires a stage of an event…but this stage need not be maximal” (italics original). This allows the imperfective to have a culminating interpretation when the event being described has only one “stage” (a technical term in Altshuler’s theory whose technical definition need not concern us here). Defining imperfective in this way accounts for the distribution of the Luo and Eluon forms in Greek: they are interpreted identically to the perfective aorist in some contexts, but these are limited to certain verb classes, and they also may receive the opposite interpretation, namely with the ET extending beyond the RT. The Luo and Eluon forms are imperfective in Altshuler’s sense in that they are only require a stage of an event and this stage need not be maximal, but they are not imperfective in the sense that the required interpretation is that the ET extends beyond the RT (the semantics of which better reflects the English progressive form).10

Before concluding this section, it is worth fleshing out the differences between the English and Greek aspectual systems. While the English progressive (be + –ing) cannot refer to a temporal boundary, the Greek aorist necessarily refers to a temporal boundary, and both languages have forms in the middle (namely the English simple past, –ed, and the Greek Eluon) that may or may not refer to a temporal boundary. Because of how the different systems mark temporal boundaries, there will not be a one-to-one relationship between any of the forms. The imperfective forms in Greek, namely Luo and Eluon, may map onto either the progressive or the simple past/present tenses. In contrast, the aorist may map onto the simple past tense, but the prediction is that it will not map onto the English progressive form. The following diagram shows the relationships between the forms in the two languages (with the dotted ET in the middle diagram representing a possible imperfective interpretation).

Figure 9: Comparison between Greek’s and English’s Aspectual Systems

The diagram superficially suggests a tighter relationship between the Greek luo form and the English simple past than we find in the data. While there is overlap between the two, luo is often interpreted like a progressive, and the English simple past is often interpreted like a perfective. This is, I suggest, due to what the two imperfective forms are contrasted with. In the Greek system, the imperfective is contrasted with a form that requires a temporal boundary. The imperfective, then, is the only form that can be interpreted with no temporal boundary, so it often receives a progressive-like interpretation. In contrast, the English system has an imperfective contrasted with a progressive. Because the progressive cannot refer to a temporal boundary, the imperfective is the only form that can, so it often receives a perfective-like interpretation. This not only explains the occasional overlap between the Greek luo/eluon and English simple present/past, but it also explains the frequent opposite distribution, despite both forms having the same meaning.

Besides the imperfective/perfective distinction, Greek’s Leluka form also allows for a variety of readings. However, these readings are best explained in light of how certain verbal predicates combine with the form, which brings us to the category of aktionsart.

Aktionsart

Thus far, we have discussed tense and aspect as relationships between the TA, ET, and RT. We mentioned briefly that the TA is normally a point in time, namely the moment of speaking, and the RT can be either a point or an interval, since we can talk about what happened at 5 PM or between 4-5 PM. The ET is fundamentally different from the TA and the RT because eventualities have more diverse properties besides being a point or an interval. Even the distinction between an event and state, which is how we defined the term eventuality, is not about length of time—it is about the nature of what is going on during a certain time. This is encoded in the nature of the verb itself, and it interacts with the grammar in significant ways, as demonstrated by the following examples:

  1. a. *I am knowing Greek.
    b. I am learning Greek.

It has long been noticed that the English progressive form does not combine with some types of states in a straightforward way (though as with everything else, this has been nuanced in various ways). Such facts about how verbs interact with grammatical aspect have led to the classification of verbs into categories with different features. This is what aktionsart is—it describes the properties of verbal descriptions of eventualities.11 The basic classification of eventualities goes back to the philosopher Zeno Vendler (1957) who came up with the following system:

Table: Aktionsart values from Vendler (1957)

Class Durative Telic Dynamic
State +
Activity + +
Accomplishment + + +
Achievement + +

Linguists have since modified these classes in various ways, and we cannot begin to survey all the current theories in linguistics.12 However, there are two foundational elements to aktionsart that are crucial for interpretation. First, although verbs themselves do indeed have certain properties, the nature of the eventuality that the verb refers to is also affected by the argument(s) that the verb combines with. The following contrast illustrates this:

  1. a. We built a Lego house in 2 hours/*for 2 hours.
    b. We built Lego houses *in 2 hours/for 2 hours.

The only difference between the two sentences in is the object. In (a), the object of built is a Lego house with a singular noun and an indefinite article. In (b), we have the bare plural Lego houses, i.e. a plural without an article. While the sentence in (a) naturally combines with an in-adverbial, such as in 2 hours, it is odd to have it combine with a for-adverbial, as in for 2 hours. The opposite holds for the (b) sentence with the bare plural. This and other similar facts have led linguists to speak of aktionsart as a property of the entire predicate (the verb and its arguments) rather than a property of the verb alone.13

Before coming to how all of this is relevant for Greek, one more foundational concept must be discussed. Since we have defined aspect as the relationship between the ET and the RT, we should expect that changing the ET could affect the aspectual interpretation of the clause—indeed, this is the case. This is clearly seen in the five readings of the perfect, as discussed in Kiparsky (2000:###) and to which we return below in discussion of the Greek Leluka form. Clauses in the perfect can have different interpretations, and certain interpretations are made possible or more or less salient depending on the nature of the predicate. One interpretation, for example, is the universal perfect. In this interpretation of the perfect, a state started in the past and continues to hold in the present moment, as illustrated in :

  1. Lydia has lived in Philippi for seven years, and indeed she still lives there.

Notice that this reading of the perfect requires a state, such as live. If we change the verb to an event like visit as in Lydia has visited Philippi, the universal perfect reading is no longer possible, since visit is not a state that can hold in the present. If we take out the length of the state so that we only have Lydia has lived in Philippi, we again lose the universal perfect interpretation. What this illustrates is that the interpretation of the perfect aspect is sensitive to the kinds of predicates that it combines with.

And this brings us to the Greek Leluka form. There are all kinds of definitions given for Leluka, and it is often called “exegetically significant.” Because some scholars have different views of what aspect is (see fn. 71), the task of trying to figure out what everyone is saying is quite daunting. As we point out below, the common definition of “past action with continuing results” only describes a particular interpretation of the form, and it has created a tremendous amount of confusion. Rather than bog down the reader with the various scholarly discussions, we point out here some of the common errors made in exegesis with the Leluka form that need to be corrected, and we show how the aktionsart of the predicate can help us to predict the interpretation of the form.14

Statements like the following on the “significance” of Leluka are commonplace: “and the perfect tense emphasizing that a decisive act has already taken place which has proved to be the eschatological turning point in the history of salvation” (Dunn, Romans:165). Dunn is here commenting on πεφανέρωται in Rom 3:21. My point here is simple: the perfect does not “emphasize” that a “decisive act” has taken place; it contributes a temporal relationship. With this particular verb, the perfect is used to refer to the result state of the event of revealing. Given that it is the righteousness of God that has been revealed in Rom 3:21, it is indeed a significant thing that has been revealed, but the perfect could just as easily be used in a sentence like ὁ ἄρτος πεφανέρωται where a loaf of bread has been revealed at a dinner table. This need not be a “decisive act,” and the perfect in a sentence like this just means that the bread is now in the state of being visible and was not so before the event occurred. The point here is that the perfect is not particularly special. Sometimes it is used in significant contexts. Other times it is not—just like every other verbal form.

