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6. Handbücher zur
Sprach- und Kommunikations-
wissenschaft
Handbooks of Linguistics
and Communication Science
Manuels de linguistique et
des sciences de communication
Mitbegründet von Gerold Ungeheuer
Mitherausgegeben (1985−2001) von Hugo Steger
Herausgegeben von / Edited by / Edités par
Herbert Ernst Wiegand
Band 42.1
De Gruyter Mouton
7. Syntax −
Theory and Analysis
An International Handbook
Volume 1
Edited by
Tibor Kiss
Artemis Alexiadou
De Gruyter Mouton
9. This handbook is dedicated to the memory of our dear friend
Ursula Kleinhenz (1965−2010).
The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long.
11. Preface
When our friend Ursula Kleinhenz approached us during the annual meeting of the
German Linguistic Society (DGfS) in Mainz in 2004, it was not to piece together the
events of the previous evening. Being without the benefit of a screenwriter and a director,
we usually had to figure out the events from the nebula of a hangover ourselves (but we
never woke up next to a tiger). Ursula was just as hilarious as she was professional and
could switch between these personas just as easily as she could be both simultaneously.
If any consolation can be found in her premature death, it is only because her life was
as intense as that of two others. Ursula’s proposal was that we should edit the syntax
handbook in the HSK series. Like other handbooks in the series, the syntax handbook
had a predecessor (published in 1993 and 1995), but Ursula (and de Gruyter) thought
that it was about time to take a fresh look. Presumably, she also had a deeper insight in
the process of conceiving, compiling, and editing such a handbook. Perhaps she could
even foresee how much time would pass until the idea became a published book.
With its present structure, the handbook aims to provide a valuable source not only
for the professional syntactician but also for the linguist who wants to gain information
about the current state of the art in syntax; in particular it should facilitate the advanced
student’s way into syntax.
Syntax can look back on a long tradition. The term itself is ambiguous. On the one
hand, it is understood as a means of structural and descriptive analysis of individual
languages using clearly defined instruments. Naturally, syntactic analyses can be compar-
ative, spanning several languages. On the other hand, syntax is understood as syntactic
theory, the aim of which is to decide which instruments can be sensibly applied to
syntactic analysis. Syntactic theory thus defines the aims of syntactic research. Especially
in the last 50 years, however, the interaction between syntactic theory and syntactic
analysis has led to a rapid increase in analyses and theoretical suggestions. This increase
has been accompanied with the impression that syntax is a fragmented discipline. This
impression is not wrong in so far as syntactic theory cannot be traced back to one school,
but rather to a great number of approaches in competition with each other. It should,
however, not be forgotten that the competitive situation in most cases was triggered by
empirical problems and that complex problems may be approached in more than one
way. Precisely this situation has led to very decisive progress in syntactic analysis in the
last 50 years. This result would probably have never been achieved if syntax had been
limited to just one dispute about theory or method.
This handbook – which is spread out over three volumes, containing 61 articles in
nine sections – adopts these unifying perspectives and places at the fore the increase in
knowledge that results from the fruitful argumentation between syntactic analysis and
syntactic theory. To reflect this, the handbook contains articles on syntactic phenomena
from two different angles: one perspective is mainly descriptive, allowing linguists to
grasp what is at issue when a particular phenomenon is subjected to sometimes heated
debate. Thus Section III (Syntactic Phenomena), which covers the bulk of Volume I of
the handbook, contains descriptions of a set of phenomena that are called syntactic. The
phenomena comprise the argument-adjunct distinction, negation, agreement, word order,
ellipsis, and idioms, among others. We would like to note that the phenomena were not
selected on the basis of the personal preference of the editors. Instead, we asked our
12. Preface
viii
colleagues around the world to take part in a survey in order to determine which phenom-
ena should be dealt with in such a handbook.
Four of the phenomena are taken up again in Section VI (Theoretical Approaches to
Selected Syntactic Phenomena) and receive theoretical analyses. The reader of the hand-
book may thus approach syntactic phenomena from the perspective of what is in need
of an analysis. We assume that a description can be provided prior to (even if it is not
entirely independent of) an analysis since the phenomena are natural – at least in parts.
Alternatively, the reader may approach syntactic phenomena from the perspective of
what has been, and also what has not been, covered by an analysis. We believe that
those issues in particular that have been omitted from current analysis provide good
starting points for future syntacticians to gain access to the syntactic community. Such
gaps in analysis should thus not been seen as flaws but as open questions to be dealt
with promptly.
As for the structure of the handbook as a whole, the first volume (Sections I−III) is
devoted to the position of syntax in linguistics (including its interfaces to other linguistic
domains), to the syntactic tradition prior to the advent of structuralism and generativism,
and − as already mentioned − to syntactic phenomena.
The second volume (Sections IV−VI) begins with a survey on the dominant syntactic
theories and frameworks (in the Introduction to the handbook we deal with the perennial
question of why we have more than one theory (cf. 1)), and continues with a detailed
description of the relationship between syntax and its major interfaces. Considering the
relationship of syntax to other neighbouring disciplines, we note that, right up to the
1990s, an artificial comparison between formal models and models dealing with content
was postulated, for example using the key phrase of “the autonomy of syntax”. However,
it has become clear in the meantime that syntax based on formal options interacts with
other components of linguistic knowledge, for example through correspondence rules or
through defined interfaces. The chapters in Section V (together with the overview on
Syntax and its interfaces in Section I) provide a picture of syntax as placed among the
other linguistic domains.
The second volume closes with theoretical analyses of several of the aforemen-
tioned phenomena.
The third volume (Sections VII−IX) provides syntactic sketches of various languages,
language types, and language families (the Bantu language family, Bora, Creole lan-
guages, Georgian, German, Hindi-Urdu, Japanese, Mandarin, Northern Straits Salish,
Tagalog, and Warlpiri). It then deals with the cognitive environment of syntax, covering
language acquisition, language disorders, and language processing, and finally deals with
the broader role of syntax when dealing with corpora, lexicographic resources, stylistics,
computational linguistics, the development of reference grammars and the documentation
of (endangered) languages, and finally, what role syntax might play in the classroom.
In conclusion, this handbook highlights syntax as a mature discipline, whose state of
knowledge concerning the languages of the world has rapidly increased.
This brief preface cannot and should not be concluded without an expression our
gratitude to the various groups of people without whose participation this handbook
would have been an even more impossible mission.
We thank our authors, which are not named here, as their articles speak for them-
selves.
13. Preface ix
Each article has been subjected to an anonymous review process, and individual
articles as well as the handbook as a whole profited enormously from the comments and
the suggestions made by these reviewers. We would like to thank Peter Ackema, Susan
Bejar, Eva Belke, Adriana Belletti, Miriam Butt, Katharina Colomo, Jeroen van Craenen-
broeck, Berthold Crysmann, Holger Diessel, Laura Downing, Stanley Dubinsky, Susann
Fischer, Bart Geurts, Kook-Hee Gill, Michael Hahn, Hubert Haider, Daniel Hole,
Joachim Jacobs, Jaklin Kornflit, Beth Levin, Terje Lohndal, Anke Lüdeling, Stefan Mül-
ler, Timothy Osborne, Eric Potsdam, Beatrice Primus, Frank Richter, Norvin Richards,
Björn Rothstein, Vieri Samek-Lodovici, Florian Schäfer, Sabine Schulte im Walde, Frank
Seifart, Wolfgang Sternefeld, Jesse Tseng, Marc de Vries, Helmut Weiß, Martina
Wiltschko, and Niina Ning Zhang.
We would also like to thank Barbara Karlson, Birgit Sievert, Anke Beck and Wolf-
gang Konwitschny at Walter de Gruyter for their assistance and their gentle way of
midwifery. We also thank Nils Hirsch and Patrick Lindert for editorial assistance. Many
thanks to Miriam Butt and Gereon Müller for discussions early on in the process of
structuring the content of this handbook.
Finally, a very special thank you to Alicia Katharina Börner. Without her rigorous
and thoroughgoing assistance in the preparation of the final manuscripts, we would per-
haps still be awaiting the publication of the handbook.
19. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art
1. Introduction
2. Syntax relates sound and meaning
3. Sentence grammar differs from extra-sentential (or sub-sentential) modes of combination
4. There are (no) universals
5. What is the object of study?
6. Generative grammar
7. There is more than one way to do it (presumably)
8. References (selected)
Abstract
This article provides a broad introduction to Syntax, as it is conceived in this handbook.
We will present a number of assumptions that have been considered to constitute common
ground for all syntacticians. But they are as fundamental as they are controversial for
syntactic theory and analysis. In fact, approaches to syntactic analysis as well as syntac-
tic theories quite often take controversial positions, leading to the apparent conclusion
that syntactic research is fractured. It is not our goal to offer a band-aid to patch up
what better should be kept separate. Our conclusion is that many issues might indeed
be controversial within syntactic research but that such controversy should be seen as
the driving force behind progress in syntax.
1. Introduction
Perhaps the simplest way to approach syntax is to define it as the linguistic component
that relates sound and meaning, and thus fulfils this crucial task in mapping the two
intelligible sides of the Saussurean sign. Syntax must thus be able to break up the con-
tinuous flow of sound signals into elementary tokens, must be able to provide a structure
for the tokens, and enable the semantic component to access the tokens − and the larger
parts made of them in order to account for the interpretation of complex units. It goes
without saying that the same story could be told if we started with the interpretational
component, letting syntax map meaning to sound.
A grammar consists of a complex formal unit that requires analysis, a rule system
relating atomic and complex units to the complex formal unit under analysis, and a
characterization of the atomic or elementary elements, and how they relate to the rule
system. Typically, the sentence (S) is the formal unit that requires analysis, there are all
kinds of rule systems resulting in a sentence, and the lexical units are taken to be the
atomic elements, which are assigned appropriate categories so that the rule system can
make use of them. This characterization seems to be uncontroversial, and it owns its
20. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
2
uncontroversial status to its relative abstractness, e.g. the lack of detail concerning the
rule system, the use of categories, and more or less everything else required to actually
carry out a syntactic analysis.
When it comes to detail, however, syntax is mostly conceived as fractured. It is often
forgotten that, within the broader realm of Saussurean linguistics, proper syntax started
as a straggler, coming to maturity only approximately 60 to 70 years ago, and that it has
achieved quite a lot in this short lifetime. And yet, a necessary precondition of syntax
seems to be that the linguist becomes a member of one of the many different schools of
thought. Schools that sometimes are engaged in fierce fights (giving rise to terms like
“Linguistics Wars”, cf. Harris 1993), and sometimes are content with peaceful coexis-
tence, or mutual neglect. In fact, one realizes soon that “schools” are partitioned in
various dimensions, as for instance formal in opposition to functional or cognitive, for-
mal in opposition to descriptivist, and so forth. Deep within syntax, different views
pertain to the structures that are actually used to carve up the continuous flow of sound
signals (be they tree structures, dependency arcs, grammatical relations, derivations etc.).
This situation may leave those who want to study syntax in a state of confusion, about
which school to choose, or whether to choose one at all, or more than one. (In addition
to confusion, students may also feel pressured since syntax is interfacial by definition,
and hence it will become necessary for the apprentice to be familiar with one of the
major components with which syntax interfaces.) It should be noted, however, that disa-
greement is not pertinent to syntax alone, but can be observed in other areas of linguistics
as well (or linguistics as a whole), cf. the discussion following the influential article of
Evans and Levinson (2009).
The goal of the present article is twofold: On the one hand, we would like to address
several issues that seem to be controversial within syntax as a research area, and shed
some light on real or apparent controversies. On the other hand, we would like to make
clear that controversy in itself does not mean that a field is unripe or uninteresting, but
to the contrary that disagreement is an expression about the relative maturity of syntax.
In doing so, we will take recourse to Henk van Riemsdijk’s presentation of a set of
background assumptions “which (…) virtually every linguist (…) shares” (van Riems-
dijk 1984: 1).
Writing in 1984, van Riemsdijk believed that the assumptions presented were widely
shared. We have chosen a selection from van Riemsdijk’s assumptions, the ones that we
believe to have the strongest bearing on current research. Relating current positions to
the positions held back then when van Riemsdijk presented them also allows us to
evaluate the progress made in syntax and syntactic theory. In fact, we take controversial
issues in syntax to be an indicator of scientific progress. So, it is good that there is contro-
versy.
2. Syntax relates sound and meaning
While the very idea of syntax relating sound and meaning has to be considered uncontro-
versial, with syntax breaking up the stream of sounds into units which accordingly re-
ceive an interpretation, it is at least unclear whether sound and meaning are relevant to
syntactic operations or not. Mainstream generative grammar has assumed from Chomsky
21. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 3
(1965) onwards that the syntactic component of the grammar is “generative” (we will
come to this term below), while the other components are “interpretative”, i.e. work on
structures provided by syntax. This position has been challenged by a variety of frame-
works. HPSG (Pollard and Sag 1994; cf. S. Müller, this volume) assumes that syntactic
and semantic properties receive the same formal representation, and interact in agreement
and anaphoric binding (the reader is referred to Wagner’s contribution to this handbook
to discuss the relation between syntax and phonology). Pustejovsky’s generative lexicon
(Pustejovsky 1995) raises the question of how syntactic categorization is influenced by
lexical semantics to account for coercion processes.
These are just two proposals that challenge a model of syntax, in which syntax is
taken to differ fundamentally even from the linguistic components with which it shares
an interface (cf. also Mycock, this volume).
3. Sentence grammar differs from extra-sentential
(or sub-sentential) modes of combination
Riemsdijk (1984: 2) states that “[the structure of the sentence] is determined by rules
and principles sui generis”. As often when contemplating questions about syntax, the
statement seems to be clear and intuitive at the outset, but invites further considerations
after second thoughts. What we can assume is that there are sentence internal operations
(rules and principles), whose application to units that consist of sentences would be
nonsensical, i.e. would not lead to plausible results. Case marking might be a case in
point, as well as reference to syntactic arguments or grammatical relations as discourse
relations. But the composition of sentences may also rely on rules, which do not exclu-
sively apply within a sentence. Pronominal agreement can serve as an illustration. Con-
sider the examples in (1).
(1) a. John told Paulai that shei would have to apply for the dean position on Mon-
day the latest.
b. John spoke with Paulai about the dean position. Shei understood that she
would have to apply on Monday the latest.
To begin with, we are talking about one sentence in (1a), but two sentences in (1b). And
yet, the relationship between the object of tell/speak to the subject of the embedded
sentence and the subject of the second sentence, respectively, seems to be similar. In
particular, we see agreement in gender, person, and number. Going further, we may
assume that the agreement is a consequence of Principle B of Binding Theory (Chomsky
1981; Pollard and Sag 1994) in (1a). Since identification of the indices of antecedent and
pronoun implies agreement of antecedent and pronoun in number, person, and gender,
the observed agreement can be deduced from a condition on syntactic elements within
a clause. In (1b), however, the agreement may come about because the discourse referent
of the antecedent is identified with the discourse referent of the pronoun, as this is
usually done in Discourse Representation Theory (Kamp and Reyle 1993). Since they
are identical, and since discourse referents either cannot be formally distinguished from
22. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
4
indices (as in the analysis of Pollard and Sag 1994) or bear the very same features, once
again agreement emerges because two indices are identified, and hence the features that
make up the indices are identified as well. At this point, we may ask whether index
identification is a syntactic rule sui generis. It would be possible to argue that index
identification started as rule of sentence grammar and spread into the rule system for
discourses. If this interpretation is assumed, we may consider van Riemsdijk’s view as
uncontroversial. The statement would have to be translated to the effect that rules of
sentence grammar might form the basis for rules outside of sentence grammar, but that
the reverse is not likely to happen. The reader may decide whether this characterization
still allows the maintenance of the position that the structure of the sentence is formed
by rules sui generis.
We would like to note that there is a second interpretation of Riemsdijk’s statement.
Even if we take it that the rules within a sentence are different from the rules outside of
it, we may still ask whether the rules are restricted in their application to atomic units
or whether the sentence is the smallest unit to which specific rules apply. This question
translates into the relationship between syntax and morphology, or more generally into
the relationship between syntax and the lexicon (for the latter, cf. Alexiadou, this vol-
ume). One position has been initiated by lexical integrity (Bresnan and Mchombo 1995).
According to the lexical integrity hypothesis, morphological processes and syntactic
rules form two separate domains of linguistic rule systems. Interestingly, the lexical
integrity hypothesis has not only been attacked from the position of syntactic access to
sub-syntactic units, but also by lexical rules that seem to affect syntax and morphology
(for a recent vindication of lexical rules against constructional analyses, cf. Müller and
Wechsler 2014). Another position gives up the distinction between morphology and syn-
tax (cf. Harley, this volume).
Can morphology for instance be taken to be word syntax? This question requires
careful investigation as well, and sometimes, we find surprising evidence. Consider the
relationship between syntactic combinations and morphological composition. If morpho-
logical composition crucially differs from syntactic modes of combination, the former
should not be able to satisfy requirements imposed by the latter. But this does not seen
to be correct. It is well known that morphological operations − such as composition and
derivation − affect the valency of lexemes, but one sometimes even finds that modifica-
tion is mirrored in morphology. As an illustration consider mass terms in German that
may only appear together with an indefinite determiner if they are internally modified,
as illustrated with Stahl (‘steel’) in (2).
[German]
(2) a. Dies
this
ist
is
ein
a
Stahl
steel
*(von
of
besonderer
particular
Güte).
quality
‘This is a high-quality steel.’
b. Dies
this
ist
is
ein
a
Gütestahl.
quality.steel
‘This is a high-quality steel.’