In linguistics, the perfect continues to generate debate about how precisely to characterize the temporal relationship it encodes. Part of the reason for this is that perfects across languages have different ranges of meaning. Like most areas of grammar, the English perfect (represented by the have + –en form) has received the most attention, and there have been 3 primary readings of the perfect that have been noted: the result perfect, the universal perfect, and the existential perfect.15 Returning to our example with Lydia, the sentence Lydia has visited Philippi is ambiguous between the result perfect reading and the existential reading. If I am in Philippi and excited about seeing Lydia who I know has just come, I might utter the sentence Lydia has visited Philippi meaning that she is now in Philippi. This is the result perfect reading where Lydia is in the result state of having visited a place, i.e. she is in that place. In another context, the existential reading is salient. If I am talking to someone in Ephesus about all the places Lydia has visited in Greece, I might say Lydia has visited Philippi meaning she has visited the city at some point in the past. This is the existential reading where an event occurred that is relevant to the current discussion, but there is no natural result state of the event that holds in the present moment. As we have said, the universal perfect reading is demonstrated by Lydia has lived in Philippi for seven years (and indeed, she still lives there). This represents a past state that continues to hold in the present.

The Greek perfect has all three of these readings in addition to two other readings that are marginal at best in English. Discussions of each of the individual readings can be found in the following sections: result , existential , universal , stative , perfective . For convenience, examples from each of the sections are given here as well:

  1. Result perfect
    ἰδοὺ τὸ ἄριστόν μου ἡτοίμακα
    ‘Look, I have prepared my dinner.’ (Matt 22:4)
  2. Existential perfect
    ἑωράκαμεν τὸν κύριον
    ‘We have seen the lord.’ (Jn 20:25)
  3. Universal perfect
    τί ὧδε ἑστήκατε ὅλην τὴν ἡμέραν ἀργοί;
    ‘Why have you stood here all day idle?’ (Matt 20:6)
  4. Stative perfect
    οἶδα ὅτι Μεσσίας ἔρχεται ὁ λεγόμενος χριστός
    ‘I know that the Messiah is coming, the one called the Christ.’ (Jn 4:25)
  5. Perfective
    καὶ ἦλθεν καὶ εἴληφεν ἐκ τῆς δεξιᾶς τοῦ καθημένου ἐπὶ τοῦ θρόνου
    ‘And he went and took from the right hand of the one sitting on the throne.’ (Rev 5:7)

Each of the readings of the perfect, except for the perfective, have the same basic temporal structure. At least part of the eventuality named by the verb precedes the RT. In the result perfect, the verb refers to a state-event combination where the event causes the state. Once the dinner has been prepared in Matt 22:4, it is in the state of being ‘ready.’ In the existential perfect, the verb names an event or state that is not related to another event or state. The RT follows the eventuality but does not refer to an event or state connected with that eventuality. The verb ὁράω ‘see’ does not have any consequent state naturally connected to it. Saying you have seen something simply means that you have engaged in that event at some point prior to the time under discussion, and this event of seeing is relevant in some way to the current discussion, as it is in Jn 20:25. In the universal perfect, the state holds prior to the RT and extends into the RT itself. The lazy fieldworkers in Matt 20:6 were standing there idle all day, and when they are rebuked, they are still standing there idle (until they go into the field in the next verse). In the stative perfect, the verb names a state that implies a prior event. The woman at the well in John 4:25 knows that the Messiah is coming, implying that she learned that at some point prior to her knowledge.16 Temporal diagrams showing temporal precedence can depict each of these readings:

Figure 10: Result Perfect Temporal Structure

Figure 11: Existential Perfect Temporal Structure

Figure 12: Universal Perfect Temporal Structure

Figure 13: Stative Perfect Temporal Structure

The final reading of the Leluka form, namely the perfective, differs in that an analysis where the ET precedes the RT does not work. (It is, however, similar to the existential perfect in that there need be no natural consequent state to the eventuality the verb refers to.) In Rev 5:7, the Leluka form follows an aorist and seems to be the next event in a sequence of events, a typical function of perfective forms. Again, this is where our notional categories are not lining up with the meaning encoded by a particular verbal form in a language. This is the challenge of doing semantics. Notably, the perfective reading seems to be a recent development. It is only found rarely in the NT, and in later periods of Koine, the Leluka form will merge with the aorist and more regularly express the perfective reading.17 In other works (Grasso: forthcoming), I have provided a semantic explanation and extensive discussion on the meaning of the Biblical Hebrew Qatal form, and I have suggested that the Greek Leluka form essentially has the same meaning. Those interested can find more discussion there. What remains is to summarize how the interpretations of Leluka interact with different kinds of verbal predicates. These are given in the following chart:

Aktionsart of predicate
Result Perfect [+ Telic]
Existential Perfect Any eventuality
Universal Perfect [+ Stative] [+ Duration specified]
Stative Perfect [+ Stative]
Perfective [+ Event]

The purpose of this chart is to show how aktionsart and aspect interact to produce a given interpretation. The result perfect is, by definition, a state that holds on account of a prior event. Thus, this interpretation requires a [+ Telic] aktionsart for the predicate because the result of the event needs to be specified, it being explicitly referred to in the interpretation. The existential perfect is unique in that it does not place any particular demands on the kinds of predicate, though eventive verbs will normally receive the existential interpretation (particularly because the perfective reading is not common in Koine). The universal reading requires a state, but it also requires the duration of the state to be explicitly given. The stative perfect requires a stative predicate, and the perfective requires an eventive predicate. It must be noted that it is rarely the case that you can determine the interpretation from the nature of the predicate alone. The chart provided helps you to rule out certain interpretations, but it never tells you how to interpret any given instance of the perfect. A predicate that is [+ Telic], for example, might be a result perfect, but it could also be an existential or even (rarely) a perfective. Likewise, even a stative predicate with the duration specified could be an existential, universal, or stative perfect. You cannot, therefore, conclude that a certain aktionsart value will always lead to a particular interpretation, but the chart can help you to narrow down the options.

This discussion has barely scratched the surface of tense and aspect studies in linguistics. It is not without reason that Kai von Fintel describes the semantics of tense and aspect (along with determiners and quantifiers) as the “bread and butter of working semanticists” (1995:177-178). Two final words of caution are then needed. First, do not equate verbal forms with pragmatic functions like “importance” or “emphasis.” They refer to temporal relationships; their “exegetical significance” should not be overplayed. Second, do not jump to conclusions. The reason why working semanticists make a living off of analyzing tense and aspect is because it is complicated. Our analyses are almost always incomplete, and our descriptions can almost always be refined more accurately.

Footnotes

1 Porter calls aspect fundamentally “perspectival” and says that there is agreement on it with NT studies: “it is also commonly agreed [between Porter, Campbell, and Fanning] that verbal aspect is perspectival in nature, that is, that it is concerned with a grammatical means of enshrining authorial perspectives on processes…Verbal aspect is not itself a temporal or a spatial/locational category, even if it is related to them…” (2020:109). Campbell emphasizes that aspect is “spatial” rather than “perspectival” and again says that there is agreement on this within NT Greek grammatical studies: “There are other areas of agreement as well: Aspect is defined as viewpoint, which is a spatial rather than temporal concept” (emphasis original; Campbell 2024:26). That the scholars who have written most about aspect in NT studies do not define aspect as would be taught in any introductory semantics class shows the widespread confusion on this issue. Semanticists do not debate about what aspect is fundamentally—it is temporal.

2 For a sampling of important works within linguistics that define aspect temporally as well as a critique of Campbell/Porter’s position on aspect, see Biblingo’s blog and podcast series reviewing Campbell’s Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek.

3 In linguistics, there are two sets of terminologies floating around that essentially refer to the same time intervals. The (neo)-Reichenbachian system uses the terms Speech Time (ST), Reference Time (RT), and Event Time (ET). The (neo)-Kleinian system uses the terms Time of Utterance (TU), Topic Time (TT), and Time of Situation (TSit), which correspond to the same three temporal intervals. In later work, Klein replaces TU with Temporal Anchor (TA; ###), recognizing that the TA is not always the same as the TU/ST. I follow this distinction here, though I adopt the Reichenbachian terms for the other times because they are more common and seem to be slightly easier to understand for students.

4 For a recent discussion where copious references can be found to how this has been treated in the semantics literature, see Pancheva & Zubizarreta (2023:8-11).

5 Give examples and references ###

6 Give a spattering of examples ###

7 This is not to say that all who reject the Luo form as a true present tense have the wrong definition of tense. A notable exception is Olsen (1995). She says that neither Luo nor the Aorist are true tenses, and she presents about a dozen examples that are supposed to show that the tense analysis is untenable (1995:279-290). However, all of her examples have logical semantic explanations. To illustrate, she notes that over 50% of the Luo verbs with past reference are verbs of speaking, most being λέγω. The fact that a particular verb class is far more common than others for past reference suggests that there is some meaning component in verbs of speaking that allows it to be used in those contexts more readily. Indeed, verbs of speaking like λέγω are commonly use as complementizers to content (Bassel 2022), and when they do so, their tense value may be bleached (wals.info/chapter/128). Verbs of speaking are also unique syntactically in English. Just as we cannot conclude that English has no default word order because of examples like ‘That’s not correct,’ said Sylvia (where said Sylvia is VS order, and English normally defaults to SV), so we cannot conclude that the Luo form is not a true present tense if there is a particular verb class that behaves differently. Space precludes going through all the other kinds of examples, but none are surprising given how present tense forms are used across languages (again see Pancheva & Zubizarreta 2023 for a discussion).

8 For a recent introduction to the debate, see Campbell’s (2024) excursus More Tense Discussion.

9 Of course, eventualities are themselves linguistically defined. While the length of a building house event is a fact about the world, that we can even speak of the length of time it takes to build a house is dependent upon what we mean by build a house.

10 Even those that have temporal definitions of aspect within NT studies typically do not distinguish the imperfective and progressive meanings and, therefore, cannot account for the culminating interpretations of the imperfective forms in their semantics. For example, Thomson’s (2016) important contribution in The Greek Verb Revisited presents imperfective aspect as if it required the ET to extend beyond the RT. If we define the notional category of imperfective aspect in this way, the Luo and Eluon forms are not imperfective aspect. The problem is that in the literature, the term “imperfective” is often used for the interpretation of ET extending beyond RT, but it is also used to refer to forms that do not necessarily always have that interpretation.

11 Some within NT Greek grammatical studies talk about aktionsart as if it is the interpretation of a clause or what happens in the actual world (Campbell 2024). Again, this is not how the term is used in linguistics. For how the term is used in linguistics, see Kroeger’s Analyzing Meaning (2022:376-82) or any other introductory semantics textbook.

12 For an introduction of some of the issues today, see Filip (2012: Oxford Handbook).

13 In syntactic terms, we could speak of the verb (V) and the verb phrase (VP). Aktionsart is a property of VPs, even though the verb itself is, of course, the central part of determining the nature of the VP.

14 For a lucid discussion of many of the issues in the field as well as a description using the standard linguistics definition of aspect, see Crellin (2016: Greek verb revisited).

15 Two other readings of the perfect are often given. First, the recent past reading in a sentence like The cubs have won the World Series is often noted. This is usually subsumed under the result perfect or existential perfect. The other reading, which is marginal in English, is the present stative reading in a sentence like I’ve got five dollars in my pocket. This interpretation only seems possible with the cliticized –‘ve form, and I do not know if it is possible with verbs besides get. Because of this limited distribution in English, the pure state reading has received little attention in the literature.

16 This analysis of the pure stative reading suggests that it is only states that imply prior events that work with this reading. Another analysis would be to say that the pure state reading is the original meaning of the perfect, and the other uses arose from non-states beginning to combine with the form. For the implementation of such an analysis, see Grasso (forthcoming).

17 For discussion of why this happens and the implications, see Moser (2016:550-554) and Horrocks (2010:176-178).

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A Review of Campbell’s “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek” (Full Series) https://biblingo.org/blog/verbal-aspect-review/ Tue, 15 Oct 2024 19:47:19 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15490

The Aspect Saga

Kevin’s complete deep dive into the textbook “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek, 2nd Edition” by Dr. Constantine Campbell. All related resources are linked below.

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A Review of Campbell’s “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek” (Chapters 10-11 & Appendix) https://biblingo.org/blog/verbal-aspect-review-ch10-11/ Mon, 14 Oct 2024 21:56:08 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15469

Chapters 10-11

Once again, this is longer than I intended, so I will treat the last two chapters of the book briefly before discussing the final appendix on Campbell’s review of The Greek Verb Revisited. If you have followed what I have said so far, you can probably see for yourself where I might critique the last two chapters. I want to make two final points to wrap things up. First, there are several places in the book where English is compared to Greek, and English is found lacking in some feature that Greek has. For example, Campbell begins his section on the subjunctive mood with the following statement: “Students of Greek often have difficulty working out what meaningful difference there is between aorist and present subjunctives. This is especially the case when we are taught to translate both as I might loose or some variation of this gloss. If both subjunctives translate this way, why did Greek authors choose one over the other? Why does the language need more than one tense-form in the subjunctive mood? The simplest answer is that sometimes languages make distinctions that other languages do not.”

Now, there is much in this statement that is correct. It is certainly true that different languages make different distinctions. However, what I want to point out is that English actually can make aspectual distinctions when the modal verb ‘might’ is used. We can say either ‘I might loose’ or ‘I might be loosing’ or ‘I might have loosed’ or ‘I might have been loosing.’ These four different ways of expressing the possibility of loosing are all aspectual distinctions.