The combination with an indefinite determiner is ungrammatical without internal modifi-
cation in (2a), and similarly in (2b). But in (2b), the modifier is realized as part of a
compound. If (morphological) composition and (syntactic) modification are aspects of
23. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 5
modification within sentence grammar, the observation in (2) would not be surprising.
If morphological operations are separated from syntactic operations, the observation is
in need of an explanation.
The analysis of polysynthetic languages forms another challenge for the distinction
of syntactic and sub-syntactic rule systems. With regard to polysynthetic languages, some
researchers argue to give up a distinction between morphology and syntax (cf. Evans
and Levinson 2009: 432). Eventually, the analysis of polysynthetic languages will form
a touchstone for the relation between syntax and morphology, and will thus allow to
answer the question whether syntactic rules are rules sui generis when compared to
super-syntactic operations, or perhaps also when compared to sub-syntactic structure
building.
With these provisos given, one could still say that the vast majority of syntacticians
agree that the sentence is the unit within which syntactic relations must be established.
By the same line of reasoning, syntacticians assume that syntactic relations are not em-
ployed to describe relations between sentences. The clear distinction between rule sys-
tems affecting the sentence and rule systems affecting super-sentential units gives the
sentence a psychological reality, as well as a formal definition.
4. There are (no) universals
The concept of universal grammar, and with it, the concept of a syntactic universal has
always been controversial. Van Riemsdijk was well aware of this. He thus simply states
that “universals are there to be found”. He goes on and says: “we all think we must find
them”. Nowadays, this view is contested from various points of view. Evans and Levin-
son (2009) argue against it from the perspective of linguistic typology. Construction
Grammar (cf. Fried, this volume) rejects the idea of a universal from the perspective of
syntax being derived in a bottom-up fashion from individual instances.
Let us restrict ourselves to the term universal (we will come back to the term univer-
sal grammar below), and let us further restrict ourselves by explicitly excluding the
Greenbergian concept of a universal from further discussion. One reason for excluding
this concept is that it is not the entity that most syntacticians have in mind when using
the term universal. Another reason is that the Greenbergian concept is controversial in
itself. As an illustration, consider Dryer’s (1988) refutation of the conditional universal
relating verb object and adjective noun orders. Even under this restriction, it is amazing
to observe the sheer magnitude of misconceptions that the term universal invites. Chom-
sky (1965: 27−30) initiated the debate. It is thus instructive to look at Chomsky’s intro-
duction of the terms of substantive and formal universals. The former are characterized
as follows: “A theory of substantive universals claims that items of a particular kind in
any language must be drawn from a fixed class of items.” (Chomsky 1965: 28) Formal
universals receive the following introduction: “The property of having a grammar meet-
ing a certain abstract condition might be called a formal linguistic universal, if shown
to be a general property of natural languages. Recent attempts to specify the abstract
conditions that a generative grammar must meet have produced a variety of proposals
concerning formal universals (…) For example, consider the proposal that the syntactic
component of a grammar must contain transformational rules (…) mapping semantically
24. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
6
interpreted deep structures into phonetically interpreted surface structures, or the pro-
posal that the phonological component of a grammar consists of a sequence of rules, a
subset of which may apply cyclically to successively more dominant constituents of the
surface structure (a transformational cycle …)” (Chomsky 1965: 29).
Criticism has focussed much more on substantive than on formal universals. Within
the generative syntactic tradition, criticism has also been encouraged by undertaking
research into the identification of universals only sparsely. The most advanced attempt
to provide such universals, within the Theory of Principles and Parameters (Chomsky
and Lasnik 1993), has failed by general consensus within and outside of generative
linguistics. With regard to formal universals, there has been an extended debate between
1979 and 1994 (approximately) on whether transformational rules are formal universals
or not for the reason that their very existence has been called into question (cf. Gazdar
1981; Gazdar et al. 1985). But this debate has not broadened our understanding towards
the concept of formal universals. Evans and Levinson (2009: 430−431) have a clear idea
what substantive universals should be, but are much less clear in their characterization
of formal universals. We would doubt that subjacency would actually be considered a
formal universal (cf. Evans and Levinson 2009: 436−437).
But discussions of the term substantive universal suffer from problems as well. Evans
and Levinson (2009: 432) make the following claim with regard to the existence of
apparently substantive universals despite their superficial absence in individual lan-
guages: “The differences (…) are somehow superficial (…) This (…) is wrong, in the
straightforward sense that the experts (…) do not agree that it is true.” This conclusion
seems to suggest that an assumption is proven to be wrong because not every expert
agrees on its truth. There might be something that escapes us here, but major scientific
breakthroughs have quite often been accompanied by denials of experts. So it seems that
the existence of universal categories that are not attested in every language is controver-
sial, and not that their existence has been falsified. But controversy can lead to research
results, even if these results falsify the initial assumptions of the researcher. Consider
the discussion around the claim that well-established syntactic categories (such as noun,
verb, adjective, or preposition) form part of the inventory of every language. Pinker and
Bloom (1990) claim − perhaps somewhat prematurely − that all languages employ the
aforementioned categories. Evans and Levinson (2009: 434) adduce arguments to show
that adjectives and adverbs may not exist in all languages and that certain languages
may even relinquish the distinction between noun and verb. (Northern) Straits Salish is
usually cited as a language that does not make use of a noun/verb distinction. The
current discussion, however, as also presented in Czaykowska-Higgins and Leonard (this
volume), suggests that the distinction between verbs and nouns is present in Northern
Straits Salish. Here, Evans and Levinson (2009) apparently underestimate the insights
that syntacticians can gain from pursuing such assumptions. We argue that it might be
premature to assume the universality of lexical categories that we have taken over from
Latin and Greek grammarians. But the true nature of lexical categories can only be
revealed once we have at least shown negatively that we cannot work with these pur-
ported categories. In this respect, a claim about the universality of a lexical category,
while proven wrong in further research, opens a venue to refine our understanding of
the concept of a lexical category in itself. But such claims are always couched in linguis-
tic (syntactic) theories. A modest syntactic theory may at least offer a means to adduce
25. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 7
evidence that an entity considered to be a prerequisite does not exist, with the usual
repercussions for the theory.
More concrete entities usually abound in the controversies about syntactic universals.
More abstract categories or rules are not typically the subject of such debates, and with
it the existence of more abstract (possibly formal) universals is not often discussed.
We would like to illustrate this point with three examples: the exhaustive constant
partial order (ECPO) property of ID/LP grammars in GPSG as an example of a universal
that is directly derived from the formal properties of the grammar, the presumed univer-
sality of endocentricity (a.k.a. Merge in Minimalism), and the terminological non-univer-
sality of relative clauses.
The ECPO property of ID/LP grammars states that constraints on ordering must be
context-insensitive insofar as an ordering must neither depend on the mother under which
the ordering takes place, nor on the head of a phrase. This property has been introduced
as a general property of grammars that separate dominance and linear precedence in
GPSG (Gazdar et al. 1985). It should be noted here that other grammar models that
assume this distinction do not take over the ECPO, as e.g. HPSG (Pollard and Sag 1994).
The ECPO predicts that languages that require contextual ordering as mentioned above
do not exist. The ECPO is thus a strong candidate for a formal universal. Gazdar et al.
(1985: 49) carefully note that imposing the ECPO restricts the possible languages ana-
lysed by a GPSG severely, and hence that they would even be surprised “if ECPO turned
out to be a linguistic universal”. Nevertheless, Gazdar et al. (1985: 49) are “committed
to the rather strong claim that it turns out to be universal”.
In discussing the ECPO from hindsight, it is not really important that it became clear
rather soon that it could not be a universal. With regard to this point (but not actually
addressing the ECPO), Haider (1993) noted that unmarked orders between German com-
plements depend on the verbal head of which they are complements. Hence, it had to be
admitted that German violates the ECPO (with regard to the ordering constraints in Ger-
man, (cf. Frey, this volume)). What is important is that the ECPO is even more abstract
than a formal universal in that it provides a property that is directly derived from the
formal apparatus of GPSG. ID/LP grammars of the form presented in GPSG must obey
the ECPO. It seems to us that uncovering potential formal universals like the ECPO is
more rewarding than collecting indicators that a particular syntactic category does not
occur in a language − even if the potential formal universals are refuted eventually.
Let us now turn to the treatment of complementation, which perhaps is sometimes
considered an operation so ubiquitous that its character is not even mentioned. We will
illustrate the problem with the treatment of complementation in HPSG, but similar con-
siderations apply to the operation Merge in syntactic Minimalism. HPSG (Pollard and
Sag 1994; cf. the introduction by S. Müller, this volume) assumes that Immediate Domi-
nance Schemata form part of Universal Grammar. One such schema is the head-comple-
ment-schema, which combines a head with one or more complements, and which is a
subtype of endocentric phrases. They illustrate their analysis mostly with English (and
thus invite criticism by linguistic typologists), but the very point in question can already
be made clear by adding another related language (German) to the picture. For English,
Pollard and Sag (1994) introduce Schemata 1 and 2 as instances of the head-comple-
ment-schema. They are instances of the head-complement-schema for English (the first
combining sole arguments with phrasal projections, the second combining all arguments
save one with lexical entities), and as such could not be used to analyse German, where
26. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
8
it seems much more plausible to assume that complementation is instantiated by a single
schema, which yields uniformly binary branching structures. Schema 1 and Schema 2
as well as the purported schema for German are instances of complementation, but
complementation is a universal mode of combination (cf. below for a qualification), and
as such requires a formal representation within the model.
It turns out that a schema more general than Schema 1 and Schema 2 in English, as
well as more general than the schema employed for German cannot be easily defined.
Still, the combination of a head with its argument(s) seems to be a plausible candidate
for a universal rule, which may even apply to free word order languages (Evans and
Levinson 2009: 441), i.e. languages that are not apparently confined by phrasal bound-
aries. Latin is a familiar instance of a free word order language, as opposed to languages
employing free order of phrases. Evans and Levinson (2009: 441) illustrate for Latin
that tree-like structures may not be appropriate to describe the relations between the verb
and its subject, or between an adnominal modifier and the head noun of the subject, as
illustrated in (3).
[Classical Latin]
(3) ultima
last.NOM
Cumaei
Cumae.GEN
venit
come.3SG.PST
iam
now
carminis
song.GEN
aetas
age.NOM
‘The last age of the Cumaen song has now arrived.’
Evans and Levinson (2009: 441)
We can observe that the adjective ultima is severed from the noun aetas, and the relation-
ship between this subject (last age) and the verb venit is interrupted by an adverbial and
the postnominal genitive carminis Cumaei. An analysis in terms of non-branching trees
is presumably not easily provided for (3). What we can say, however, is that endocentric-
ity plays a crucial role in this example, just as it does in structures that can be described
more easily in tree structures: aetas is the head of the subject, and ultima is its adjectival
modifier, and the featural make-up (nominative) must be related to the head, and not to
the postnominal complement of the head. One can say that the discontinuity of ultima
and aetas becomes a discontinuity only because they are conceived as a unit at some
level of representation, that they together fulfil the subject argument slot of the verb,
and as such that they together are subject to complementation.
While there may not be evidence for continuous phrases, there is clearly evidence
that features target the ‘right’ elements, which must be achieved somehow, and is usually
achieved by invoking endocentricity.
So while Pollard and Sag’s Immediate Dominance Schemata translate into more usual
phrase structures for German and English, this does not have to be the case, and struc-
tures akin to Dependency Grammar (cf. Osborne, this volume) may be the result. Still,
we would like to maintain for Latin that the head-complement-schema is at work, and
more generally that either the schema or the concept of endocentricity count as a univer-
sal. The universality of complementation is not entirely undisputed. Koenig and Michel-
son (2012) discuss Oneida and suggests that the head-complement-schema is not em-
ployed in this language. Even if this conclusion turns out to be correct, we would still
require a formal concept of complementation to begin with.
Van Riemsdijk (1984: 2) also takes structure dependence to be an uncontroversial
tenet of syntactic theory, but ignores the fact that structure dependency invites the ques-
tion which kind of structure is required. It might well be that not all languages of the
27. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 9
world can be analysed by employing tree-like structures − in fact, it strikes us that tree-
like structures are more often used as a lingua franca of dialects of syntactic theories
than as basic building blocks of the theory, consider Categorial Grammar (Baldridge and
Hoyt, this volume) and Minimalism (Richards, this volume) in this respect − but it still
seems plausible to assume that syntax adduces structure, be it for the simple reason that
semantic interpretation works more nicely, if structure is adduced. The question whether
tree-like structures or dependency structures (or functional structures, as employed in
LFG, cf. Butt and King, this volume) or something entirely different will be appropriate
can only be determined by making strong claims that stand the test against the diversity
of natural languages. Linguists criticising syntactic universals often adhere to diversity
as a means in itself, but it strikes us that only the interplay between claims embedded
in syntactic theories and the diversity of natural languages may eventually allow linguis-
tics to become a mature science. With regard to the complementation schema discussed
above, we would like to assume that language specific complementation schemata are
formally represented as instances of a more abstract, and possibly universal complemen-
tation schema, which forms an instance of endocentricity (with a modification schema
as another instance of endocentricity, and further instances as well). Couched within the
respective theory, the relation between the universal and the language-specific schemata
should be represented as simply as possible (if it turns out that the appropriate definition
may only refer to dependencies, tree-like structures employed in German or English may
be viewed as epiphenomena). Ideally, language-specific schemata should be represented
as more specific instances of universal schemata; the specific schemata are still abstract
(for instance, they do not make reference to particular categories), and yet they are much
more concrete than their universal super-types.
Imposing a concept like complementation requires its formal representation within
syntactic theory. Hence, it becomes a prerequisite for determining the adequate model-
ling in the theory, and a touchstone for the theory itself. The quest for formal universals
has thus an immediate bearing on determining the competition of syntactic theories, and
clearly cannot be established outside the realm of a theory (which may lead to the
confusion that is e.g. expressed in Evans and Levinson (2009: 436−437)).
With this background, let us enter unto a discussion of what we see as misunderstood
universal categorizations. We assume that most (if not all) linguists would agree that a
term like relative clause is much less a universal category than a pure means of descrip-
tion. It is less clear whether a relative clause is an instance of a more general operation,
where a phrasal modifier is related to a modified element through a marker (the marker
itself may be present or not, and may be more or less abstract). Gil (2001: 107−108)
tries to show that clausal association to nominals in Hokkien Chinese, as illustrated in
(4), should not be confused with the concept of a relative clause in English or German.
[Hokkien Chinese]
(4) a44(>44)
-beŋ24
Ah Beng
bue53
buy
e24>22
ASSOC
ph
eŋ24>22
-ko53
apple
‘apples that Ah Beng bought’
(Gil 2001: 107)
Because the attributive marker e24
(the superscript indicates a tone; x > y indicates tonal
sandhi) is not only used in Hokkien to establish a relationship between a clause and a
nominal, but is also required to establish relations between adjectives and nouns, PPs
28. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
10
and nouns, and further adnominal elements and nouns, Gil (2001: 108) concludes that
the concept relative clause should not be used in Hokkien grammar. While this may be
correct, it also seems trivial. However, it seems plausible to assume that the attributive
construction in Hokkien and relative clauses in other languages share a common core in
that a nominal element is formally linked to another phrase, and establishes a restrictive
interpretation through the combination. A relative marker (not to be confused with the
relative pronoun, and hence possibly without phonetic signature) in English or German
establishes what is established by e24
in Hokkien. If we abstract over this particular
property and indicate that we are not calling a relative clause a universal, we might be
able to identify a possibly universal mode of combination (cf. for instance, Kayne 1994
and subsequent work).
With regard to the question raised in this section, and the current state of affairs
regarding its answer, it seems to us that syntactic research should focus on identifying
or rejecting more abstract universals as part of syntactic theories (as e.g. complementa-
tion). In addition, it seems that at least some rather basic universals (such as employing
noun and verb as categories) have survived recent iconoclastic attempts to demolish
them (once again, the reader is referred to the language sketch of Northern Straits Salish
in Czaykowska-Higgins and Leonard, this volume). So, the nature of linguistic universals
is controversial, but it is a fruitful controversy.
5. What is the object of study?
After Saussure’s introduction of the distinction between langue, parole and faculté de
langage, every syntactic theory must position itself with regard to its actual object of
study. Saussure made it clear that the object of study is mesmerizingly difficult: “Quel
est l’objet à la fois intégral et concret de la linguistique? La question est particulièrement
difficile” (Engler 1968: 123). Van Riemsdijk (1984: 1) states that “we regard the object
which we study as a real object, a mental organ as Chomsky has put it. From this it also
follows that what we study is the grammar, not the language.” Van Riemsdijk concludes
that language acquisition is the central problem of syntactic theory. This position has
been attacked from various perspectives − not the least one being that there seems to a
conflation of a variety of concepts. For instance, there can be real objects without being
related to a mental organ. In their introduction to one of the strictest attempts to provide
a formal analysis of natural language, Gazdar et al. (1985: 5) state that “[o]ur linguistic
theory is not a theory of how a child abstracts from the surrounding hubbub of linguistic
and non-linguistic noises enough evidence to gain a mental grasp of a natural language.”
Other syntacticians attack the idea that grammar comes first and that language is derived
from grammar. At least some versions of Construction Grammar (cf. Fried, this volume)
assume that the grammar is induced from language data. It seems uncontroversial, how-
ever, that language in general is a bio-cultural hybrid, partly the product of biological
evolution, but also partly the product of our own making, but this characterization applies
to human beings in general, and may thus not be a specific property of language, or a
property only in the slightly circular sense that it is human language we are dealing with.