We have already said that English’s aspectual system is indeed different from Greek, but we should not be surprised that Greek can make aspectual distinctions in the subjunctive mood. I am sure Ancient Greeks would have been bewildered by the four different aspectual forms that can all combine with the several different modal forms we have in modern English! Our system is different, but it is certainly not less complex–if anything, it is more. I say this to draw attention to the fact that we have to be more self-reflective about our own language. I am sure Campbell has used the ‘might have been doing’ combination in his own use of English. I am certainly not suggesting he is bad at using English, but analysis is a different animal. It is much harder to be self-reflective about our own language use, but this would greatly help us in our analysis of other languages, such as Greek. The historical present is another case in point. If English, as well as language after language, has the same construction, we should not be surprised if Greek does, but we should also then carefully consider the best way the Greek historical present maps onto English. Since English does have this use of the present and it is arguably used to signal a very similar meaning, we should try to reflect this in our translation, and indeed, many times we can if we are thinking critically about how our own language works.

Finally, I want to briefly go back to the principle of compositionality that I mentioned in the beginning of this video. The principle says that the meaning of a complex expression is equivalent to the meaning of its component parts and how they combine. Campbell himself used the four-box method to try to determine the meaning of a complex expression, and I said that this is indeed the correct way to go about it, even if Campbell’s equations were incorrect. When Campbell comes to the non-indicative forms in chapters 10-11, he does not define each of the different categories he treats, and he says that the four-box method is no longer relevant. It seems unclear to me whether he thinks such a method simply does not work for the non-indicative moods or if he omits the four boxes only for the “sake of simplicity” (which he does mention). Regardless, I propose that thinking compositionally about the meaning is indeed still the correct way to go about the analysis.

So when we come to the non-indicative forms in chapters 10-11, we would ideally want to see clear definitions for each of the other meaning components, and then we can see how these meaning components combine with the different aspects. For example, we need a definition of the subjunctive. When we combine the meaning of the subjunctive with the meaning of the aorist with the meaning of the particular verb, we should get the meaning of that subjunctive aorist verb. Campbell nowhere provides a meaning for the subjunctive, infinitive, imperative, or participle. I understand that this is an introductory book, so the definition may need to be simplified, but it still needs to be given. We need to know what these things are in order to analyze them. Only in having such a definition can we evaluate whether the theory can make the correct predictions. This is what we are trying to do in semantic analysis: provide a meaning for each morpheme in a sentence that would correctly predict the meaning of a novel sentence. What makes this complex is that there are a lot of different meaning components that we need to take into account, and it is sometimes difficult to know which meaning components are relevant. We saw this in our discussion of the conative use of the imperfect. That interpretation was only present with certain kinds of verbs, namely achievements, with certain kinds of subjects, namely animate, and we gave reasons why achievement predicates and animate subjects were necessary conditions for that interpretation. Even something like the animacy of the subject can affect the temporal structure of the event being referred to. Language is indeed complex, and the complexity demands our humility. This is evident to all who have ventured into the world of natural language semantics.

Appendix: The Greek Verb Revisited Revisited

Finally, we come to the appendix where Campbell treats the Greek Verb Revisited. As I said for Campbell’s review of the field of Greek grammatical studies in chapter 2, I do not want to just evaluate Campbell’s evaluation of others, and I am not here to defend one side against the other. However, Campbell does make a few points about linguistics that I want to touch on briefly (if you have stuck with me this far, I promise it will be brief).

First, Campbell applauds the volume’s “common embrace of a cognitive approach.” I am not against cognitive linguistics per se, but it is odd that a cognitive approach would be applauded about a book on the verbal system of a language when it is formal semanticists, not cognitive semanticists, that have done the most work on tense and aspect markers. Since Campbell is endorsing a cognitive linguistics approach as do the authors of the “Greek Verb Revisited,” this comment applies to both parties. Within biblical studies, cognitive linguistics is often treated like the dominant, dare I say the only, linguistic paradigm. Again, this is a failure to read the linguistics literature itself. Generative grammar and formal semantics dominate linguistics worldwide. If you Google the best linguistics universities in the world, you will consistently find Stanford, Harvard, and MIT at the top. All of these programs are dominated by formal semanticists and syntacticians, and it is scholars in the formal approaches that have done the most work on tense and aspect. There is a reason why Kai Von Fintel, linguist at MIT, says that tense and aspect are the “bread and butter of the working semanticist.” It’s because these are the kinds of things they obsess over. They have given us all the nuanced definitions of tense and aspect that are operative today. If we could describe the main areas of study in both cognitive semantics and formal semantics, the former would be primarily concerned with the meaning of lexical items, and the latter would be primarily concerned with grammatical items. If you know the field, you know that there is more to it than this, but that would be the basic split. Tense and aspect markers are grammatical. That is the main domain of formal semanticists. Some such scholars are cited in certain papers in the Greek Verb Revisited, so I am not addressing everyone who wrote those papers, nor am I only addressing Campbell who is applauding the cognitive approach. My point here is more to address the broader issue within biblical studies that the field of linguistics is often simply misunderstood. If an outsider to the field of theology and biblical studies looked at how scholars used Hebrew, but they only read the scholars who were New Testament theologians, they would get a very skewed view of the field. Hebrew is not their thing. Likewise, if you read only scholars working in cognitive linguistics and try to build your definition of tense and aspect off of these scholars alone, you are going to get a skewed view of the field. I will demonstrate this shortly with a real issue that Campbell brings up.

Before this, I do want to touch on some of Campbell’s claims in section 3 of the appendix entitled “The Hegemony of Linguistics.” In this section, Campbell essentially argues that linguistics has something to offer, but Greek grammarians may disagree with them and be correct. This is true. One of the reasons why I have gone through the data in these reviews is that our theories are indeed about how we interpret the data. In theory, Greek scholars may all disagree with linguists about how to define tense and aspect, and they may have a better reading of the data. I have tried to show that this, however, is false. The field of linguistics offers us better tools to understand the data. However, more is being claimed in this section. Campbell says things about the field of linguistics that are false. He says, “Besides, we [Porter, Fanning, and Campbell] are not naively unaware of alternate definitions of aspect, as found in Bernard Comrie and others. Instead, our understanding of aspect as viewpoint is consistent with the history of the discussion, both within and outside Greek studies. Comrie in 1975 stepped away from that trajectory by analyzing aspect in temporal terms.” The great irony of this statement is that Comrie is himself not a semanticist. He is a typologist. Typologists generally answer the question, “What do a large swath of languages do,” rather than the question of the semanticist, “What exactly does this mean,” and certainly not the narrower question of the aspectologist, “What exactly do aspect markers mean?” He was not breaking new ground with his theory of aspect in 1976, as suggested by Campbell. Again, Campbell makes an incorrect statement about linguistics here with zero citations.

Robert Binnick’s book, Time and the Verb, does provide us with the historical context of Comrie’s book on aspect (to which he pays only moderate attention because, again, though I recommend Comrie’s little book on aspect for beginners, he is himself not a semanticist). He gives the most thorough historical treatment of tense and aspect studies, beginning with the ancient Greeks leading all the way up to the early 1990s (when the book was written). Regarding ancient grammarians, he says, “The Stoics are generally considered…to have essentially originated the Varronian theory, and to have observed an aspectual distinction (complete vs. incomplete action) crosscutting the purely temporal one of past and present.” It is debated whether the Stoic theory has its roots in Dionysius Thrax, the famous 2nd century BC Greek grammarian, but regardless, it seems as though at least some ancient Greek grammarians were aware of aspectual distinctions. They also did not define it spatially but as essentially temporal, that is, it had to do with whether the action was viewed as complete or not. An incomplete event is, of course, reference to just part of the event. A complete event is reference to the whole event. This is not to say that the Stoics had the same aspectual theory as the modern field of aspectology, but they certainly said nothing about it being spatial, and you can see the roots of the modern theory in the Stoic-Varronian theory. Binnick also has a section on classical Greek grammarians and their view of aspect, to which I would refer you if you are interested in the history of the field, particularly placed in the context of the wider world of linguistics. 

Book cover of Elements of Symbolic Logic by Hans Reichenbach
Elements of Symbolic Logic by Hans Reichenbach

The most influential modern scholar who clarified and formalized the temporal concept of aspect is almost certainly the 20th century German philosopher Hans Reichenbach whose terms Speech Time, Reference Time, and Event Time are still in use today from his 1947 work “Elements of Symbolic Logic.”

Campbell’s discussion throughout this section simply fails to grapple with the linguistics literature, though claims about that literature are repeatedly made (again, without citations). It is true that, theoretically, New Testament Greek scholars might be correct, and all the aspectologists and typologists, all those making a living off of determining what aspect is and how it is encoded in the world’s languages, might be wrong. However, as I have tried to demonstrate, the linguistic theories are not just better because they are from linguistics. They are better because they account for the data. But the deeper issue is that Campbell does not cite any semanticists working on aspect in his entire book. The problem is that it does indeed seem that he is unacquainted with the people working on aspect in the linguistics world, and he misrepresents the field of linguistics to the world of biblical studies.

And so we come to our last discussion in, again, what has been a very long review. Campbell uses Langacker in support of his view of tense. In discussing Langacker’s view of tense, he says, “While Langacker retains the terms present-tense/past-tense for English, he says, ‘their fundamental semantic characterization pertains to epistemic distance.’ Now that sounds like a solution! And guess what–it is also the solution I have put forward with respect to Greek!” This discussion is about the problem of the past tense being used for counterfactual descriptions in Greek. In fact, this is common in a number of languages, including English, which is what Langacker is talking about. Campbell says that he is trying to say the same thing. If this is all that Campbell was trying to say with his “remoteness” terminology, I would happily agree with him. However, in Campbell’s discussion of the aorist form and the feature of remoteness, he never once mentions the counterfactual reading in chapter 3. The only example he gave in the chapter was Mark 1:11 where he discusses the verdict coming “from heaven.” Again, I do not know how to interpret Campbell’s description of this other than to say it is spatial, which is incorrect. He also talked about the aorist “covering a lot of ground” and presenting events as “less detailed.” In his list of uses of the aorist in chapter 8, Campbell does not even give counterfactual as an option, though he does say that the aorist can be present and future. 

Again, the issue here is that the linguist Langacker is not saying what Campbell is saying he is saying. In the formal semantics literature, the Greek scholar Sabine Iatridou, a semantics professor from MIT, has worked on this problem in her article “The Grammatical Ingredients of Counterfactuality.” She essentially claims that, indeed, what we call the past tense morpheme is really not a past tense morpheme in the strict sense but is a morpheme that refers to an “exclusion feature.” The basic idea is that the morpheme -ed in English excludes something. Sometimes, the thing excluded is the topic time from the time of the speaker. This yields a past tense interpretation, since to exclude the time being discussed from the present time is to exclude it from the present moment. The counterfactual reading is treated in a very similar way except that we are no longer discussing times but possible worlds, which is the standard way of analyzing modals in semantics. In a counterfactual context, the world where the sentence is true is excluded from the world of the speaker, which is to say that the speaker considers the event description to be false. This unifies both uses of the past tense, so that we can have a single meaning, [+EXCLUSION], that accounts for all of its uses.

Iatridou in this article makes more precise Langacker’s intuitions and builds on similar ideas, but neither scholar says anything about aspect being spatial or remoteness in level of detail. Their analysis is not the same as what Campbell said.

This is how semantics is done today. We take the data, make a hypothesis about the meaning of a morpheme to cover all the data, and refine our hypothesis and meaning based on more data. We are always trying to come up with theories that account for the data as best as possible. There has been a TON of progress on this in a wide variety of domains within linguistics. Tense and aspect have been some of the most heavily researched domains, and much progress has been made. Campbell fails to take into account all the advances that have been made in the field of linguistics. Ultimately, this led to incorrect analyses. What is equally troubling is that Greek students would have a warped view of the linguistics world from Campbell’s book, a world which we can learn immensely from and which has already worked out many of the grammatical problems students of Biblical Greek have questions about. This has led to complaints that I have heard innumerable times about the field of linguistics having confusing terminology and being in a general state of disagreement. As someone who has benefited tremendously from semanticists, particularly in my exegesis of the Bible, I find this extremely unfortunate. I hope that through these videos, students and scholars start to see the value of the precision and clarity found in linguistics. There is no other field that provides us with more helpful tools for analyzing meaning than the field of semantics. Ultimately, our ability to articulate the meaning of words is inextricably linked to our exegesis of God’s Word.

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A Review of Campbell’s “Basics of Verbal Aspect in Biblical Greek” (Chapter 7-9) https://biblingo.org/blog/verbal-aspect-review-ch7-9/ Mon, 14 Oct 2024 21:48:43 +0000 https://biblingo.org/?p=15377

Chapters 7-9

Chapters 7-9 in Campbell’s book are all very similar. The basic structure of each chapter is to go through the uses of each of the forms and provide a sort of formula for how to get to the use by combining the semantics of the verbal lexeme with the semantics of the verbal form to get the interpretation. We will not go through every example, but I have picked uses from the imperfect, perfect, and present forms in order to demonstrate how to think through the issue of interpretation as a linguist would. As I said in my review of part 1, the details matter. We go into detail on a few passages in order to contrast Campbell’s analysis with that of modern linguistics. The three forms we discuss will demonstrate three linguistic or interpretive principles, namely compositionality, not reading meaning into the text, and mapping Greek onto English or another language, or in other words, translation.

Again, it is important to clarify terms before we begin. Campbell has 4 boxes in the examples. He has semantics, lexeme, context, and aktionsart. Adding the first 3 is supposed to give you the fourth box, namely aktionsart.

In linguistics, we would do something similar, but we would call the lexeme box aktionsart or lexical aspect, and the semantics box is really the semantics of the verbal form (which would include viewpoint/grammatical aspect and tense among potentially other categories). The context would be taken into consideration, but it would be done in a more systematic way.

The question with the context is, again, what does it actually refer to. We would want to be very specific about which meaningful elements in the context are affecting the interpretation of the form and why they are doing so.