The objects of syntactic study have been delimited by means of various distinctions
that prove to be problematic in themselves. There is the celebrated distinction between
29. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 11
competence and performance, as introduced in Chomsky (1965), and later supplanted by
a distinction between internal and external language in Chomsky (1986). Here, van
Riemsdisk (1984: 3) remarks that “everyone lives by it”. We are not so sure that this is
actually correct. The latter distinction has been utilized to separate theories into those
that address internal and those that address external language. But even if we followed
this direction and assumed that Gazdar et al. (1985) investigated external language,
while Chomsky (1986) was concerned with internal language, we cannot be sure that
the separation actually yields different objects, as it is purely noumenal. Drawing such
an arbitrary distinction will lead to confusion at best, and will weaken the field as a
whole at worst. In any case, there are many syntactic models that are agnostic to the
distinction, as well as to the distinction between competence and performance.
Similarly, the object under syntactic study was delimited by the distinction between
core and periphery within the Theory of Principles and Parameters. If one goes through
the discussions of the past 20 years, however, one easily detects that today’s periphery
might become tomorrow’s core and vice versa. Müller (2013) discusses Exceptional
Case Marking (ECM, more familiar in traditional grammar under the rubric ‘accusative-
cum-infinitive construction’) as an illustration for this tendency: Chomsky (1981: 70)
assigned ECM to the periphery, but 15 years later, ECM became a building block of
case assignment in specifier-head-configurations.
The morale to be drawn here is threefold. Firstly, it seems to us that the distinctions
(competence/performance, core/periphery, etc.) have been useful in the past since it al-
lowed syntactic research to start somewhere without being constantly endangered by
requests to also account for other, presumably related phenomena. In this sense, early
syntactic theories had to be reductionist, and introduced distinctions to this end. Syntax
in its current guise should give up reductionism.
Secondly, it seems that these distinctions have failed to provide an instrument to
gauge whether syntactic models make headway or not. If we take a fixed concept of a
core that has to be described or explained by syntactic theory, then we can assume that
a model should be abandoned (or at least very critically scrutinized) that does not provide
analyses for phenomena that unequivocally belong to a “core”. Progress could be charac-
terized by accounting for an agreed-upon set of phenomena, and could be gauged by
consecutively extending the core that is covered in this way, until it becomes clear that
further extensions would lead to analyses of phenomena that form part of the periphery
because they emerge as cultural artefacts that have no biological basis. It would also
allow syntactic analysis to establish a canon of analysed phenomena (where a canon is
understood in the sense of engineering and natural science, i.e. as foundational part that
has already been successfully covered), and to proceed from this canon to areas of
syntactic research that still await detailed scrutiny. Yet, syntactic theories often have not
developed in this way. As a striking illustration consider the treatment of negative place-
ment in inverted English sentences.
(5) a. Can John not leave?
b. Will John not leave?
Almost 25 years after their celebrated analysis in Syntactic Structures (Chomsky 1957),
Lasnik (2000: 151) admits that “[t]here are about a dozen really fancy ways in the
literature to keep [the sentences in (5)] from violating the [Head Movement Constraint].
30. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
12
To the best of my knowledge, not one of them really works.” One does not have to
understand the workings of the Head Movement Constraint to see that any syntactic
analysis blocking the derivation of the examples in (5) may be in need of refurbishment.
While such renovations took place, they were not initiated by indications of prior failure
and did not lead to an overall improvement.
What are the conclusions here? It sounds awkward to assume that negative placement
in English belongs to the periphery, and even absurd to delegate it to issues of perfor-
mance. But it might very well be that syntactic theories should not generalize from
rather singular language-specific properties to propose universal constraints. Perhaps the
general ignorance towards this construction has to do with the conclusion that the con-
struction is in fact peculiar − but a distinction between competence and performance, or
core and periphery adds little to this insight.
Thirdly, and finally, it should be noted that the distinction between competence and
performance also provides the ground for the distinction between grammaticality and
acceptability (the former only affected by competence, the latter affected by factors of
performance as well). This is important insofar as psycholinguistic experimentation,
which seems to be the most plausible methodology to arrive at conclusions about the
biological side of syntax, can only access acceptability, i.e. is always “blemished” by
performance (cf. Schütze 1996 and Felser, this volume).
In light of the problems mentioned, it seems wise to consider the question of the
object under study with a bit of agnosticism. Currently, it is a majority view that the
objects of study are real objects (but one also finds the position that language is princi-
pally a cultural creation), but it does not follow that all syntacticians agree in investigat-
ing a mental organ, and moreover that it remains unclear how such an organ could be
assessed in the first place.
6. Generative grammar
With the term generative grammar, we seem to have arrived at a completely uncontrover-
sial spot, given the definition provided by van Riemsdijk (1984: 2): “anyone is a genera-
tive grammarian (…) who holds that the grammar must be a finite rule system which
explicitly characterizes an infinite set of sentences.” Even linguists who would not char-
acterize themselves as generative grammarians agree to versions of this statement, as
e.g. Martin Haspelmath (2010: 666): “To describe a language, one needs categories,
because it is not possible to list all the acceptable sentences of a language.”
7. There is more than one way to do it (presumably)
The final quote from Henk van Riemsdijk’s list serves to illustrate that syntactic research
has indeed progressed considerably in the past 30 years: “Modern linguistic research is
characterized by a comparative freedom of strict methodological imperatives. In this
sense, it is clearly different from corpus linguistics, (…) and the statistical straight-jacket
of the social sciences. (…) most grammarians will tend to have most faith in serious
introspection.” (van Riemsdijk 1984: 3) This statement is interesting insofar as linguistics
31. 1. Syntax − The State of a Controversial Art 13
(syntax in particular) strives to become acknowledged not as part of the humanities, but
as part of the natural sciences. Whatever one might say about this, it should be clear
that the methodological constraints within the natural sciences might be even more rigid
than the ones of the social sciences (with the usual proviso that we should not forget the
lesson learned by Paul Feyerabend’s Against Method). But the quote reflects the time
when syntax had to work with the resources that were available. Without proper comput-
ing machinery, the development of corpora was problematic, syntactic annotation was
practically unknown, and hence data analysis was much less a question of methodologi-
cal orthodoxy than of impossibility. All this has changed. In addition, we have a much
better understanding of the limits of introspection, and may also use controlled experi-
ments to arrive at conclusions about data. So, from hindsight, it appears that 30 years
ago, syntactic research was free from one particular methodological imperative for the
simple reason that the methodology was still in its infancy. With the advent of advanced
computing devices and a deeper understanding of controlled experimentation, the current
syntactic researcher has not only much more freedom to decide whether data should be
derived from introspection, from corpus search, or from experimentation. We also under-
stand now that data sometimes cannot be assessed through introspection, just as scarcely
occurring data cannot easily be assessed through corpus-based methodologies (for a case
study, cf. Meurers and Müller 2009). It is thus handy that more than one method is at
our disposal.
While methods flourish, other − more practical, as well as socio-economical − con-
straints affect syntactic research (as well as linguistics in general). Linguistics remains
a rather small field, the subject under study, however, provides an abundance of data
that in many cases resist automated analysis and thus requires human analysis (in this
respect, we fully agree with Evans and Levinson 2009). It would be ideal if all languages
could receive the same degree of attention, but syntactic research is not often recognized
as a goal in itself.
Finally, there is not only more than one way to do it method-wise, but also with
regard to the different frameworks that the syntactician may employ. More often, syntac-
ticians do not choose from these frameworks because they belong to schools, but because
they see that for the questions at hand, different frameworks may allow different entry
points, which eventually may lead to similar conclusions, or even similar ways of analys-
ing syntactic data. As an illustration, consider the treatment of long distance dependen-
cies. When Gazdar (1981) proposed that certain long distance dependencies could be
handled without transformations but by employing complex (SLASH) categories, Chom-
sky retorted that GPSG (under which name the new transformationless framework be-
came known) was just a notational variant of the current version of transformational
grammar. While it seems illogical to call something a “notational variant” that employs
less machinery than the theory of which it is considered a variant, the lesson learned
was that “notational variants” are to be dodged, if only because they are superfluous. If
one compares the current-day treatment of long distance dependencies in certain versions
of Minimalism (cf. Richards, this volume) with the treatment of long distance dependen-
cies in HPSG (S. Müller, this volume, HPSG in this sense is an offspring of GPSG), one
is tempted to assume that the treatment must be very different for the very reason that
the first framework calls itself derivational, while the second is termed representational.
Closer scrutiny reveals, however, that the strictly local representational treatment (in
terms of local trees) is mirrored in strictly local versions of derivational Minimalism. It
32. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
14
does not matter whether an analysis is based on representations or derivations, if both
are strictly local. Just as a syntactician cannot look “into” a local representation, he or
she cannot look into the history of a local derivation. In this light, the so-called uniform-
path analyses in derivational Minimalism cannot be distinguished from SLASH-based
analyses in representational HPSG (cf. Alexiadou, Kiss, and Müller 2012: 30). What is
more, a replacement of uniform-path analyses in favour of punctuated-path analyses,
which would not be “notational variants” of SLASH projection, cannot be justified by
observable consequences (i.e. empirical differences) (again, cf. Alexiadou, Kiss, and
Müller 2012: 30−31).
The new lesson to be learned is that it may perhaps be not only be useful to attack
problems from different vantage points, but also to observe what the other camp is doing.
If the results gained are similar, they are so not because they are “notational variants”,
but perhaps because they represent the limit of current expertise in the worst case, and
the true nature of the object under investigation in the best.
1. Acknowledgements
This article has benefited from comments by Stefan Müller, for which we are grateful.
8. References (selected)
Alexiadou, Artemis, Tibor Kiss, and Gereon Müller
2012 Local modelling of non-local dependencies in syntax: An introduction. In: Artemis Alex-
iadou, Tibor Kiss and Gereon Müller (eds.), Local Modelling of Non-local Dependencies
in Syntax, 1−48. Berlin/Boston: Walter de Gruyter.
Chomsky, Noam
1965 Aspects of the Theory of Syntax. Cambridge/London: The MIT Press.
Chomsky, Noam
1986 Knowledge of Language. Its Nature, Origin, and Use. New York: Praeger.
Engler, Rudolf (ed.)
1968 Ferdinand de Saussure, Cours de Linguistique Generale. (Édition critique par Rudolf
Engler, tome 1.) Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz.
Evans, Nicolas, and Stephen C. Levinson
2009 The myth of language universals: Language diversity and its importance for cognitive
science. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 32: 429−492.
Gazdar, Gerald, Ewan Klein, Geoffrey K. Pullum, and Ivan A. Sag
1985 Generalized Phrase Structure Grammar. London: Blackwell.
Gil, David
2001 Escaping Eurocentrism: fieldwork as a process of unlearning. In: Paul Newman and
Martha Ratliff (eds.), Linguistic Fieldwork. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
102−132.
Harris, Randy Allan
1993 The Linguistics Wars. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Haspelmath, Martin
2010 Comparative concepts and descriptive categories in crosslinguistic studies. Language
86: 663−687.
33. 2. Syntactic Constructions 15
Koenig, Jean-Pierre, and Karin Michelson
2012 The (non)universality of syntactic selection and functional application. In: Christopher
Piñon (ed.), Empirical Issues in Syntax and Semantics 9: 185−205. [http://www.cssp.
cnrs.fr/eiss9/]
Müller, Stefan, and Stephen Wechsler
2014 Lexical approaches to argument structure. To appear in Theoretical Linguistics 40.
Pollard, Carl, and Ivan A. Sag
1994 Head-driven Phrase Structure Grammar. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Riemsdijk, Henk van
1984 Introductory remarks. In: Wim de Geest and Yvan Putseys (eds.), Sentential Complemen-
tation, 1−9. Dordrecht: Foris Publications.
Schütze, Carson
1996 The Empirical Base of Linguistics: Grammaticality Judgments and Linguistic Methodol-
ogy. University of Chicago Press.
Tibor Kiss, Bochum (Germany)
Artemis Alexiadou, Stuttgart (Germany)
2. Syntactic Constructions
1. Introduction
2. Examples of constructions
3. Constructions and syntactic theory
4. Conclusion
5. References (selected)
Abstract
The term construction is widely used descriptively in discussing grammar, and is still
used informally in most theoretical work for characteristic formal patterns of syntactic
categories or features, usually associated with a meaning and/or function. Modern lin-
guistic theories employ a range of formal devices to produce or characterize surface
constructions; they may be rules, or schemata, or constraints. It is usually assumed that
competence in a language consists largely of these formal devices together with a lexi-
con; the constructions themselves are epiphenomenal. As such, constructions are an
abstraction over the data which linguistic theory must analyze; insight in syntax is
achieved through discovering generalizations across constructions.
1. Introduction
The term construction is ubiquitous in contemporary syntactic literature, being used
informally to refer to linguistic expressions in a variety of ways. The term also has a
technical sense in the theory of Construction Grammar, as detailed in Chapter 28.
34. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
16
The term construction is widely used to characterize certain kinds of form−meaning
pairings, as when we refer to “possessive constructions” or “the verb−particle construc-
tion” to refer to examples like those below.
(1) Three examples of possessive constructions
a. Seymour’s new friend
b. a new friend of Seymour’s
c. Seymour has a new friend
(2) Three examples of the verb-particle construction
a. We picked up a lamp at the flea market.
b. We picked a lamp up at the flea market.
c. What did you pick up at the flea market?
In general, linguists would not refer to the three examples in (1) as comprising a single
possessive construction, because they are too different in their syntax; in (1a) the posses-
sor precedes the possessed noun, in (1b) the possessor follows the possessed noun, and
in (1c) the possessor is expressed as a distinct argument outside the possessed noun
phrase. These differences represent three different ways of expressing the concept of
possession, in English.
In (2), on the other hand, many linguists would be inclined to refer to all three
sentences as manifesting a single verb-particle construction, on the basis of the perceived
similarity of the syntax of the three cases. There is a very large class of verb−particle
pairings which allow the ordering alternation shown in (2a)−(2b), where the order re-
flects no apparent difference in meaning (such as drop off, smash up, fix up, turn on,
leave out). In such cases, the object can systematically be the focus of a question, as in
(2c); so the general consensus would be that these three sentences illustrate the verb-
particle construction.
On this view, (1) illustrates three different form−meaning pairings, even though one
component of the meaning is shared across all three, while (2) illustrates one form−
meaning pairing, even though independent factors distort the shared form (and the cor-
rect characterization of the meaning component may be elusive).
At the same time, (2c) illustrates a wh-question construction, in addition to the verb-
particle construction. Since the properties of the wh-question construction (e.g. wh-ex-
pression in clause-initial position, auxiliary in second position) are independent of the
verb-particle construction (e.g. the predicate includes a particle like up, down, out, etc.),
there is no motivation for formulating a distinct “verb-particle wh-question construction.”
1.1. Toward a definition
The term construction is not a technical term (outside of Construction Grammar), and
consequently it is difficult to define. As an approximation, it can be defined as follows.
(3) A construction is a characteristic formal pattern of syntactic categories or features,
usually associated with some meaning and/or discourse function.
35. 2. Syntactic Constructions 17
The use of the word pattern here is an attempt to be as theory-neutral as possible; a
pattern might be a structure, or a template, or the output of a rule. The notion formal is
meant to include aspects of form which are of significance to grammar. In some theories
word order is a primitive of grammar, while in other theories word order is derived from
structure, such that structure, but not linear order, would count as a formal property (see
Chapters 17 and 40 on Word Order).
The notion syntactic categories is intended to include major parts of speech but also
minor or functional categories such as the class of English verb-particles, or the class of
determiners. The notion syntactic features in the definition is meant to include morpho-
syntactic features such as the past participle or dative case but also semantico-syntactic
features such as negation or “wh” (borne by interrogative expression like what and who).
Together syntactic categories or features includes function words such as infinitival to
and bound formatives such as possessive ’s, on any analysis.
The definition in (3) is meant to exclude phonology and surface exponence, which
do not characterize constructions as the term is ordinarily used in mainstream syntax.
For example, we would not expect to find a construction which necessarily involved
words beginning with the phoneme /w/, even if we speak loosely of various kinds of
wh-constructions. Similarly, if there is more than one formal category in English which
is spelled out by the suffix -ing, then we expect a construction to be identified by the
underlying features which are being spelled out (e.g. progressive, or gerund), not by the
phonological form of the exponent doing the spelling out. Though we might descriptively
call something an Acc-ing construction, for example, in a more careful statement of its
characteristics, we would distinguish the feature or category that -ing manifests.
Thus, the definition offered above is intended to stress syntactic form, not phonologi-
cal form. This is in accord with the usual use of the word construction in syntax. An
idiom like kick the bucket meaning ‘die’ requires the lexical items kick and bucket, and
hence makes direct reference to exponents with phonological content (see Chapter 23
on Idioms). As such, ordinary usage would not make reference to a kick the bucket
construction (Construction Grammar, however, is different here: idioms are considered
to be constructions).
In this way, more or less functional elements like the interrogative pronoun what and
the light verb do are treated together with syntax as opposed to lexical items like kick
and bucket. Thus is it not controversial to speak of a construction of the form What’s X
doing Y? meaning roughly ‘Why is X Y?,’ where X is a subject and Y is a predicate.
For example: What’s the newspaper doing in the bushes? or What are you doing leaving
without your shoes? This construction requires what and do as well as the progressive
with an appropriate form of be.
The definition offered in (3) also suggests that a construction is usually associated
with some meaning and/or discourse function. The importance of meaning is somewhat
loosely applied in practice. Thus, it is not usually considered necessary to have a rigorous
statement of the meaning of a possessive construction like the one in (1a) in order to
call it a construction, if it has a clearly defined syntactic form. But if there are two
disjoint meanings involved, then it is common to think of them as involving two distinct
constructions. For example, in English, the auxiliary inverts with the subject when a wh-
item is fronted, but also when a negative element is fronted, as in (4) (cf. Chapter 12,
on V2).
36. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
18
(4) a. Which of them would he recommend?
b. None of them would he recommend.
Even if the syntax of the inversion is identical in the two cases, it would be most natural
here to speak of subject-auxiliary inversion constructions in the plural, rather than a
single subject-auxiliary inversion construction which was indifferent to whether the ini-
tial element was a negative or an interrogative phrase−though practice varies somewhat
here (and in Construction Grammar, there is no limit to how abstract a construction
can be).
The notion of discourse function in (3) is intended broadly, to include various prag-
matic inferences and affect. For example, the What’s X doing Y? construction is only
used when there is some sense that it is incongruous or inappropriate for X to be Y (as
discussed by Kay and Fillmore 1999). Thus the question Why are men rebelling? can be
asked in a range of contexts, but What are men doing rebelling? can only be asked if
there is some salient sense (perhaps the speaker’s opinion, but not necessarily) that it is
inappropriate, incongruous, or outrageous for them to be doing so.
1.2. Applying the definition
Returning to the examples in (1)−(2), we can apply the definition offered in (3) to show
that it is harmonious with the common intuition that (1) illustrates three different posses-
sive constructions while (2) represents three different manifestations of a single construc-
tion.
According to (3), a class of phrases or sentences must share a characteristic formal
pattern in order to belong to a single construction. The formal differences among the
three examples in (1) are fairly clear; (1a) lacks of and the possessor precedes the posses-
sum, while (1a) contains the function word of, and the possessor follows the possessum.
Furthermore, in (1a), the possessum is understood as definite, while in (1b), the posses-
sum is indefinite. The example in (1c) is predicative, and contains the verb have. So the
fact that the three expressions describe the same semantic relation is not normally taken
to imply the existence of a single possessive construction. Thus it seems that the defini-
tion appropriately picks out each of the three as a construction.
Turning to (2), we can first address the question of whether (2c) represents a different
construction from the other two. Of course it does, as it involves wh-movement, but this
is irrelevant to the verb−particle construction. The interrogative construction simply ap-
plies to a clause that has a verbal particle in the predicate, just as it does in an ordinary
transitive clause.
The second question is whether there is motivation to treat examples like (2a) and
(2b) as distinct constructions. This cannot be conclusively determined without formal
analysis. By and large, the two are distinguished only by word order, not by meaning,
nor by functional categories or features. There are some differences, for example (2b)
allows the object to be pronominal (We picked it up), but (2a) does not (*We picked up
it). If such differences can be independently explained, then an analysis can be motivated
in which there is a single construction with some flexibility of order, that is, a single
‘characteristic formal pattern of syntactic categories or features’ in which whatever deter-
37. 2. Syntactic Constructions 19
mines the placement of the particle before or after the internal argument is not character-
istic, or is not a syntactic feature. This is the usual consensus (see Ramchand and Sven-
onius 2002 for one such account), though alternative analyses exist in which the two
represent distinct constructions (see Farrell 2005).
2. Examples of constructions
To further illustrate the notion of construction, several examples of constructions are
listed in this section. No detailed characterization or analysis is attempted. The examples
serve simply to give an impression of a small part of the range of syntactic constructions.
2.1. Argument structure, grammatical functions
A number of constructions involve valency, argument structure, and grammatical func-
tions (see Chapter 8 on Grammatical Relations). For example, a passive construction
involves the demotion of the external argument, compared to the active use of the same
verb (see Chapter 22 on Voice). In English, the demoted external argument can be ex-
pressed in a by-phrase or left implicit, and the verb appears in a past participle form,
with a form of the auxiliary be. The implicit argument can control a purpose clause, as
illustrated in (5b), just as with the active construction in (5a). English also has a middle
construction, in which the external argument cannot appear in a by-phrase, and is not
syntactically active as diagosed by a purpose clause, as illustrated in (5c).
(5) a. The owner sold the house (to pay off debts).
b. The house was sold (by the owner) (to pay off debts).
c. Houses sell easily (*by the owner) (*to pay off debts).
In a conative construction, illustrated in (6b), the internal argument is oblique and is not
as fully affected as in a regular transitive construction, compare (6a). In a benefactive
construction, illustrated in (6c), an indirect object derives some benefit from the action,
or comes into possession of the direct object (see Chapters 9 and 37 on Arguments
and Adjuncts).
(6) a. The baker cut the bread.
b. The baker cut at the bread.
c. The baker cut me a piece of bread.
Resultative and depictive constructions involve secondary predicates, as illustrated in
(7a) and (7b) respectively.
(7) a. They drank the bar dry.
b. They ate the bread dry.
Control, raising, and so-called Exceptional Case Marking (ECM, or accusative-with-
infinitive, or subject-to-object raising) constructions usually involve infinitive comple-
38. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
20
ments in which arguments are, descriptively speaking, shared across the two clauses (see
Chapters 14 and 38 on Control).
(8) a. Ian wants to stay at the house. (control)
b. Ian seemed to stay at the house. (raising)
c. We believed Ian to stay at the house. (ECM)
English provides many more examples of constructions involving various configurations
of arguments, and other languages provide yet more. In some cases, the availability of
a construction may be tied to the availability of a lexical item; for example, it may be
that if a language has an ECM construction if and only if it has a verb with the selectional
properties exhibited by English believe in (8c). However, in other cases, the availability
of a construction in a given language does not seem to be connected to lexical items.
An example is the resultative construction illustrated in (7a), which many languages
lack, despite having verbs and adjectives which are otherwise like the ones used in the
English resultative construction (Snyder 2001).
2.2. Unbounded dependencies
There is a range of constructions which have been analyzed as involving displaced con-
stituents, or filler-gap dependencies. These include (in the order in which they appear in
[9]): wh-questions, embedded wh-questions, clefts, pseudoclefts, relative clauses, com-
parative constructions, and (contrastive) topicalization (for some discussion of some of
these and related constructions, see Chapter 12 on V2, Chapter 13 on Discourse Configu-
rationality, and especially Chapter 21 on Relative Clauses and Correlatives).
(9) a. Which book did you read?
b. I asked which book you read.
c. It was this book that I read.
d. What I read was this book.
e. The book that I read was long.
f. She read a longer book than I read.
g. This book, I read.
These constructions have in common that the dependency can cross finite clause bounda-
ries.
(10) a. Which book did your mother think you read?
b. I asked which book your mother thought you read.
c. It was this book that my mother thought I read.
d. What my mother thought I read was this book.
e. The book that my mother thought I read was long.
f. She read a longer book than my mother thought I read.
g. This book, my mother thought I read.
39. 2. Syntactic Constructions 21
In this respect they contrast with passive, as illustrated in (11a), and for example raising,
as illustrated in (11b) (compare [12]).
(11) a. *The house was thought (by his mother) the owner sold.
b. *Ian seemed stayed at the house.
(12) a. It was thought the owner sold the house.
b. It seemed Ian stayed at the house.
In fact, the constructions in (9)−(10) can cross indefinitely many finite clause boundaries,
and for this reason are known as unbounded dependencies.
(13) a. Which book did you think your mother thought you read?
b. I asked which book you thought your mother thought you read.
c. It was this book that I thought my mother thought I read.
d. What I thought my mother thought I read was this book.
e. The book that I thought my mother thought I read was long.
f. She read a longer book than I thought my mother thought I read.
g. This book, I thought my mother thought I read.
The availability and properties of unbounded dependency constructions can vary some-
what from one language to the next. For example, sometimes there is a resumptive
pronoun in the gap position, and in other cases there is no displacement on the surface,
with the filler element remaining in situ. Unlike the case with argument structure alterna-
tions, this kind of variation tends not to be dependent on lexical items, though it may
be connected to the properties of functional elements such as that and which.
In fact, it has been proposed that properties of constructions are largely determined
by the properties of their heads. This is explicit in the name of the theory Head-Driven
Phrase Structure Grammar (see Chapter 27 on HPSG), but is also a common assumption
in other theories (e.g. Borer 1984). For example, the properties of a relative clause could
conceivably be entirely determined by the cluster of features contained on its (possibly
abstract) head. The head would be a kind of C[omplementizer] taking a finite TP comple-
ment, attracting a suitable nominal element to its specifier, and projecting a category
which could be used as a nominal modifier.
2.3. Complex constructions
In this regard, constructions like the What’s X doing Y? construction mentioned above
are complex, as they appear to involve an interdependency of several heads. Mainstream
theory would probably treat a construction of this kind as a special kind of idiom.
Construction Grammar, in contrast, holds that there is no principled difference be-
tween a fully general construction and a highly idiomatic one, or even between a fully
general abstract construction and a lexical item; each is a pairing of form with function,
broadly construed.
40. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
22
3. Constructions and syntactic theory
Traditional descriptive grammars may characterize and exemplify a list of constructions
in a given language. They may organize the constructions according to perceived similar-
ities, and may attempt to state generalizations which transcend the individual construc-
tions. This much is extremely useful in a reference grammar (see Chapter 59 on Refer-
ence Grammars).
Modern syntactic theory necessarily goes further, and is based on the assumption that
higher-level generalizations are necessary in order to achieve what Chomsky (1964)
called explanatory adequacy, a model of language which accounts for how individual
languages are learnable by children.
Traditional grammar posited rules to characterize or generate constructions, such as
passive and relative clauses. Generative grammar took this as a starting point and went
on to abstract properties from classes of rules, such as elementary transformations and
different kinds of formal conditions constraining them. Generative grammar in the 1970’s
explored the ways in which the properties interacted in rule systems, and sought to
discover constraints on them.
For example, Emonds (1976) observed that transformational rules did not produce
structures unlike those which had to be base-generated (“structure preservation”), sug-
gesting that the full power of transformations was unneeded. Chomsky (1977) showed
that the class of unbounded dependencies displayed highly uniform properties, suggest-
ing that they were not produced by distinct rules.
Subsequent work has increasingly focused on higher-level generalizations over rule
types, shedding much light on the nature of grammar.
Thus, generalizations about constructions involving valence and argument structure
led to those being analyzed in Lexical-Functional Grammar as the output of lexical rules
(see Chapter 25 on LFG), accounting, for example, for their structure-preserving proper-
ties and their relative sensitivity to lexically listed traits of individual verbs. Similarly,
generalizations about the class of unbounded dependencies as a whole led to the develop-
ment of Move-α in Government-Binding Theory (Chomsky 1981), and the SLASH fea-
ture as used in Head-Driven Phrase Structure Grammar (see Chapter 27 on HPSG).
The development of Principles and Parameters theory (Chomsky 1981) involved re-
thinking the nature of rules entirely; once deconstructed into a system of invariant univer-
sal principles interacting with parametric points of variation, there are no rules per se.
This is expressed in the following quote from Lectures on Government and Binding:
“The notions “passive,” “relativization,” etc., can be reconstructed as processes of a
more general nature, with a functional role in grammar, but they are not “rules of gram-
mar”” (Chomsky 1981: 7).
Since constructions were the output of rules in the traditional conception of grammar,
the elimination of rules from the theory means that in a Principles and Parameters frame-
work, constructions are epiphenomenal, as reflected in the following quote, also from
Chomsky but a decade later: “A language is not, then, a system of rules, but a set of
specifications for parameters in an invariant system of principles of Universal Grammar
(UG); and traditional grammatical constructions are perhaps best regarded as taxonomic
epiphenomena, collections of structures with properties resulting from the interaction of
fixed principles with parameters set one or another way” (Chomsky 1991: 417).
41. 2. Syntactic Constructions 23
Since that time, although the notion of parameter has been substantially rethought,
mainstream syntactic theories continue to regard the notion of construction, like the
notion of rule or transformation, as a descriptive stepping stone on the path to greater
understanding rather than as an analytic result in its own right.
Work in Construction Grammar, too, recognizes that insight does not come from
simply listing the individual surface constructions in a language, and therefore, like other
theories, seeks generalizations over constructions; the difference between Construction
Grammar and other theories mentioned here is that in Construction Grammar, the gener-
alizations are themselves modelled as abstract constructions. Nor is this just a termino-
logical distinction: the claim in Construction Grammar is that the generalizations have
the same kinds of properties as the constructions themselves, at a suitable level of ab-
straction.
4. Conclusion
I have characterized a construction as a characteristic formal pattern of syntactic features,
usually associated with some meaning or discourse function. The way constructions are
characterized in descriptive work tends to combine morphological, syntactic, and seman-
tic facts. Purely phonological facts, however, tend not to be significant for the characteri-
zation of constructions. The precision of the syntactic characterization is usually taken
to be more important than the semantic description of the meaning of a construction
(e.g. even if two possessive expressions had exactly the same meaning, substantially
different syntaxes would usually lead to them being classified as distinct constructions).
Some such notion is descriptively indispensible in syntactic work. Descriptive gram-
mars must contain detailed characterizations of surface properties of constructions, and
all careful empirical work makes reference to numerous construction types, as will be
seen in the other chapters in this work.
Linguistic theory advances through the careful examination of the properties of con-
structions. Ultimately, principles are sought which transcend the individual constructions
themselves, and the construction itself can be taken to be a taxonomic artifact.
5. References (selected)
Borer, Hagit
1984 Parametric Syntax. Dordrecht: Foris.
Chomsky, Noam
1964 Current Issues in Linguistic Theory. The Hague: Mouton.
Chomsky, Noam
1977 On wh-movement. In: Peter Culicover, Thomas Wasow, and Adrian Akmajian, (eds.),
Formal Syntax, 71−132. New York: Academic Press.
Chomsky, Noam
1981 Lectures on Government and Binding. Dordrecht: Foris.
Chomsky, Noam
1991 Some notes on economy of derivation and representation. In: Robert Freidin (ed.), Prin-
ciples and Parameters in Comparative Grammar, 417−454. Cambridge, Massachusetts:
MIT Press.
42. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
24
Emonds, Joseph E.
1976 A Transformational Approach to English Syntax: Root, Structure-Preserving, and Local
Transformations. New York: Academic Press.
Farrell, Patrick
2005 English verb-preposition constructions: Constituency and order. Language 81 1: 96−137.
Kay, Paul, and Charles J. Fillmore
1999 Grammatical constructions and linguistic generalizations: The What’s X doing Y? con-
struction. Language 75 1: 1−33.
Ramchand, Gillian, and Peter Svenonius
2002 The lexical syntax and lexical semantics of the verb-particle construction. In: Line Mik-
kelsen and Christopher Potts (eds.), Proceedings of WCCFL 21, 387−400. Somerville,
Massachusetts: Cascadilla Press.
Snyder, William
2001 On the nature of syntactic variation: Evidence from complex predicates and complex
word-formation. Language 77: 324−342.
Peter Svenonius, Tromsø (Norway)
3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview
1. Introduction
2. Syntax and the lexicon
3. Syntax and morphology
4. Syntax and phonology
5. Syntax and semantics
6. Syntax and pragmatics
7. Conclusion
8. Abbreviations
9. References (selected)
Abstract
The notion that knowledge of language comprises separate modules or levels is central
to linguistic research, though the precise subcomponents of grammar, their rules and
primitives, the extent to which they overlap, and the nature of the architecture of which
they are a part are still the subject of intense debate. Investigation into interface phenom-
ena necessarily straddles the traditional boundaries of linguistic enquiry and thus pro-
vides an important perspective not only on specific empirical issues, but also on broader
theoretical matters including the organization of the grammar itself. The focus of this
chapter is the interaction of syntax with other modules of grammar which have been
posited: the lexicon, morphology, phonology, semantics, and pragmatics. Each section
explores a different syntactic interface through discussion of contemporary empirical
and theoretical research undertaken in a variety of frameworks.
43. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 25
1. Introduction
The aim of work on syntax and its interfaces is to identify the basic properties which
other modules share with syntax and thus the precise domain of syntax within the gram-
mar. In this respect, there are three central questions to be answered: How is syntax
distinct from other components of the grammar? To what extent do syntactic processes
operate within the grammar? How is syntax related to other levels of linguistic represen-
tation? Addressing these issues has implications for fundamental aspects of the grammat-
ical architecture. Any theoretical framework will ultimately be judged on the extent to
which it is able to capture the relevant generalizations about syntax and its interfaces
with regard to the autonomy of posited components, the input−output relations which
exist between them, and language structure versus usage.
The issue of autonomy naturally precedes any discussion of the interfaces which link
modules of the grammar. With respect to syntax, the question is to what extent its primi-
tives and operations influence aspects of linguistic structure which might otherwise be
treated as belonging to another component of the grammar, and vice versa. For instance,
debate continues regarding whether morphology exists as an autonomous component of
the grammar with its own combinatory principles. It has been argued that positing a
separate part of the grammar to account for apparently morphological phenomena is
unmotivated and unnecessary because the features of complex word formation are con-
sistent with independent syntactic principles. Data which indicate that the relationship
between morphology and syntax is not always isomorphic undermine the claim that
morphology can be reduced entirely to syntax. Some approaches imply that syntax itself
is not an independent component, raising the question of whether syntax represents an
abstraction of the linguist or a natural object. For example, Head-Driven Phrase Structure
Grammar (Pollard and Sag 1994) includes a single level of structure SYNTAX-SEMANTICS.