Let me say at the outset that I think Campbell’s approach here is correct. He is basically treating the semantics of the verbal forms like a math problem. If you add the semantics of the verbal form to the semantics of the predicate and also add whatever else is relevant in the context, you should end up with the correct interpretation. This seems to be Campell implicitly supporting the foundational idea of compositionality in semantics, which the mathematician-philosopher Gottlob Frege first articulated and applied to natural language in the late 1800s and early 1900s. The idea of compositionality is that the meaning of a complex expression is equivalent to the meaning of the individual parts and how they combine. 

Let’s illustrate with a simple example. A word like ‘dogs’ is a complex expression in that it is made up of two morphemes, or meaningful elements. There is the word ‘dog’ plus the plural morpheme ‘-s’. The way we determine the meaning of this complex expression is by taking the meaning of ‘dog’ and combining it with the meaning of the ‘-s’, which yields more than one canine in this case.

What makes compositionality so powerful is that it allows us to predict the meaning of a new complex expression. For example, you might not know what a flabbit is, but when I say the complex expression ‘flabbits’, you know that there are more than one of whatever flabbit might refer to. This prediction comes from the idea of compositionality. By assigning a value to each individual morpheme and by combining morphemes in similar ways, we can determine the value of new complex expressions. Again, this is a foundational semantic concept that I think Campbell gets essentially correct, though he does not spell out the principle itself. Obviously, this idea gets much, much more complex, but without compositionality at some level, language would not work.

Some within New Testament studies don’t like to view language this way, so again, I think it is all the more important that Campbell’s method is affirmed here. As an anecdote, I remember Nijay Gupta’s response to a tweet Matt Bates made about my Pistis Christou paper when it first came out. He said something like language is not a math formula. Look, I have nothing against Nijay, but this does fly in the face of everyone working in the field of formal semantics. There is a reason why the best semanticists in the world often work at MIT or have their PhD from there. In many ways, language really is just a very complex math problem. 

Now, I do not have an issue with the fact that Campbell is doing math, but with his equations. This brings us to the first verbal form to be discussed in this section, namely the imperfect and the conative use. We already gave the example from Mark 15:23 where Jesus is unsuccessfully “given” wine mixed with myrrh. Campbell lists this as a “conative” imperfect, or one that was not accomplished. We said that, indeed, that is the meaning here. This interpretation is generally accepted. Wallace lists the same verse in his grammar, Kostenberger, Merkle, and Plummer list the same verse in their intermediate grammar, and if there was another intermediate grammar in my vicinity at the moment, they would probably agree as well. And this is why I think many people struggle to find value in yet more discussions of the verbal system. If we all agree on the interpretation, what are we still doing talking about the meaning of verbs?

The utility in talking about how we got to the interpretation is that it allows us to predict the meaning in novel or debated contexts. This is the principle of compositionality in action, and it is where Campbell’s formulas matter. Everyone agrees that Mark 15:23 is a failed giving attempt (it explicitly says Jesus didn’t take the wine), but how can we predict this meaning in other, less clear contexts and not read the meaning into wrong contexts? Campbell’s formula for the conative interpretation is as follows: Imperfective aspect and Remoteness in verbal form + non-stative lexeme + attempt unsuccessful in context = Conative aktionsart.

Campbell defines imperfective aspect spatially. He has said that imperfective aspect gives a more detailed view of the event, while remoteness gives supplemental information. According to the equation, this can combine with any non-stative lexeme and yield the attempt unsuccessful interpretation. Notice in Campbell’s equation that he essentially gives the correct interpretation in the context box. What he calls the “aktionsart”, in this case “conative”, is really just the technical name for the interpretation he already supplies in the context. So basically, when the context denies that an action took place, the attempt was unsuccessful. This is rather obvious. The question that Campbell inadequately answers is how adding a form that gives a more detailed view of supplemental information to a non-stative lexeme would allow for this interpretation in the first place. In other words, it is not clear how all the things on the left side of the equation would add up to a conative interpretation other than the very obvious fact that if something in the context explicitly denies that the action took place, it didn’t take place. Our question is why this particular predicate and verbal form allow for what would otherwise be a contradiction. Why is the imperfect form used for this interpretation and not the aorist?

Our semantics of each of the elements in the sentence does explain this. The imperfective form specifies that one stage of the event took place. We know from languages like English that it is possible to refer to a pre-stage of an event with forms like the progressive, particularly when there is an intentional agent involved in the event. We already saw this in the sentence “Rhoda was arriving at platform 9 and 3 quarters” where the only stage of the event did not actually hold. The progressive, therefore, must only refer to a pre-stage of the actual event itself.

The verb δίδωμι only has one stage, namely the transference of possession. In Mark 15:23, the pre-stage of this event is referred to, and this satisfies the requirement we have given for the imperfective, which requires a single stage. The pre-stage here is the subject’s attempt to give the wine. We will come back to why this particular event description allows reference to a pre-stage momentarily, but the possibility of referring to a pre-stage is why the imperfective is not contradictory and why the aorist would be contradictory. The imperfective can refer to this pre-stage, but the aorist cannot, since it requires the endpoint of the event to have been reached.

In other words, this offers an explanation for how we arrived at the actual interpretation. An imperfective form requiring one stage + a verb that has one stage but allows for reference to a pre-stage = a possible reference to the pre-stage of that event. In other words, a possible failed attempt of the event itself.

Since the next line specifies that the event did indeed fail, that is the correct interpretation.

This analysis predicts that this interpretation is only available where a pre-stage of the event is possible. Work by linguist Fabienne Martin has shown that agentivity is the key meaning component required for reference to the pre-stage of an event in uses like the conative. A quick look at the data seems to suggest that this is indeed the case. All of Campbell’s examples as well as all of Wallace’s examples as well as all of Kostenberger, Merkle, and Plummer’s examples involve an animate subject. Why would an agentive human subject allow for this pre-stage use? When the subject is a person, that person can think about engaging in an event or attempt to engage in an event and fail. Reference to this pre-stage is not possible with inanimate subjects because they do not think about engaging in events and cannot attempt actions. Again, the Greek data reflects this. The imperfect of δίδωμι is found with inanimate subjects in the New Testament, but it never receives the conative interpretation where only the pre-stage of the event is referred to. For example, in the parable of the sower, it says that some seeds ἐδίδου καρπόν, ὃ μὲν ἑκατόν, ὃ δὲ ἑξήκοντα, ὃ δὲ τριάκοντα ‘produced fruit, some one a hundred-fold, some sixty, and some thirty.’

Notice, this statement entails that some fruit was actually produced by the seed. The conative interpretation of a failed event is impossible. When the imperfect is used in this context with an inanimate subject, the conative interpretation cannot hold. Our analysis predicts this.

This deep dive into one particular interpretation contrasts Campbell’s equation with how linguists would analyze this and illustrates the importance of the principle of compositionality. Whereas Campbell says that adding something spatial to a transitive verb might equal a possible failed attempt, we have given a real explanation for what is going on. A failed attempt is just reference to a pre-stage of the event actually taking place. We have given the conditions for reference to a pre-stage: an event with an animate subject. We have said there is only one verbal form that does not require the end of the event to be reached in Greek, and that is the imperfect. Thus, we predict that this interpretation is available for the imperfect form (and not for the aorist) when the pre-stage of the event is present based on the conditions we have given for it. If we are unable to infer from the context that the end of the event has been reached, we may interpret it as a failed attempt.

All of that is just to demonstrate how compositionality works with a real example. Of course, we cannot do this with every example Campbell gives in these three chapters, but honestly, we do not really have to. We have already said that his equations are necessarily wrong because aspectual forms are not spatial. We showed that in detail in part 1, and we have shown how his equation does not work with the conative interpretation. Before getting to the perfect and present forms and how their examples demonstrate the principles we are discussing, I want to give a high-level overview of the set of interpretations that Campbell gives as options for each of the forms.

As I mentioned earlier, everyone agrees that there is such a thing as a conative interpretation of the imperfect, and everyone agrees for the most part on the verses that serve as good examples. But there is even more agreement than this. Despite Campbell giving a rather novel theory (rejecting temporality completely from the semantics of the verbal forms), he has more or less the same set of interpretations as everyone else for the verbal forms. And they are all temporal. For the present form, he gives progressive, stative, iterative, gnomic, and historical present. All of these are temporal interpretations: the progressive is a dynamic event happening during the reference time, the stative is a state holding during the reference time, an iterative is a series of punctual events occurring during the reference time, the gnomic is an event that occurs regularly during the reference time, and the historical present is when the temporal anchor has shifted to a past time in the story.

Likewise the interpretations given for the imperfect are all temporal, namely the progressive, stative, ingressive, iterative, and conative. We have already defined progressive, stative, and iterative temporally, and the only difference with the imperfect is that they are in the past. The ingressive refers to the initial temporal boundary of an event, and we have said that the conative refers to the pre-stage of an event.

We could do the same for all the other interpretations of the verb forms. My main point here is simple–if one side of Campbell’s equations, namely the interpretation, is necessarily a temporal value, then the other side must also be a temporal value. That’s what an equation is. It says that two distinct sets of values are equal even though they might be arranged differently. But we cannot jump categories. If the interpretation is always temporal, as Campbell’s interpretive categories suggest, then the things that lead to that interpretation must be temporal.

This brings us to our second main point here. Once we have defined a verb form, it is easy to read that meaning category back into the data.

I see this happen all the time with the imperfect form. People wrongly think that it is just like the English progressive, and they try to force an interpretation that would reflect that. However, as we explained in part 1, the imperfect is not equivalent to the English progressive, so that initial categorization is incorrect, and it would be wrong to read in the meaning of the English progressive into every Greek imperfect. Campbell does the same thing with the Greek perfect, which he calls an imperfective. He has wrongly called the perfect an imperfective, and he wrongly equates the imperfective with a progressive in English. He then claims that there is a “progressive” use of the perfect. Again, this is where the categories and definitions matter because they are being read into the data. Campbell lists the following verses as examples of the progressive perfect: Mark 7:37; John 17:6; Acts 21:28; 25:11; 1 Cor 7:15; 2 Tim 4:7; Jer 1:12. None of these should be understood as a progressive which Campbell defines (rightly) as a process or an action in progress. Let us briefly consider three of these examples. I do not cover them all for the sake of time, but after going through several, you can hopefully see how the others would be treated.

In Mark 7:37, a crowd exclaims a`bout Jesus that καλῶς πάντα πεποίηκεν, καὶ τοὺς κωφοὺς ποιεῖ ἀκούειν καὶ τοὺς ἀλάλους λαλεῖν. Campbell translates the initial perfect πεποίηκεν as ‘He does everything well’, which in English would really not be a progressive interpretation but a habitual.

Campbell does not explain why this would be a progressive, but it seems to be the following clause which gives the thing that Jesus does habitually, namely heal different kinds of people. However, the crowd is responding to a healing. It makes far more sense to interpret this perfect form as perfect aspect. There was a past event that was relevant to this present statement. The crowd claims that all the things Jesus has done, he has done well. They then make a general statement about what he does based on what he has done: he makes both the deaf hear and the mute speak. This general statement does not mean he is in the process of doing these things. It means he has the characteristic of doing these things. The perfect is a recognition that he has just done them.

In John 17:6, we have the perfect τετήρηκαν in καὶ τὸν λόγον σου τετήρηκαν. Again, Campbell translates this with the simple present in English ‘and they keep your word.’ Just like Mark 7:37, this translation does not reflect a progressive interpretation, but a habitual in English. Jesus’s disciples, whom he is praying for, habitually keep his word, at least according to Campbell’s translation.

But again, the perfect interpretation, translated ‘they have kept your word’ is best here. Two verses later, Jesus speaks of his words which he gave to them and which they received, both clearly referring to past events. Moreover, it says that they believed that Jesus was sent by God. In context, then, Jesus is talking about things that disciples have done leading up to this moment. They are not currently keeping God’s word as Jesus is praying (which would be the progressive reading). They have kept his word in the past, and this is relevant now in Jesus’s prayer.

Finally, 2 Timothy 4:7 is one where Campbell actually does translate the perfect forms as progressives. The verse says, τὸν καλὸν ἀγῶνα ἠγώνισμαι, τὸν δρόμον τετέλεκα, τὴν πίστιν τετήρηκα, which he translates as ‘I am fighting the good fight, I am finishing the race, I am keeping the faith.’

Again, no explanation is given here, but the assumption is that Campbell interprets these clauses as a progressive because Paul has not actually fought the fight completely or finished the race or kept the faith for his whole life. He is still alive. However, this misunderstands Paul and does not adequately consider the meaning of the previous verse in which Paul says καὶ ὁ καιρὸς τῆς ἀναλύσεώς μου ἐφέστηκεν ‘and the moment of my departure has become imminent.’ The point is that Paul’s fight is effectively over. He thinks he is about to die. There is no more fight left. There is no more race to run. The faith has been kept throughout his life as a follower of the Messiah. The progressive interpretation would suggest that Paul still has more fighting left to do and his race is not effectively over, but he has said in the previous verse that he is already being poured out as a drink offering. The point of using the perfect forms here is to signal that Paul does indeed view his race as over. He has done everything he has been called to do. His time to die is now here. There is nothing left for him to do. The perfect gives you that meaning precisely. The progressive gives you the wrong interpretation. It says that Paul is still running the race and is not about to die. Once again, the traditional perfect offers a better explanation here.

My point in bringing up these examples is that it is easy for scholars (myself included) to read our definitions of the verbal forms into potentially ambiguous examples. Campbell calls the perfect form an imperfective. He equates the imperfective with the English progressive. He knows that the English progressive has a use where it refers to a dynamic event in progress, so logically, the perfect form should have this use as well under his system. This meaning is then read into contexts. This is where the meaning we ascribe to the verbal forms actually makes an interpretive difference. Either Paul is saying that he has finished the race, or he is saying that he is in the middle of the race, but he is not saying both. My claim is that Campbell has interpreted Paul wrongly here because of his theory about the perfect. I demonstrated at length in my review of the first part of Campbell’s book that the temporal definition of the perfect as referring to an event or state that precedes the reference time best accounts for the data. It also best accounts for these verses as well which Campbell says should be understood as progressives.