Any approach which posits autonomous components of the grammar must also define
the input−output relations which connect them. Precisely how syntax interacts with each
component in terms of whether the relationship is serial or parallel, unidirectional or
bidirectional is still the subject of much debate. For instance, a strictly serialist concep-
tion of the interface between syntax and phonology, according to which the former serves
as input to the latter, predicts the influence of syntax on phonology and excludes the
possibility of interaction in the opposite direction. Data which appear to show that pro-
sodic weight may influence syntax represent a challenge to such a unidirectional charac-
terization of the syntax−phonology interface. The nature of the links between different
components of the grammar continues to be the focus of research. Even the standard
assumption that the lexicon serves as input to syntax has been challenged (Borer 2005).
Finally, there is the matter of how the architecture of the grammar reflects a structural
as opposed to a usage-based approach to language, an issue perhaps most clearly illus-
trated by the interaction between syntax and pragmatics. For instance, Mandarin Chinese
is claimed to be a language whose syntax is organized in terms of the distinction between
topic (that which is being discussed) and comment (what is being said about the topic)
rather than grammatical relations such as subject and object (Li and Thompson 1976).
Accounts of such interaction in terms of the organization of the grammar will contribute
to the wider debate on the relative merits of a structural versus a usage-based model
of language.
Research into syntax and its interfaces thus has implications for the architecture of
the grammar which are relevant across theoretical frameworks and sub-disciplines.
44. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
26
2. Syntax and the lexicon
2.1. Introduction
While it is often posited that the lexicon exists as a separate part of the grammar, this
has not always been the case, nor is it true of all current theoretical frameworks. In those
approaches which distinguish the lexicon from the syntactic component, the issue of
where the boundary between the two lies has consequences for the interface between
them, as well as the organization of the grammar as a whole.
In early generative work such as Chomsky (1957), lexical items and morphemes were
those units which could be inserted at the terminal nodes of Deep Structure trees by
phrase structure rules. Despite their unique status, these elements were not initially
treated as members of a component distinct from syntax with its own rules and types of
structure. The lexicon was identified as a part of the syntactic Base Component in Stand-
ard Theory (Chomsky 1965) and defined as an unordered list of entries containing infor-
mation only about a lexical item’s idiosyncratic features (cf. Bloomfield 1933). However,
subsequent research has indicated that at least some word-formation processes may differ
in key respects from those which form syntactic structure, prompting a reassessment of
the contents of the lexicon and its nature. Today, the Lexicalist Hypothesis (Chomsky
1970) still lies at the heart of the debate on the relationship between lexical items and
syntax (Section 2.2), as the different analyses of processes such as causative formation
(Section 2.3), undertaken within a variety of theoretical frameworks, illustrate.
2.2. The Lexicalist Hypothesis
Chomsky (1970) identified regularities in the relation between a nominal and the verb
from which it had been derived (1a), but noted that this nominalization process had
idiosyncratic features such as restricted productivity (1b), which made it incompatible
with syntactic rules characterized as applying without exception.
(1) a. John criticized the book. V
John’s criticism of the book N
b. John amused (interested) the children with his stories. V
*John’s amusement (interest) of the children with his stories N
(Chomsky 1970: 187−189)
To account for such data, Chomsky argued for the inclusion of some operations in the
lexicon. Under this lexicalist view, the lexicon served not only as a repository for lexical
items, but also as a generative component in its own right. Wasow (1977: 331) contrasted
lexical rules with syntactic ones in terms of five criteria; the former and not the latter
affected structure, could relate items of different categories, were local, could have ex-
ceptions, and applied before any syntactic rules. These distinctions, and the last criterion
in particular, assume an architecture of grammar in which the lexicon interacts in a
limited way with syntax, providing the minimal units manipulated by syntactic opera-
tions. These assumptions underlie the Principles and Parameters model (Chomsky 1981),
45. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 27
in which the lexicon is no longer treated as a part of a syntactic component, but rather
has equal status with syntax and the other independent levels of linguistic structure
posited (Logical Form and Phonetic Form).
Central to all formulations of the Lexicalist Hypothesis is the notion that syntactic
operations, which follow those responsible for word-formation, are blind to the internal
structure of lexical items. This principle distinguishes lexicalist from non-lexicalist ap-
proaches to grammar and thus is an important one with far-reaching consequences. Sys-
tematic regularities in word-internal structure are accounted for in terms of lexicon-
internal processes that are fundamentally different to syntactic ones. The Lexicalist Hy-
pothesis has often been revised, and both strong and weak forms of it have been advo-
cated, the difference being whether inflection is classed as a syntactic operation along
with derivation and compounding or not.
Within transformational theory, the Lexicalist Hypothesis has been challenged by
Baker (1988), who proposed that the incorporation of a noun into a verb is a word-
formation process that is not lexical but syntactic (Section 3.2). This syntactic analysis
has been used to account for other word-formation processes such as causative formation
(Section 2.3.3) as well. Some researchers go further and reject the Lexicalist Hypothesis
entirely, claiming that primitives and processes relevant to lexical items and word-forma-
tion are wholly syntactic (e.g. Ramchand 2008). Other work broadly compatible with
the Minimalist Program, by contrast, adopts some version of the Lexicalist Hypothesis
(e.g. Ackema and Neeleman 2004).
In contrast to approaches such as the Minimalist Program, which seek to relate syntac-
tic structures via transformational operations and hence are derivational, many lexicalist
theories are non-derivational. The latter provide a framework within which to explore
grammaticality in terms of how constraints on the correspondences between different
levels of linguistic structure, which are simultaneously present, can be satisfied. Such
correspondence theories include Head-Driven Phrase Structure Grammar (HPSG; Pollard
and Sag 1994), Lexical-Functional Grammar (LFG; Bresnan 2001), Role and Reference
Grammar (Van Valin and LaPolla 1997) and Culicover and Jackendoff’s (2005) Simpler
Syntax. Construction Grammar (e.g. Fried and Östman 2004) takes a different overall
approach, treating the relationship between the lexicon and syntax as a continuum on
the basis that both lexical and syntactic constructions represent pairs of form and mean-
ing which simply differ in terms of internal complexity. The relationship between syntax
and the lexicon has been explored in each framework through analysis of a variety of
interface phenomena. In addition to the issue of the relationship between morphology
and syntax (Section 3), research has centred on accounting for the realization of argu-
ments and argument structure alternations, for example the dative alternation (Goldberg
1995), unaccusativity (e.g. Alexiadou et al. 2004; Levin and Rappaport Hovav 1995),
aspect (e.g. Erteschik-Shir and Rapoport 2005) and incorporation (Baker 1988). The
different analyses of causativization which have been proposed serve to illustrate the
major differences between these approaches with regards to a particular valency-chang-
ing operation.
2.3. Causative constructions: lexical or syntactic?
The English sentence (2) is an example of a periphrastic causative in which Charlie is
the causer, Lily is the causee, and the caused event is Lily laughing. This sentence
46. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
28
describes two separate events expressed by two different verbs, each in a different clause,
with the cause of the second event being given in the first clause. Each verb is a separate
lexical item that corresponds to a separate syntactic predicate.
(2) Charlie caused Lily to laugh.
Not all causative constructions are formed in this way though, and the variation that
exists brings to light issues which have a direct bearing on the status of lexical items
and their interaction with the syntactic component of the grammar. In a Romance lan-
guage such as Catalan, the causative construction consists of two verbs, but in contrast
to its English counterpart, tests show that it is not biclausal but monoclausal. For exam-
ple, while the logical subject of llegir ‘read’ is realized as a grammatical subject in (3a),
in (3b) it appears as an object expressed as a prepositional phrase which must follow
the other object noun phrase un poema ‘a poem’ (Alsina 1996: 190, 210). This is consist-
ent with the causee (the boy) being the third argument of a single syntactic predicate
(‘make-read’) in a simple clause.
[Catalan]
(3) a. El
the
nen
boy
llegeiz
read
un
a
poema.
poem
‘The boy is reading a poem.’
b. El
the
mestre
teacher
fa
makes
llegir
read
un
a
poema
poem
al
to.the
nen.
boy
‘The teacher is making the boy read a poem.’
(Alsina 1996: 190)
In the Catalan monoclausal causative construction therefore two separate verb forms
combine to give a single syntactic predicate, demonstrating that the overt form of a verb
and its function can be separated in this instance.
In Japanese, the productive causative formation process involves affixation of the
morpheme -(s)ase to the verb, as in (3b).
[Japanese]
(4) a. Akira-ga
Akira-NOM
it-ta.
go-PST
‘Akira went.’
b. Hiroshi-ga
Hiroshi-NOM
Akira-o
Akira-ACC
ik-ase-ta.
go-CAUS-PST
‘Hiroshi made Akira go.’
This process would be classed as occurring in the syntax according to Wasow (1977)
because it is productive. I refer to this construction in theory-neutral terms as the produc-
tive sase causative.
Kuroda (1965), amongst others, argues that the productive sase causative construction
exemplified in (4) consists of two clauses rather than one, even though the verb is a single
word. Evidence for this analysis includes the fact that the inclusion of a manner adjunct,
which can be interpreted as modifying either the grammatical subject or the logical subject
47. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 29
in a biclausal sentence, also results in ambiguity in a productive sase causative construction,
as (5) shows. Hence, productive sase causative constructions are biclausal.
[Japanese]
(5) Jon-wa
John-TOP
muriyari
forcibly
sono
the
ko-ni
child-DAT
sono
the
kutsushita-o
socks-ACC
ooyorokobide
happily
hak-ase-ta.
put.on-CAUS-PST
‘John forcibly made the child put on his socks happily.’
[ambiguous as to who was happy]
(Matsumoto 1998: 9)
In a sense, the productive sase causative in (4b) is the mirror image of the Catalan
causative in (3b): in the Japanese construction, a single verb form corresponds to two
syntactic predicates; in Catalan, two verb forms correspond to a single syntactic predi-
cate. Thus, data show that there is not necessarily a one-to-one correspondence between
function and verb form.
In addition to the biclausal productive sase causative construction in Japanese, a
certain group of transitive verbs form a monoclausal structure when the causative -(s)ase
morpheme is added. For example, the causative form of nomu ‘to drink’ (nom-ase-ru)
in (6) means ‘to feed/give a drink to’.
[Japanese]
(6) Hahaoya-wa
mother-TOP
akachan-ni
baby-DAT
miruku-o
milk-ACC
nom-ase-ta.
drink-CAUS-PST
‘The mother fed the baby with milk (from a bottle).’
(Matsumoto 1998: 5)
This process would be classed as occurring in the lexicon according to Wasow (1977)
because it is not fully productive. I refer to this construction as the non-productive
sase causative.
In contrast to a biclausal productive sase causative construction like (5), the interpre-
tation of adverbials is unambiguous in the case of a non-productive sase causative con-
struction such as (7). This and other data indicate that non-productive sase causatives
are monoclausal.
[Japanese]
(7) Jon-wa
John-TOP
sono
the
netakirino
bedridden
roojin-ni
old.man-DAT
sono
the
kutsushita-o
socks-ACC
ooyorokobide
happily
hak-ase-ta.
put.on-CAUS-PST
‘John happily put the socks on the feet of the bedridden old man.’
[unambiguously John who was happy]
(Matsumoto 1998: 9)
However, if the productive sase causative is formed in the syntax, as per Wasow (1977),
and the lexicon provides the input for the syntax, Manning et al. (1999) note that data
such as (8) are problematic. In this sentence, a lexical process (nominalization via suffix-
ation of -kata ‘way’) has applied after the formation of a productive sase causative.
48. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
30
[Japanese]
(8) (?kodomo-e-no)
child-DAT-GEN
hon-no
book-GEN
yom-ase-kata
read-CAUS-way
‘the way to cause (the child) to read a book’
(Manning et al. 1999: 44)
Any analysis of the productive sase causative must account for (8), as well as the differ-
ent syntactic structures (monoclausal vs. biclausal) of the two sase causative construc-
tions. Three different approaches could be adopted: (i) both causatives are formed by a
syntactic process, but differ in terms of their syntax (Section 2.3.1); (ii) both are formed
by a lexical process, but differ lexically (Section 2.3.2); or (iii) the two processes are
fundamentally different because one is lexical and the other is syntactic (Section 2.3.3).
Comparing these approaches, each with distinct theoretical consequences, provides an
insight into a range of issues concerning the relationship between lexical items and
syntax and how they have been addressed.
2.3.1. Syntactic approaches
Harley (2008) analyses causativization in purely syntactic terms within the framework
of Distributed Morphology (Halle and Marantz 1993; see also Section 3.2), a theory in
which there is no lexicon and (syntactic) principles apply to both morphology and syntax.
The main semantic feature shared by different types of causatives is defined syntacti-
cally: the head CAUSE of a verbal projection is common to all causative constructions.
The two Japanese sase causatives are analysed as differing in terms of the structural
complexity of their syntax. In the case of the non-productive sase causative, -(s)ase
appears in vo
, immediately adjacent to a verb root which cannot have a subject of its
own. By contrast, in the biclausal productive sase causative, -(s)ase is the head of a
verbal CAUSE projection which subcategorizes for a clause with its own subject.
The possibility that the same morpheme may attach to a “high” or “low” projection,
and that this may correlate in a systematic way with the differences between them, is
common to a number of analyses. For example, Travis (2000) distinguishes different
types of causatives in Malagasy and Tagalog on the basis of the syntactic position that
the causative morpheme occupies. Travis (2000) states that the Event Phrase marks the
boundary between l(exical)-syntax and s(yntactic)-syntax; causatives formed in the do-
main of l-syntax (causative morpheme occurs below E, the head of the Event Phrase)
are non-productive, while those formed in s-syntax (causative morpheme occurs above
E) are productive. This approach to the issue of causativization, as well as those outlined
by Harley (2008) and Ramchand (2008: 150−192), treats syntax as a generative compo-
nent with respect to word formation.
However, data from languages other than Japanese challenge a uniform syntactic
analysis of causativization cross-linguistically. For example, Horvath and Siloni (2010)
argue that a productive causative construction in Hungarian is not biclausal but mono-
clausal (see also Pylkkänen 2008: 107). The productive/non-productive distinction thus
does not appear to correlate with the proposed difference in syntactic structure. Another
issue for a syntactic analysis is that in order to account for the data in (8), -kata nominals
must be derived in the syntax, as Harley (2008: 48, fn. 8) notes.
49. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 31
2.3.2. Lexicalist approaches
Analyses such as Manning et al. (1999), working in the framework of HPSG, and Matsu-
moto (1996, 1998), working in LFG, seek to account for the two Japanese sase causa-
tives in terms of a lexical distinction. In both cases, the causative verb is derived from
the base verb in the lexicon. The monoclausal/biclausal distinction is generally dealt
with as a difference in structural complexity relating to the mappings between different
types of linguistic structure. For example, Matsumoto (1998: 5−6) captures the fact
that productive and non-productive sase causatives in Japanese share some features by
proposing that they are both monoclausal at f(unctional)-structure, a level of syntactic
structure at which grammatical relations such as subject and object are represented. Non-
productive sase causatives involve a single predicate − the verb stem and causative
morpheme together have a single argument structure − and are “purely monoclausal”
(Matsumoto 1998: 5), i.e. at the level of a(rgument)-structure as well as at f-structure (9).
(9) Non-productive sase causative, e.g. nom-ase-ta ‘fed/gave a drink to’ in (6)
a-structure: feed < Agent, Recipient, Patient >
f-structure: ‘feed < SBJ OBJ OBJpatient >
(Matsumoto 1998: 6)
By contrast, productive sase causatives are biclausal at the level of a(rgument)-structure.
The causative morpheme introduces a separate predicate CAUSE with its own argument
structure. The patient of CAUSE and the agent of the embedded predicate are fused to-
gether in a-structure, as indicated by the dashed line in (10), the result being that two
thematic roles are shared by a single “fused” argument (Alsina 1992).
(10) Productive sase causative, e.g. nom-ase-ta ‘caused to drink’
n
o
i
s
u
f
a-structure: CAUSE < Agent, Patient, Subevent >
drink< Agent, Patient >
f-structure: ‘cause-to-drink’ < SBJ OBJ OBJpatient >’
(Matsumoto 1998: 5)
Thus two different a-structures may map to the same f-structure, cf. (9) and (10), and
the observed monoclausal/biclausal contrast is analysed as a reflex of argument structure.
The fact that the productive sase causative can be nominalized by suffixation of -kata,
as exemplified in (7), supports this lexicalist analysis because both are proposed to be
formed in the lexicon.
Accounting for the possibility of disjunction of sub-word constituents under the scope
of causation (Kuroda 2003: 455−458) and the causativization of raising verbs (Horvath
and Siloni 2010: 168) have been identified as challenges to the lexicalist analysis of the
productive sase causative.
50. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
32
2.3.3. Mixed approaches
A third possible approach to the two sase causatives would be to assume that they are
inherently different, one being formed in the lexicon and the other being formed in the
syntax. Baker (1988) represents a framework broadly consistent with the Weak Lexicalist
Hypothesis within which to explore this possibility. According to this approach, the
underlying structure of both causative constructions is the same because according to
the Uniformity of Theta Assignment Hypothesis (UTAH; Baker 1988: 46), there is a
one-to-one correspondence between syntactic positions and thematic roles as assigned
by a specific type of predicate. The productive sase causative is formed in the syntax:
the base verb is head of a lower VP that moves to SpecC' before its head is adjoined,
via Incorporation (Section 3.2), to -(s)ase which is the head of a higher VP. The non-
productive sase causative, on the other hand, is formed in the lexicon and represents a
single verb in the input to the syntax. Harley (2008: 33) criticizes this type of Incorpora-
tion analysis for failing to account for the systematic relationship which exists between
the productive and non-productive sase causatives. For discussion of other problems
with an Incorporation analysis of causatives, see Alsina (1992).