Our third and final point for chapters 7 to 9 is how to map Greek onto English, and we will use the historical present as our test case.

Campbell says that there are basically two different types of historical presents: “those that introduce discourse and those that employ lexemes of propulsion.” I suggest that these two categories, which we will refine, should receive two different explanations, and Campbell also gives two different explanations. For verbs of speaking, he says “historical presents that introduce discourse utilize the present tense-form because they are leading into a proximate-imperfective context (discourse). In such cases, the proximate-imperfective nature of discourse “spills over” to the verb that introduces it.” Of course, the biggest problem with this is when the aorist form εἶπεν is used with no “spill-over” effect. In other words, there are plenty of cases where discourse is introduced by an aorist form, so these would be left unexplained, or at least it is not clear when you would have a present form and when you should have an aorist. For example, John 18:25 says of Peter ἠρνήσατο ἐκεῖνος καὶ εἶπεν· οὐκ εἰμί ‘He denied it and said, ‘I am not.’ The aorist verb εἶπεν is immediately followed by discourse in this example, so if there was ever a context where we should expect spill-over, it would be here.

I suggest a different reason why the verb λέγω ‘say’ is used with the present tense form to introduce direct discourse. First, the fact that it is only λέγω that is consistently used like this and not other verbs of speaking, such as λαλέω, suggests that there is something going on with the verb λέγω and not the present tense form itself. This leads into my suggestion: λέγω may be used as essentially a complementizer to introduce a complement clause, similar to the word ‘that’.

In a number of other languages, the equivalent to the verb ‘say’ comes to mean something very similar to a quotation marker. Biblical Hebrew is actually one such language where either וַיּאֹמֶר or לֵאמֹר can both introduce direct speech following another verb of speaking.

The way we know that the verb has become a quotation marker and has lost its original meaning is that the verb can follow itself. In Numbers 7:4, for example, we have וַיּאֹמֶר יְהוָה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר where the initial verb ‘said’ precedes the infinitive ‘to say’. A translation of every single morpheme literally would be ‘Adonai said to Moses to say.’ The reason why this is not redundant is that the final ‘to say’ no longer means ‘to say’. It is just a quote marker.

In Biblical Hebrew, the verb וַיּאֹמֶר can also have this function of introducing direct speech. An example like 2 Kings 18:28 says וַיְדַבֵּר וַיֹּאמֶר ‘he spoke, he said.’ Again, the ‘he said’ here is simply introducing the quote that follows.

When you look at the Septuagint of a verse like Numbers 7 :4, we have καὶ εἶπεν κύριος πρὸς Μωυσῆν λέγων where the participle λέγων is again redundant. This is essentially equivalent to what we have in Matthew 22:1 which says εἶπεν ἐν παραβολαῖς αὐτοῖς λέγων. The point here is that we see the New Testament authors using λέγων as equivalent to a quotation marker, just as we saw in Hebrew with לֵאמֹר and as we find in the LXX.

The parallels go deeper, however. The present form λέγει often translates the past tense form וַיּאֹמֶר in Hebrew, which we have already said can also be equivalent to a quotation marker. Indeed, λέγει is used in a very similar way in the New Testament in a verse like Luke 13:8 where it says ὁ δὲ ἀποκριθεὶς λέγει αὐτῷ ‘But answering him, he says.”

In English, we do not need the final ‘he says.’ We can just say ‘But he answered him’ followed by the quotation marks that introduce the quote. In both Greek and Hebrew, the verb ‘say’ is often used to introduce the quote. Crucially, however, the verb in such contexts is no longer functioning as a verb. It is not giving you the time when the event took place, but it is simply introducing a quote. In semantics, we would call this semantic bleaching. One meaning component of the original verb has been lost when it has taken on another function, namely to introduce direct speech. The point here is simple: the verb λέγω is not an argument against the present tense being a true present tense. That specific verb has lost its original tense meaning, but that does not mean that the present tense itself has changed its meaning.

Let me clarify what I am saying and what I am not saying at this point. In both Greek and Hebrew, ‘say’ verbs are reanalyzed as complementizers. It could be the case that Hebrew is influencing the Greek of the New Testament authors at this point, but it need not. My friend Noa Bassel from Hebrew University has shown that say-verbs become complementizers in a number of unrelated languages, including Marathi, Dakkhini, Hindi-Urdu, Oriya, and others.

 

In other words, this is a known phenomenon across many languages, and there is a reason for it (you can check out her work for the reason). It should come as no surprise, then, that Biblical Greek and Hebrew do the same thing. Whether or not we have Hebrew influence here really does not matter. The data suggests that semantic bleaching for a certain verb is the best explanation, and the fact that this is found in a number of other unrelated languages confirms this.

Campbell says that the other class of verbs where we have the historical present is with “verbs of propulsion.” This, I argue, is simply not correct. There are clear examples of historical present verbs that cannot fit into the category of “verbs of propulsion”, which Campbell defines as “verbs that convey transition–movement from one point to another.” One example is the verb βλέπει as found in Luke 24:12, which says Ὁ δὲ Πέτρος ἀναστὰς ἔδραμεν ἐπὶ τὸ μνημεῖον καὶ παρακύψας βλέπει τὰ ὀθόνια μόνα ‘But after Peter got up, he ran to the tomb, and stooping down, he sees only linen clothes.’

Because of examples like these, Campbell’s explanation of the historical present (which necessarily makes reference to a transition) cannot be correct. In my review of part 1, we suggested a different explanation for the historical present–the temporal anchor shifts to the time that is being talked about, namely the reference time. This means that the present tense has its normal meaning, since the temporal anchor and the reference time overlap. This temporal explanation also explains the meaning difference between a normal past tense form and the historical present. When a historical present is used, the speaker’s “now” moves to the time of the story itself. The narrator essentially brings the addressee with him or her back to the time when the event actually took place, and this shift in time is what gives the historical present its “vivid” nature. The addressee is now placed at the time of the event and is, in this sense, watching the events unfold. This is the reason why significant events are often placed in the historical present. Luke 24:12 is one such example. By bringing the reader back to the time when Peter sees only the clothes, Luke draws attention to this event in particular.

Campbell says that the historical present should normally be translated as a simple past, but I suggest that this is incorrect. We have the historical present in English as well, and we can just as easily use it to highlight certain events in the narrative. It is true that the verb λέγω should often receive a past tense translation or no translation at all, but this is because, as we have said, it is the verb λέγω that has a unique meaning and not the present tense. Hence, these are not true examples of historical presents. When we do have true historical presents, it is normally best to translate them as that–historical presents. This draws attention to the parts of the story that the author is drawing attention to. 

In going into detail on a few points in this section, I hope I have shown that the details matter. The nuances in translation affect our interpretation, and our analyses of the verbal forms affect the nuances we see in translation.

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