Horvath and Siloni (2010) propose an analysis which does not seek to define causa-
tive formation in purely syntactic or lexical terms either, defining the difference in terms
of the setting of the Lexicon-Syntax Parameter (Reinhart and Siloni 2005), which states
that valency-changing operations including causativization apply either in the lexicon or
in the syntax in a language. In Japanese, causativization is claimed to apply in the syntax;
non-productive sase causatives are hypothesised to be underived lexical items or relics
and therefore irrelevant to the language’s parameter setting. It remains to be clarified
how data such as (8), which shows that a syntactic causative can be the input to nominali-
zation, is dealt with under such an analysis.
2.4. Conclusion
The causative construction has been the focus of much research and its study continues
to raise issues of importance. This and other data concerning the realization of arguments
are key to understanding and defining the relationship between lexical items and syntax.
A closely related issue is the interface between syntax and morphology.
3. Syntax and morphology
3.1. Introduction
Different theoretical approaches account for the part which syntax plays in the formation
of complex words in distinct ways. Defining the nature of morphology is an important
consideration in itself. A key proposal that cuts across lexical and syntactic approaches
to the syntax−morphology interface is the Separationist Hypothesis (see Beard 1995,
amongst others), which advocates divorcing the meaning or morphological function of
51. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 33
a morpheme from its form. For example, an abstract L(exical)-derivation rule of plurali-
zation changes the features of an English singular count noun thus: [−Plural, +Singular]
→ [+Plural, −Singular] (Beard 1995: 160). The form of the plural is determined in a
separate morphological spelling (MS) component. MS-rules include suffixation, e.g.
dog−dogs, and umlaut, e.g. man−men, which accounts for the multiple exponence of
the morphosyntactic category ‘plural’ in English. This approach is often adopted in the
analysis of inflection, and has also been extended to derivation by some researchers (see
Beard 1998).
For those who do not subscribe to the view that syntax subsumes morphology (Sec-
tion 3.2) and instead adhere to a strong or weak version of the Lexicalist Hypothesis
(Section 3.3), the challenge is not only to identify those primitives and operations which
are uniquely morphological in their nature and define them, but also to characterize
the interface between syntax and morphology (Section 3.4). Key data are examples of
phenomena which exhibit a combination of properties that appear to be neither wholly
morphological nor wholly syntactic. These include cliticization (e.g. Anderson 2005;
Halpern 1995; Zwicky 1994), incorporation (e.g. Baker 1988; Mithun 1984) and inflec-
tion (e.g. Anderson 1992; Steele 1995; Stump 2001). Indeed, approaches to morphology
can also be classified according to the relations they posit between the morphology and
morphosyntactic properties of an inflected word (lexical vs. inferential and incremental
vs. realizational). See Stump (2001).
The proposed analyses of incorporation, undertaken in a variety of frameworks, pro-
vide a useful insight into some major issues.
3.2. Syntax subsumes morphology
Noun incorporation is a productive process found in a number of languages including
Classical Nahuatl, a North American language. The two sentences in (11) are very simi-
lar in meaning and include the same morphemes, but in (11b) the direct object naca
‘meat’ is part of the verb qua ‘eat’, the only word in the sentence.
[Classical Nahuatl]
(11) a. ni-c-qua
1SG.SBJ-3SG.OBJ-eat
in
DET
naca-tl.
meat-ABS
‘I eat (the) meat.’
b. ni-naca-qua.
1SG.SBJ-meat-eat
‘I eat meat.’
(Iturrioz Leza 2001: 715)
The process involved in forming (11b) is productive and may be the usual way to convey
a particular meaning. This is reminiscent of a syntactic process, though the result of this
noun incorporation is a single word. As Mithun (1984: 847) states, such noun incorpora-
tion is “perhaps the most nearly syntactic of all morphological processes”.
Baker’s (1988) influential approach to noun incorporation is an example of how word
formation can be analysed as a syntactic process: syntax is argued to manipulate mor-
phemes to form words in cases such as (11b). Specifically, complex words are formed
52. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
34
by head movement, a syntactic operation restricted by the Head Movement Constraint
(Travis 1984: 131), or possibly the Empty Category Principle (Chomsky 1981: 250) or
Relativized Minimality (Rizzi 1990), as shown in (12). This type of derivational rule is
known as Incorporation.
(12)
Noun incorporation, a way of forming a complex word, is thus analysed in terms of
established principles of derivational syntax. In this way, syntactic operations are pro-
posed to be responsible for generating structure below as well as above word level.
Other syntactic analyses of noun incorporation are presented in van Geenhoven (1998),
Koopman and Szabolcsi (2000) and Massam (2001). Baker (2009) compares his head-
movement analysis to these approaches in the context of the Minimalist Program (Chom-
sky 1995).
Baker (1988) also uses Incorporation to account for other morphosyntactic phenom-
ena, including passivization and applicativization, two processes in which affixation may
accompany a change in argument structure. Baker (1985: 375) further claims that gram-
mar is constrained by the Mirror Principle: “morphological derivations must directly
reflect syntactic derivations (and vice versa)”. The order of affixes relative to each other
and the base is thus predicted to reflect the order in which the relevant syntactic opera-
tions applied in the derivation of a complex word. If syntax subsumes morphology en-
tirely, the Mirror Principle should always constrain word-internal structure. However,
while it represents a strong tendency, the Mirror Principle does not appear to be inviola-
ble, as Hyman et al. (2009) show. For example, when an applicative is passivized, the
order of syntactic operations is applicative then passive, so the applicative morpheme
should be affixed closer to the base than the passive one according to the Mirror Princi-
ple. This is the case in the example from the Bantu language Ndebele in (13a). However,
when a passive is subject to applicativization in Ndebele, and hence the order in which
the syntactic operations apply is reversed, as in (13b), the same morphemes appear in
the same order as in (13a).
(13) a. Passivized Applicative [Ndebele]
abantwana
children
b-a-phek-el-w-a
they-PST-cook-APPL-PASS-FS
ukudla
food
‘The children were cooked food’
53. 3. Syntax and its Interfaces: An Overview 35
b. Applicativized Passive
ukudla
food
kw-a-phek-el-w-a
it-PST-cook-APPL-PASS-FS
abantwana
children
‘The food was cooked (for) the children’
(Hyman et al. 2009: 298)
Thus, morphology does not reflect syntactic derivation in (13b). This undermines one of
the strongest types of argument for a purely syntactic analysis of such productive com-
plex word formation because in these cases the processes involved in syntactic and
morphological structure building do not appear to be exactly the same.
Baker himself does not advocate a syntactic analysis of all complex word formation
(Baker 1993: 588) and Incorporation could not be straightforwardly extended to cover
morphological processes which are non-concatenative. Others go further though, assum-
ing that there is no separate part of the grammar which generates morphological struc-
ture. Lack of isomorphism is an issue which syntactic approaches to morphology must
address.
Lieber (1992) seeks to capture complex word formation in terms of independent
principles of syntax and phonology. Under this approach, syntactic rules based on revised
principles of X-bar theory may apply to form a word from morphemes contained within
the lexicon. In this linear model, the sole interaction between morphology and syntax is
insertion of lexical items into syntax, at which point structure above and below word
level is built. Lieber’s (1992) analysis rests on definitions of head and non-heads in-
tended to apply both above and below word level, and the proposal that direction of
headedness is a parameter set once for a language and thus that the order of syntactic
units and morphemes will be identical, all things being equal. In support of this claim,
Lieber (1992) notes that, for example, English is largely a head-final language with
right-headed morphology (i.e. suffixation, Lieber 1992: 49−64, the head of a word being
the part that determines its category) while Tagalog is largely a head-initial language
with left-headed morphology (i.e. prefixation; Lieber 1992: 40−49). There are languages
such as Warlpiri (Simpson 1991) though which exhibit freedom of word order and a
rigid morpheme order that would be difficult to account for in terms of a headedness pa-
rameter.
A purely syntactic analysis must account for complex word formation in terms of
independently motivated syntactic principles. However, Lieber (1992) finds it necessary
to adapt X-bar principles to account for word-internal structure, indicating that it does
differ in some respects from syntactic structure (see Borer 1998).
Distributed Morphology (Halle and Marantz 1993; Harley and Noyer 1999; Marantz
1997) is another syntactic approach to morphology, according to which “all derivation
of complex objects is syntactic” (Embick and Noyer 2007: 290), and therefore syntactic
and morphological structure are fundamentally the same. Distributed Morphology is an
attempt to incorporate Separationism in a model which in effect eliminates morphology
altogether. Instances in which there is a lack of isomorphism between the two are ac-
counted for by differences in the complexity of the derivation involved or the application
of readjustment rules post-syntactically (Embick and Noyer 2007: 305−310).
Distributed Morphology, in common with other syntactic treatments of morphological
phenomena, is argued to be preferable on the grounds of parsimony: by having the
syntactic component subsume some or all complex word-formation, it is possible to
54. I. Introduction: Syntax in Linguistics
36
reduce or eliminate the need for morphology as a separate part of the grammar. However,
if it is necessary to posit new or revised operations which are not motivated on independ-
ent syntactic grounds and may never apply in the syntax, or to add powerful post-
syntactic stipulations in order to account for morphological processes, the parsimony
argument in favour of a syntactic analysis is undermined.
3.3. Lexicalist approaches
Contrasting with syntactic approaches to morphology are those such as Aronoff (1994)
which maintain that the formation and structure of complex words is distinct from that
of phrases and hence morphology is a separate component of the grammar.
The Strong Lexicalist approach (e.g. Halle 1973), in which specific rules of word
formation apply in one component of the grammar and feed into a separate syntactic
component, has generally been rejected on the basis that inflection exhibits features
consistent with syntactic principles. This is the weak lexicalist position found in the work
of Aronoff (1976), whose word-formation rules (WFRs) account only for derivational
morphology. According to the Weak Lexicalist Hypothesis, derivational processes apply
in the lexicon, whereas “inflectional morphology is what is relevant to the syntax” (An-
derson 1982: 587). Thus in English, nominalization by addition of -ion (derivational
morphology) is analysed as being inherently different from affixation of -s to a verb
stem indicating third person singular subject agreement (inflectional morphology) as the
latter is integrated with the syntax. Inflectional processes such as agreement and case
marking are characterized as a set of adjustment rules which serve to harmonize the
output of the syntactic and morphological components in a Weak Lexicalist framework.
Kiparsky’s (1982) Strong Lexicalist analysis, by contrast, relates the distinction between
derivation and inflection to the cyclic ordering of rules of affixation relative to each
other within the lexicon. Morphology is thus kept separate from syntax in this Lexical
Phonology/Morphology model, but the price is to situate morphological and phonologi-
cal rules in the lexicon.
The process of incorporation is open to a lexicalist analysis, as work by Di Sciullo
and Williams (1987), Mithun (1984) and Rosen (1989) shows. Under such an analysis,
noun incorporation is the result of a verb combining with one of its arguments, similar
to an English verbal compound such as horse riding. This is a lexical rather than a
syntactic process. (Not all noun incorporation appears to be the same in this respect.
Rosen 1989 identifies a type of incorporation, Classifier NI, which involves incorpora-
tion of a noun that is not selected as an argument by the verb.)
Anderson (2000: 135), concurring with Baker, notes that “the syntactic and lexical
theories of Noun Incorporation are ‘tied’ in that each can be said to account for roughly
the same range of phenomena the other can”, but goes on to discuss data which are
problematic for a purely syntactic analysis. Specifically, Anderson (2000) discusses in-
stances of morphosyntactic agreement in noun incorporation constructions. Baker
(1996: 307−329) claims that when the syntactic operation of Incorporation has applied,
a trace is left which occupies the position in which the incorporated noun was base
generated, as in (12). There should not be marking on the verb of agreement with this
trace because it does not possess any of the features of the moved element. Anderson
56. mobilize; he was known to them as "Fred Hansen." If he wanted a
naval reservist he called on Boy-Ed; if an army reservist was
required von Papen sent him to "Hansen." Boy-Ed gave him data on
ship sailings, von Papen on munitions plants, Koenig on secret
service.
His first task was to buy supplies and ship them to Germany. He
boasted that there was no such thing as a British blockade. Using his
pseudonyms of Gibbon and Hansen he made large purchases and
with the aid of Captain Gustave Steinberg, a naval reservist, he
chartered ships and dispatched them under false manifests to Italy
and Norway, where their cargoes could be readily smuggled into
Germany. Through Steinberg he importuned a chemist, Dr. Walter T.
Scheele, to soak fertilizer in lubricating oil for shipment to the
Fatherland, where the valuable oil could be easily extracted. Through
the same intermediary von Rintelen gave Dr. Scheele $20,000 to ship
a cargo of munitions under a false manifest as "farm implements";
Dr. Scheele kept the $20,000 and actually shipped a cargo of farm
machinery.
Rintelen's next venture attracted some unpleasant attention. The
United States Government had condemned some 350,000 Krag-
Joergensen rifles, which it refused to sell to any of the belligerents.
Rintelen cast a fond eye in their direction. President Wilson had told
a banker: "You will get those rifles only over my dead body."
Rintelen heard, however, that by bribing certain officials he could
obtain the guns, so he sent out agents to learn what they would
cost, and found a man who said he could buy them for $17,826,000,
part of which was to be used for effective bribery. "So close am I to
the President," said the intermediary, "that two days after I deposit
the money in the bank you can dandle his grandchild on your knee!"
But just when the negotiations were growing bright, Rintelen was
told that the man who proposed to sell him the rifles was a secret
agent from another government. A certain "Dr. Alfred Meyer" was
known to have been groping for those rifles, and the newspapers
and government officials became suddenly interested in his real
57. identity. A dowdy woman's implication reached a reporter's ears;
presently the newspapers burst out in the "discovery" that "Dr.
Alfred Meyer" was none other than Dr. Meyer-Gerhardt, a German
Red Cross envoy then in the United States. Like the popping of a
machine gun, "correct versions of the facts" were published: "Dr.
Meyer-Gerhardt denied vigorously that he was 'Dr. Alfred Meyer,'"
then "'Dr. Alfred Meyer' was known to have left the United States on
the same ship with Dr. Meyer-Gerhardt," then "an American citizen
came forward anonymously and said that he had posed as 'Dr. Alfred
Meyer' in order to test the good faith of the Government."
This last announcement may have been true. It was made to a New
York Sun reporter by a German, Karl Schimmel, who professed his
allegiance to the United States, and by the "American citizen" who
said he had posed as "Dr. Alfred Meyer." It may have been made to
shield Rintelen himself, for the "American citizen" was an employe of
a German newspaper in New York, a friend of Rintelen's, a friend of
Schimmel's and Schimmel himself was in von Rintelen's pay.
Let a pack of reporters loose on a half dozen tangents and they will
probably scratch the truth. A Tribune man heard a whisper of the
facts and set out on a hunt for "two Germans, Meyer and Hansen,
who have been acting funny." He frightened the personnel right out
of the office of the E. V. Gibbon Company. Captain Steinberg fled to
Germany with a trunkful of reports on the necessity of concerted
action to stop the shipment of munitions to the Allies, and Rintelen
migrated to an office in the Woolworth Building. Some one heard of
his activities there and he was evicted, taking final refuge in the
Liberty Tower, in the office of Andrew M. Meloy, who had been in
Germany to interest the German government in a scheme similar to
Rintelen's own. In Meloy's office Rintelen posed as "E. V. Gates"—
preserving the shadow of his identity as "Emil V. Gasche." So
effective was his disappearance from the public view, that he was
reported to have gone abroad as a secretary, and he sat in the tower
and chuckled, and sent messages by wireless to Berlin through
Sayville, and cablegrams to Berlin through England and Holland, and
58. enjoyed all the sensations of a man attending a triple funeral in his
honor. "Meyer," "Hansen" and "Gasche" were all dead, and yet, here
was Rintelen!
Although his sojourn in New York covered a period which was the
peak of the curve of German atrocities in the United States, Rintelen
was a fifth wheel. No man came to America to accomplish more, and
no man accomplished less. No German agent had his boldness of
project, and no German executive met a more ignominious fate.
Whatever he touched with his golden wand turned to dross. He was
hoodwinked here and there by his own agents, and frustrated by the
vigilance of the Allied and the United States governments. He has
been introduced here because of his connection with subsequent
events, and yet this picturesque figure played the major part in not
one successful venture.
Four months he passed in America, until it became too small for him.
In August the capture of Dr. Albert's portfolio and the publication of
certain of its contents frightened Rintelen, and he applied for a
passport as "Edward V. Gates, an American citizen of Millersville,
Pa.," but he did not dare claim it. Though he had bought tickets
under the alias, and had had drafts made payable in that name, he
did not occupy the "Gates" cabin on the Noordam, but at the last
minute engaged passage under the renascent name of "Emil V.
Gasche," the harmless Swiss. He eluded the Federal agents, and
sailed safely to Falmouth, England, where, after a search of the ship,
and an excellent attempt to bluff it through, he finally surrendered to
the British authorities as a prisoner-of-war. Meloy and his secretary
were captured with him.
Rintelen was returned to the United States in 1916. He was
convicted in 1917 and 1918 on successive charges of conspiracy to
violate the Sherman Anti-Trust law, to obtain a fraudulent passport,
and to destroy merchant ships—which combined to sentence him to
a year in the Tombs and nine years in a Federal prison.
60. CHAPTER XI
SHIP BOMBS
Mobilizing destroying agents—The plotters in Hoboken—Von
Kleist's arrest and confession—The Kirk Oswald trial—Further
explosions—The Arabic—Robert Fay—His arrest—The ship plots
decrease.
The reader will recall a circular quoted in Chapter VIII, and issued
November 18, 1914, from German Naval Headquarters, mobilizing all
destroying agents in harbors overseas.
On January 3, 1915, there was an explosion on board the munitions
ship Orton, lying in Erie Basin, a part of New York harbor. On
February 6 a bomb was found in the cargo of the Hannington. On
February 27 the Carlton caught fire at sea. On April 20 two bombs
were found in the cargo of the Lord Erne. One week later the same
discovery was made in the hold of the Devon City. All of which
accounts for the following charge:
"George D. Barnitz, being duly sworn, deposes and says ... on
information and belief that on the first day of January, 1915,
and on every day thereafter down to and including the 13th day
of April, 1916, the defendants Walter T. Scheele, Charles von
Kleist, Otto Wolpert, Ernst Becker, (Charles) Karbade, the first
name Charles being fictitious, the true first name of defendant
being unknown, (Frederick) Praedel ... (Wilhelm) Paradis ... Eno
Bode and Carl Schmidt ... did unlawfully, feloniously and
corruptly conspire ... to manufacture bombs filled with
chemicals and explosives and to place said bombs ... upon
vessels belonging to others and laden with moneys, goods and
merchandise...."
61. Ninety-one German ships were confined to American harbors by the
activities of the British fleet, ranging from the Neptun, of 197 tons,
in San Francisco Bay, to the Vaterland, of 54,000 tons, the largest
vessel on the seven seas, tied up to accrue barnacles at her
Hoboken pier, and later, as the Leviathan, to transport American
troops to France. Every one of the ninety-one ships was a nest of
German agents. Only a moderate watch was kept on their crews,
and there were many restless men among them. Every man aboard
was liable to command from Captain Boy-Ed, for the German
merchant marine was part of the formal naval organization. The
interned sailors found shortly that they could be of distinct service to
their country without stirring from their ships.
Not far from the North German Lloyd piers in Hoboken lived Captain
Charles von Kleist, 67 years old, a chemist and former German army
officer. One day there came to him one who spoke the German
tongue and who said he came from Wolf von Igel, in von Papen's
office. Those were good credentials, especially since the gentleman
was inquiring on von Igel's behalf whether Kleist needed any money
in the work he was doing. The polite caller returned a few days later
with another man, who spoke no German. Von Kleist asked whether
he was also from the Fatherland, and was told no, but "we have to
use all kinds of people in our business—that's how we fool these
Yankees!" Von Kleist laughed heartily, and wagged his head, and
went out in the garden and dug up a bomb-case and showed the
visitors how it had been made. The visitors were Detectives Barth
and Barnitz.
They assured Kleist that von Igel wanted to know precisely what he
and his associates were doing, so no money might be paid to the
wrong parties. The aged captain wrote out a memorandum of his
activities, which he signed, and the detectives proposed a trip to
Coney Island as an evidence of good faith, so the three had a
pleasant afternoon at the Hotel Shelburne, and the officers then
suggested: "Let's go up and see the chief." "Chief" to von Kleist
62. meant von Igel; he agreed, and was taken gently into the arms of
the chief of detectives.
He implicated, as he sat there answering questions, Captain Eno
Bode, pier superintendent of the Hamburg-American Line, Captain
Otto Wolpert, pier superintendent of the Atlas Line, and Ernst
Becker, an electrician on the North German Lloyd liner Friedrich der
Grosse, tied up at Hoboken. The other conspirators were induced to
come to New York, and were arrested at once. Bode and Wolpert,
powerful bullies of Paul Koenig's own stamp, proved defiant in the
extreme. Becker, knowing no word of English, was pathetically
courteous and ready to answer. But it remained for von Kleist to
supply the narrative.
Becker, working on the sunny deck of the Friedrich der Grosse, had
made numerous bomb cases, rolling sheet lead into a cylinder, and
inserting in the tube a cup-shaped aluminum partition. These
containers he turned over to Dr. Walter Scheele at his "New Jersey
Agricultural Company," where he filled one compartment with
nitroglycerine, the other with sulphuric acid. Scheele supplied the
mechanics with sheet lead for the purpose. The bombs were then
sealed and packed in sand for distribution to various German
gathering places, such as, for example, the Turn Verein in the
Brooklyn Labor Lyceum. Wolpert appeared there at a meeting one
night and berated the Germans present for talking too much and
acting too little; he wanted results, he said. Eugene Reister, the
proprietor of the place, said that shortly afterward Walter Uhde and
one Klein (who died before the police reached him) had taken away
a bundle of bombs from the Turn Verein and had placed them on the
Lusitania, just before her last voyage, and added that Klein, when he
heard of the destruction of the ship, expressed regret that he had
done it. Karl Schimmel—the same who had negotiated for the Krag
rifles—said later to Reister: "I really put bombs on that boat, but I
don't believe that fellow Klein ever did."
Following Kleist's information, agents of the Department of Justice
and New York police inspected the Friedrich der Grosse, and found
63. quantities of chlorate of potash and other chemicals. They brought
back with them also Garbode (mentioned in the charge as
"Karbade"), Paradis and Praedel, fourth engineers on the ship, who
had assisted in making the bombs, and Carl Schmidt, the chief
engineer. All of the group were implicated in the plot to the complete
satisfaction of a jury which concluded their cases in May, 1917, by
convicting them of "conspiracy to destroy ships through the use of
fire bombs placed thereon." Kleist and Schmidt received sentences
of two years each in Atlanta Penitentiary and were each fined
$5,000; Becker, Karbade, Praedel and Paradis were fined $500
apiece and sentenced to six months in prison. Dr. Scheele fled from
justice, and was arrested in March, 1918, in Havana. A liberal supply
of vicious chemicals and explosives discovered in his "New Jersey
Agricultural Company" implicated him thoroughly, if the evidence
given by his fellows had not already done so. When he was finally
captured he faced two federal indictments: one with Steinberg and
von Igel for smuggling lubricating oil out of the country as fertilizer,
under false customs manifests; the other the somewhat more
criminal charge of bombing.
On April 29, 1915, the Cressington caught fire at sea. Three days
later, in the hold of the Kirk Oswald, a sailor found a bomb tucked
away in a hiding place where its later explosion would have started a
serious fire. So it came about that when the four lesser conspirators
of the fire-bomb plot had served their six months' sentences, they
were at once rearrested on the specific charge of having actually
planted that bomb in the Kirk Oswald. The burly dock captains, Bode
and Wolpert, who had blustered their innocence in the previous trial,
and had succeeded in securing heavy bail from the Hamburg-
American Line pending separate trials for themselves, were nipped
this time with evidence which let none slip through. Rintelen was
haled from his cell to answer to his part in the Kirk Oswald affair,
and the jury, in January, 1918, declared the nine plotters "guilty as
charged" and Judge Howe sentenced them to long terms in prison.
Rintelen, alone of the group, as they sat in court, had an air of
anything but wretched fanatic querulousness. He followed the
64. proceedings closely, and once took the trial into his own hands in a
flash of temper when the State kept referring to the loss of the
Lusitania. It went hard with the nobleman to be herded into a
common American court with a riff-raff of hireling crooks and treated
with impartial justice. In Germany it never could have happened!
If those trials had occurred in May, 1915, the history of the transport
of arms and shells would not have been marred by such entries as
these:
May 8—Bankdale; two bombs found in cargo.
May 13—Samland; afire at sea.
May 21—Anglo-Saxon; bomb found aboard.
June 2—Strathway; afire at sea.
July 4—Minnehaha; bomb exploded at sea. (The magnetos.)
July 13—Touraine; afire at sea.
July 14—Lord Downshire; afire.
July 20—Knutford; afire in hold.
July 24—Craigside; five fires in hold.
July 27—Arabic; two bombs found aboard.
Aug. 9—Asuncion de Larriñaga; afire at sea.
Aug. 13—Williston; bombs in cargo.
Aug. 27—Lighter Dixie; fire while loading.
On August 31 the White Star liner Arabic, nineteen hours out of
Liverpool was torpedoed by a German submarine and sank in eleven
minutes, taking 39 lives, of which two were American. Germany, on
September 9, declared that the U-boat commander attacked the
Arabic without warning, contrary to his instructions, but only after he
65. was convinced that the liner was trying to ram him; the Imperial
Government expressed regret for the loss of American lives, but
disclaimed any liability for indemnity, and suggested arbitration. On
October 5, however, the government in Berlin had changed its tune
to the extent of issuing a note expressing regret for having sunk the
ship, disavowing the act of the submarine commander, and assuring
the United States that new orders to submarines were so strict that
a recurrence of any such action was "considered out of the
question." If the cargoes could be fired at sea, no submarine issue
need be raised. And so fires and bombs continued to be discovered
on ships just as consistently as before. The log, resumed, runs thus:
Sept. 1—Rotterdam; fire at sea.
Sept. 7—Santa Anna; fire at sea.
Sept. 29—San Guglielmo; dynamite found on pier.
Now von Rintelen's handiwork was revealed in the adventures of
Robert Fay, or "Fae," as he was known in the Fatherland. In spite of
the imaginative quality of the enterprise, and the additional guilt
which it heaped upon the executives of the spy system, it was not
successful. There were vibrant moments, though, when only the
mobilization of police from two states and special agents from the
Secret Service and Department of Justice averted what would have
developed into a profitable method of destroying ships.
Lieutenant Robert Fay was born in Cologne, where he lived until
1902. In that year he migrated to Canada, where he worked on a
farm, and later to Chicago, where he was employed as a bookkeeper
until 1905. He then returned to Germany for his military service, and
went to work again in Cologne, in the office of Thomas Cook & Sons.
After a period in a Mannheim machine shop he went home and
devoted himself to certain mechanical inventions, and was at work
upon them when he was called out for war service on August 1,
1914.
66. His regiment went into the trenches, and the lieutenant had some
success in dynamiting a French position. Conniving with a superior
officer, he deserted his command, and was sent to America by a
German reputed to be the head of the secret service, one
Jonnersen. Jonnersen gave Fay 20,000 marks for expenses in
carrying out a plan to stop shipments of munitions from America,
and Fay arrived in New York April 23, 1915, on the Rotterdam.
Dr. Herbert Kienzle, a clock-maker, of 309 West 86th Street, had
written to his father in Germany bitterly assailing the United States
for shipping munitions, and enclosed in his letters information of
certain American firms, such as Browne & Sharp, of Providence, and
the Chalmers Motor Car Company, of Detroit, who were reputed to
be manufacturing them. These letters had been turned over to
Jonnersen, who showed them to Fay as suggestions. Upon his arrival
in New York, then, Fay called on Kienzle, who, though he was
friendly enough, was reluctant to know of the details Fay had
planned. Dr. Kienzle introduced Fay to von Papen, and later to Max
Breitung, from whom he purchased a quantity of potassium chlorate.
The deserter found his brother-in-law, Walter Scholz, working as a
gardener on an estate near Waterford, Connecticut, and brought him
to New York on a salary of $25 a week. The two crossed the Hudson
to Weehawken, N. J., and set to work to make bombs. Fay had a
theory that a bomb might be attached to the rudder of a ship, and
so set as to explode when the rudder, swinging to port, wound a
ratchet inside the device which would release a hammer upon a
percussion cap. Their plan was to have the parts manufactured at
machine shops, assemble and fill them themselves, and then steal
up the waterfront in the small hours and attach the infernal
machines to outward bound vessels. Fay even counted on disarming
the police boats before setting out.
It took the two some three months to get the parts made and
properly adjusted. Meanwhile they employed their spare hours in
cruising about the harbor in a motor-boat. A machinist in West 42nd
Street, New York, made the zinc tank which they used as a model,
67. and the two conspirators shortly opened a garage in Weehawken
where they could duplicate the bomb cases unmolested.
There came a time when the devices were satisfactory, and Fay
actually attached one to the rudder of a ship to make sure that his
adjustments were correct. The next move was to obtain explosives.
Fay's prejudice against bombs placed in a ship's hold was that they
rarely succeeded in sinking the craft; seventy or eighty pounds of
high explosive detonated at the stern of a vessel, however, would
blow the rudder away and not only cripple the ship but would
probably burst a hole in the stern, mangle the screw, and split the
shaft.
Captain Tunney, of the Bomb Squad, heard in October that two
Germans were trying to buy picric acid from a man who stopped at
the Hotel Breslin, and who called himself Paul Seib and Karl F.
Oppegaarde, as the occasion demanded. Tunney's men located the
two Germans, and some days later learned that they had placed an
order for fifty-two pounds of TNT, to be delivered at the Weehawken
garage. The delivery was intercepted, a similar but harmless
substance substituted for the explosive, and two detective-truckmen
took the package away on their truck to deliver it to Fay and Scholz.
While they were in New Jersey, Detectives Coy, Sterrett and Walsh
found Fay at the Breslin, and followed him back to Weehawken. As
he left the garage in the evening in his automobile, the automobile
of Police Commissioner Woods followed at a discreet distance. Up
the Palisades the two cars paraded, until in a grove near Grantwood,
Fay and Scholz got out of their car and disappeared into the woods
with a lantern. After a time they reappeared, and returned to the
garage, the police following.
Next morning Chief Flynn was called into the hunt—the morning of
Saturday, October 23—and he assigned two special agents to the
case. The police department directed two detectives to watch the
woods at Grantwood where the conspirators had gone the night
before. Detectives Murphy and Fennelly, each equipped with
linemen's climbers, arrived at the wood-road about noon, and spent
68. the next eleven hours in the branches of a great oak tree which
commanded the road. The perch was high and the night wind chilly,
but the watchers were rewarded at last by the twin searchlights of
an approaching car. Out of it stepped Fay and Scholz. The men in
the branches saw by the light of the lantern which Scholz carried
that Fay placed a package underneath a distant tree, walked to a
safe distance, exploded a percussion cap, watched the tree topple
over and went away, apparently satisfied with the power of his
explosives.
69. Robert Fay, who made bombs with which he hoped to
cripple the shipment of munitions to Europe
Meanwhile other detectives were watching the rooming house at
Union Hill where Fay and Scholz lived, and they saw the two come in
about 4 o'clock in the morning. Scholz had very little sleep, for there
was a ship leaving next day for Liverpool. He left the house at 7 A. M.
and went to the garage. Thereupon three detectives returned to the
70. great oak tree at Grantwood. About noon Fay and his brother-in-law
drove up, and unlocking the door of a rude hut in the wood, took
out a bag, from which they poured a few grains of powder on the
surface of a rock. Fay struck the rock with a hammer; a loud report
followed, and the hammer broke in his hand. A moment later he
heard a twig snap behind him. He turned, and saw a small army of
detectives with drawn revolvers closing in on him. Fay protested and
pleaded, and offered to bribe the detectives for his freedom, but he
was locked up with Scholz. The two had stored in a warehouse
several cases containing their completed bomb mechanisms; the
police confiscated from their various caches five new bombs, 25
pounds of TNT, 25 sticks of dynamite, 150 pounds of chlorate of
potash, two hundred bomb cylinders, 400 percussion caps, one
motor-boat, one chart of New York harbor showing all its
fortifications and piers, one foreign automobile, two German
automatic pistols and a long knife—a considerable arsenal.
Their confessions caused the arrest of Paul Daeche, who had
furnished them with explosives, Dr. Kienzle, Breitung, and Engelbert
Bronkhorst. Fay received a sentence of eight years in the
penitentiary, but after America went to war, Atlanta became too
confining for his adventurous spirit, and he escaped the prison, and
is believed to have crossed the Mexican border to safety. Scholz was
sentenced to four years, and Daeche to three. Kienzle, Breitung and
Bronkhorst were not tried, their apparent ignorance of Fay's designs
outweighing in the jury's mind their obvious German sympathies.
Kienzle, upon the declaration of war of April 6, 1917, became an
enemy alien, and was interned.
So Lieutenant Fay never qualified in active service as a destroying
agent. Yet he was profligate in his intentions. He offered two men
$500,000 if they could intrigue among the shippers in order that a
ship laden with copper for England might wander from the path of
convoy into German hands, and he even entertained the fantastic
hope, with his chart and his motor-boat and his bombs, of stealing
out of the harbor to the cordon of British cruisers who hung outside
71. the three-mile limit and attaching his bombs to their rudders, that
the German merchantmen might escape into the open sea.
On October 26 the Rio Lages caught fire at sea; fire broke out in the
hold of the Euterpe on November 3; three days later there was fire
aboard the Rochambeau at sea; the next day an explosion occurred
aboard the Ancona. And so the list runs on:
Dec. 4—Tynningham, two fires on ship.
Dec. 24—Alston, dynamite found in cargo.
Dec. 26—Inchmoor, fire in hold.
1916
Jan. 19—Sygna, fire at sea.
Jan. 19—Ryndam, bomb explosion at sea.
Jan. 22—Rosebank, two bombs in cargo.
Feb. 16—Dalton, fire at sea.
Feb. 21—Tennyson, bomb explosion at sea.
Feb. 26—Livingston Court, fire in Gravesend Bay.
April saw the round-up of the group who had been working under
the Hamburg-American captains, and although numerous fires
occurred during May, 1916, in almost every case they were traced to
natural accidents. The number mounted more slowly as the year
advanced. With the entrance of America into the war, and the
tightening of the police cordon along the waterfront, the chance of
planting bombs was still further reduced, but waterfront fires kept
recurring, and until the day of ultimate judgment in Berlin, when
each of Germany's arsonists in America comes to claim his reward,
none will know the total of loss at their hands. It was enormous in
the damage it inflicted upon cargo, but it is improbable that it had
73. CHAPTER XII
LABOR
David Lamar—Labor's National Peace Council—The embargo
conference—The attempted longshoremen's strike—Dr. Dumba's
recall.
Labor produced munitions. The hands of labor could be frightened
away from work by explosions, their handiwork could be bombed on
the railways, the wharves, the lighters, and the ships, but a surer
method than either of those was the perversion of the hearts of
labor. So thought Count von Bernstorff and Dr. Albert, who dealt in
men. So thought Berlin—the General Staff sent this message to
America:
"January 26—For Military Attaché. You can obtain particulars as
to persons suitable for carrying on sabotage in the United States
and Canada from the following persons: (1) Joseph McGarrity,
Philadelphia; (2) John P. Keating, Michigan Avenue, Chicago; (3)
Jeremiah O'Leary, 16 Park Row, New York.
"One and two are absolutely reliable and discreet. Three is
reliable, but not always discreet. These persons were indicated
by Sir Roger Casement. In the United States sabotage can be
carried out on every kind of factory for supplying munitions of
war."
(Signed) "Representative of General Staff."[3]
So too thought von Rintelen, who hired men—usually the wrong
ones.
74. Full of his project, he cast about for an intermediary. No sly chemist
or muscular wharf-rat would do for this delicate task of anesthetizing
men with the gas of German propaganda while it tied their hands
and amputated their centres of right and wrong; the candidate must
be a man of affairs, intimate with the chiefs of labor, skillful in
execution, and the abler the better. Von Rintelen would pay
handsomely for the right man. Whereupon David Lamar, the "Wolf of
Wall Street," appeared on the scene and applied for the job—an
entrance auspicious for the United States, for the newcomer's
philosophy (if one could judge from his previous career) was "Me
First."
In an attempt to defraud J. P. Morgan & Co., and the United States
Steel Corporation Lamar had once impersonated Representative A.
Mitchell Palmer in certain telephone interviews. (Palmer became
custodian of alien property after the United States entered the war.)
He was convicted and sentenced to two years' imprisonment in
Atlanta Penitentiary. He appealed the case, and while he was out on
bail pending the appeal, he fell in with Rintelen.
In April, 1915, a New Yorker who dealt in publicity was introduced to
Rintelen, or "Hansen," by Dr. Schimmel. Rintelen offered the
publicity man $25,000 to conduct a campaign of propaganda for
more friendly relations with Germany, to offset the commercial
power Great Britain bade fair to have at the end of the war, and
assured him that he would go to any extreme to prevent shipments
of munitions to the Allies. The war, he said, would be decided not in
Europe but in America. There must be strikes in the munitions
factories.
When the publicity man heard also that Rintelen was trying to stir up
trouble with Mexico, he wrote on May 13 to Joseph Tumulty,
President Wilson's secretary, informing him of the German's
intentions. He was referred to the Department of Justice, and at
their dictation continued in contact with Rintelen. Shortly thereafter
David Lamar and his friend Henry Martin took a trip to Minneapolis,
where they met Congressman Frank Buchanan and Ex-Congressman
75. Robert Fowler, both of Illinois. Out of that conference grew a plan
for forming a labor organization the object of which was ostensibly
peace, and actually an embargo upon the shipment of munitions
abroad, but whether Buchanan and Fowler knew of von Rintelen's
connection with the scheme remains to be proved. It can be readily
seen that such a labor organization, if it had actually represented
organized labor, could have forced such a stoppage, either by its
collective potential voting power and influence, or by fostering a
nation-wide strike of munitions workers.
The nucleus formed in Chicago, about one William F. Kramer.
"Buchanan and Fowler came to me in June here in Chicago," said
Kramer, "and told me about their plan to form a council. We opened
headquarters, and we engaged two organizers, James Short and J.
J. Cundiff, who got $50 a week apiece, a secretary, L. P. Straube,
who got $50 a week, and a stenographer. I was a vice-president, but
I didn't get anything. We were known then as Labor's Peace Council
of Chicago, and we were supposed to be in it because of our
convictions against the shipment of munitions. And I'll say that
organized labor was made the goat."
Buchanan had no idea of restricting the council to one city. He called
upon Samuel Gompers, head of the American Federation of Labor, at
Atlantic City on June 9 and tried to induce him to back a movement
in Washington for an embargo. Gompers refused flatly and
completely to have anything to do with the plan, especially when
Buchanan made known his associates. Those associates were busy
meanwhile lobbying in Congress, representing themselves as friends
of organized labor, and pressing the embargo question. About a
week later Congressman Buchanan inflated the Chicago organization
into Labor's National Peace Council, with headquarters at
Washington, to recommend the convocation of a special session of
Congress at once to "promote universal peace," which meant simply
"to promote the introduction and enactment of an embargo." Its
members met frequently, and annoyed the President and other
76. important men,—even Andrew Carnegie,—with their importunings
for attention, and got exactly what they wanted—wide publicity.
About July 10 Andrew D. Meloy, whose office in New York Rintelen
was sharing at the time, noticed that his German associate began to
keep a clipping-file of news of the Council. Meloy learned of the
project, and assured Rintelen that he was foolhardy to attempt, by
bribery of labor officials, to divert common labor from earning high
wages. To which Rintelen replied brusquely: "Thanks. You come into
this business about 11:45 o'clock."
Rintelen sent a telegram to Lamar in Chicago on July 16, the text of
which follows:
"E. Ruskay, Room 700 B, Sherman Hotel, Chicago.
"Party who receives $12,500 monthly from competitors is now
interfering with business in hand. Do you know of any way and
means to check him? Wire.
"F. Brown."
"Ruskay" was Lamar. Later in the day the German sent this
message:
"Twelve thousand five hundred now at capitol. Conference here
today plans to guarantee outsiders and settlement possible
within few days. New issue urgently needed. Notify B."
The "party" mentioned in the first despatch was the code
designation for Gompers, and he was indicated in the second
message as "Twelve thousand five hundred." "B" was Buchanan,
upon whose connection with labor Rintelen told Meloy the success of
the plan rested. Lamar hurried to New York, arriving July 19, and
met Rintelen in a limousine at the 100th Street entrance to Central
Park; on the ride which followed the "Wolf" told Rintelen that a
strike then going on among the munitions workers at Bridgeport was
"only a beginning of his efforts," and that within thirty days the
77. industry would be paralyzed throughout the country. Meloy advanced
the information that Gompers had just gone to Bridgeport to stop
the strike, to which Lamar replied:
"Buchanan will settle Gompers within twenty-four hours!"
The clippings kept coming in as testimony to the vigorous work
being done by the organization's press bureau: the Council attacked
the Federal Reserve Banks as "munitions trusts," it cited on July 8
nine ships lying in port awaiting munitions cargoes, and attacked
Dudley Field Malone, then Collector of the Port of New York, for
permitting such ships to clear; it claimed to represent a million labor
votes, and four million and a half farmers; it listened eagerly to an
address by Hannis Taylor, a disciple of the late warmhearted
Secretary of State, Mr. Bryan, in which Taylor criticized President
Wilson and was roundly cheered by the German-American element
in the audience. Semi-occasionally during the midsummer heat
Charles Oberwager, attorney for the Council (whose firm had
received handsome fees from von Papen), rose to deny any German
connection with the organization. The Council assailed Secretary
Lansing as a man "whose radicalism was liable to plunge this nation
into war." The Council assailed, in fact, any project which furthered
the interests of the Allies. Rintelen began to have his doubts of the
effectiveness of Lamar's work. The bank account in the Trans-
Atlantic Trust Company had dwindled from $800,000 to $40,000, and
Rintelen admitted that his transactions with Lamar cost him several
hundred thousand dollars. Labor's National Peace Conference died
quietly, Lamar flitted away to a country estate at Pittsfield, Mass.,
and Rintelen started across the Atlantic Ocean.
August wore on. The Council was getting ready for a second
gaseous session, when Milton Snelling, a representative of the
Washington Central Labor Union, who had been elected a first vice-
president of the Council, withdrew from its membership, because he
"discovered persons participating in the meetings who have been
hanging on the fringe of the labor movement for their own personal
aggrandizement, men who have been discarded ... others never
78. having been members of any organization of labor," and because
Jacob C. Taylor, the cigar-making delegate from East Orange, N. J.,
said, in answer to a query as to the Council's purpose: "We want to
stop the export of munitions to the Allies. You see Germany can
make all the munitions she wants." Then—and it may be coincidence
—about one week later the New York World began its publication of
certain of the papers found in the brief case which Dr. Heinrich
Albert, of the German Embassy, allowed to escape him on a New
York elevated train; on August 19 Buchanan resigned the Council,
and Taylor was elected to succeed him.
Indictments were returned against Rintelen, as well as against
Lamar, Martin, Buchanan and their associates, on December 28,
1915. Buchanan at once exploded with a retaliatory demand for the
impeachment of United States District Attorney Marshall, upon which
Congress dared not take action. Marshall gracefully retired from the
trial in May, 1916, lest he prejudice the Government's case, and
Lamar, Martin and Rintelen were convicted of infraction of the
Sherman Anti-Trust Law and sentenced to one year each in a New
Jersey prison. Thus ended Labor's National Peace Council, thanks to
David Lamar.
The project for an embargo looked attractive to the Embassy,
however—so attractive that while the Council was at the height of its
activity, Baron Kurt von Reiswitz wrote on July 22, 1915, from
Chicago to Dr. Albert:
"Everything else concerning the proposed embargo conference you
will find in the enclosed copy of the report to the Ambassador. A
change has, however, come up, as the mass meeting will have to be
postponed on account of there being insufficient time for the
necessary preparations. It will probably be held there in about two
weeks.
"Among others the following have agreed to coöperate: Senator
Hitchcock, Congressman Buchanan, William Bayard Hale of New York
79. and the well known pulpit orator, Dr. Aked (born an Englishman),
from San Francisco.
"Hitchcock seemed to be very strong for the plan. He told our
representative at a conference in Omaha: 'If this matter is organized
in the right way you will sweep the United States.'
"For your confidential information I would further inform you that
the leadership of the movement thus far lies in the hands of two
gentlemen (one in Detroit and one in Chicago) who are firmly
resolved to work toward the end that the German community, which,
of course, will be with us without further urging, shall above all
things remain in the background, and that the movement, to all
outward appearances, shall have a purely American character. I have
known both the gentlemen very well for a long time and know that
personal interest does not count with them; the results will bring
their own reward.
"For the purposes of the inner organization, to which we attribute
particular importance, we have assured ourselves of the coöperation
of the local Democratic boss, Roger C. Sullivan, as also Messrs.
Sparman, Lewis and McDonald, the latter of the Chicago American.
Sullivan was formerly leader of the Wilson campaign and is a deadly
enemy of Wilson, as the latter did not keep his word to make him a
Senator; therefore, principally, the sympathy of our cause."
One is inclined to wonder where Rintelen's vast credits went, during
his short visits in 1915. Lamar took a goodly sum, as we have seen;
the negotiations for the purchase of the Krag rifles cost him no small
amount; his ship bomb activities required a considerable payroll. But
as further evidence of the high cost of causing trouble, we must
consider briefly the profligate methods he employed in other
attempts to inflame and seduce labor.
A walkout by the longshoremen of the Atlantic coast would cripple
the supply of munitions to Europe, and might be successful enough
to cause a shell famine in France of which the Central Powers could
80. readily take advantage. There were 23,000 dock-workers in
American ports; they must be guaranteed a certain wage for five
weeks of strike; the cost in wages alone would therefore amount to
about $1,635,000, besides service fees to intermediaries. He had the
money, and the first step was taken in the otherwise placid city of
Boston.
On May 7, 1915, the day the Lusitania sank, William P. Dempsey, the
secretary-treasurer of the Atlantic Coast International
Longshoremen's Union, met Dennis Driscoll, a Boston labor leader
and former city office-holder, at the old Quincy House in Hanover
Street. Driscoll said that Matthew Cummings, a wealthy Boston
grocer, had outlined to him the plan for the strike, and said he was
acting for parties who were willing to pay a million dollars. Dempsey
maintained his poise when the startling information was recited, but
he was frightened, and at the conclusion of the interview he
telegraphed at once to T. V. O'Connor, the president of the union,
requesting an interview. The two union men met in Albany and
discussed the affair pro and con, arriving at the conclusion that they
had best reveal the plot to the Government. O'Connor accordingly
told of the negotiations to Secretary Wilson of the Department of
Labor, and then in connivance with the Secret Service, went on
dealing with the grocer, constantly pressing him for the identity of
the principals who, he said, were prepared to supply all the
necessary money. He implicated George Sylvestor Viereck, the editor
of a subsidized German propaganda-weekly called The Fatherland,
and said that he had been introduced to him by Edmund von Mach.
Neither of those men figured except as intermediaries, and
Cummings suggested that Dr. Bernhard Dernburg, a loyal
propagandist then in the United States, was the director of the
enterprises. Owing to the high pitch of public feeling over the
Lusitania, Cummings could not receive permission from his superiors
to go ahead with O'Connor, but he did his best to keep O'Connor
interested. The latter, fearing that German agents were at work on
the Pacific coast, took a trip to the far West, and during his absence
Cummings telegraphed him twice. There the affair ended, for
81. O'Connor ignored the message, and on July 14 returned to New York
to find that a German attempt to force a walkout on the New York
waterfront had failed, and that Cummings had stopped playing with
fire and had gone back to his grocery in Boston.
When the Government turned the story over to a newspaper to
publish on September 13, the time was not ripe to fix the
responsibility for the attempt. Dr. Dernburg was a popular scapegoat
at the time, and the implication of his authority in the attempt was
allowed to stand. Rintelen was in Donington Hall, a prison camp in
England, and it was months thereafter before the United States and
British Secret Services had fully compared notes on him. By that
time there were other charges lying against him which promised
better cases than an abortive attempt to promote a strike 'longshore.
We have witnessed the cumulative influence of newspaper reports in
surrounding Labor's National Peace Council with an almost genuine
atmosphere of national interest; we have been able to picture the
hostility which the publication of the longshoremen's strike story
aroused in legitimately organized labor; and although as a typical
instance of newspaper influence we should postpone the following
incident, it is a temptation too great to resist. It is the story of The
Story That Cost an Ambassador, and if any further plea for its
introduction be needed, let it be that it is another subtle attempt
upon labor in the summer of 1915.
82. Dr. Constantin Dumba, Austrian ambassador to the United
States, recalled after the disclosures of the correspon-
dence captured on the war correspondent, Archibald
James F. J. Archibald, an American correspondent who had seen
most of the wars of recent years, and who wanted to see more, set
sail from New York on August 21, 1915, for Amsterdam, with his
wife, his campaign clothes, and a portfolio. At Falmouth, England,
the usual search party came aboard, and inspected the papers in the
portfolio. Archibald proved to be an unofficial despatch-bearer, upon
83. whom his German and Austrian acquaintances in the United States
placed great reliance—such men as Papen, Bernstorff, and Dr.
Constantine Dumba sent reports to their governments in his care.
On September 5 the New York World burst forth with the text of one
of the letters—one from Dr. Dumba, the Austro-Hungarian
ambassador at Washington, to his chief in the foreign office at
Vienna, Baron Burian. It is worth reproducing here intact:
"New York, August 20."
"Your Excellency:
"Yesterday evening Consul-General von Nuber received the
enclosed aide memoire from the chief editor of the local
influential paper Szabadsag, after a previous conversation with
me in pursuance of his verbal proposals to arrange for strikes at
Bethlehem in Schwab's steel and munitions factory and also in
the middle West.
"Archibald, who is well known to your Excellency, leaves today
at 12 o'clock on board the Rotterdam for Berlin and Vienna. I
take this rare and safe opportunity of warmly recommending
these proposals to your Excellency's favorable consideration. It
is my impression that we can disorganize and hold up for
months, if not entirely prevent, the manufacture of munitions in
Bethlehem and the middle West, which, in the opinion of the
German military attaché, is of great importance and amply
outweighs the comparatively small expenditure of money
involved.
"But even if strikes do not occur it is probable that we should
extort under pressure more favorable conditions of labor for our
poor downtrodden fellow countrymen in Bethlehem. These
white slaves are now working twelve hours a day, seven days a
week. All weak persons succumb and become consumptive. So
far as German workmen are found among the skilled hands
means of leaving will be provided immediately for them.
84. "Besides this, a private German registry office has been
established which provides employment for persons who
voluntarily have given up their places. It already is working well.
We shall also join in and the widest support is assured us.
"I beg your Excellency to be so good as to inform me with
reference to this letter by wireless. Reply whether you agree. I
remain, with great haste and respect,
"Dumba."
The aide memoire, written by the editor of a Hungarian weekly,
proposed to create unrest by a campaign in foreign language
newspapers circulated free to labor, muck-raking labor conditions in
Bethlehem, Youngstown, Cleveland, Pittsburg, and Bridgeport, where
there were great numbers of foreign workmen, Hungarians,
Austrians, and Germans. This was to be supplemented by a "horror
novel" similar to the bloody effort of Upton Sinclair to describe the
Chicago stockyards. Special agents of unrest, roll-turners, steel
workers, soapbox orators, picnic organizers, were all to be
insinuated into the plants to stir up the workmen. This editor had
stirred them up a few weeks before at Bridgeport—the strike which
Lamar claimed as his own accomplishment—and he presented to
Baron Burian a really comprehensive plan for creating unrest
through his well-subsidized foreign-language press. And in passing it
on, Dr. Dumba stood sponsor for it.
The British government saw in the discovery of the letter and the
cool impudence of it, a rare chance for propaganda in America. So,
as has been said, the World published the story, and at once the
wrath of the truly American people justified President Wilson in
doing what he and Secretary Lansing had already determined to do
—to send Dr. Dumba home. Perhaps Dumba's reference to the "self-
willed temperament of the President" in another note found on
Archibald had something to do with the haste with which the
Ambassador's recall was demanded; it followed on the heels of the
publication of the letter:
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